The Gang’s All Here...

Welcome to my world. 28. Southern. Female. She/Her. #ripeddie

[babybluebex]

billy x fem reader

Billy and reader are married and have a son/daughter and he/she is only a couple days old and so reader is still extremely tired so when their son/daughter wake the both of them up with crying billy calms their child back to sleep and talks about how amazing reader is and starts to reminisce on the great memories of their youth and he eventually joins reader back in bed and he looks at her with such love and admiration before he soon falls asleep

A wail came from the small bassinet, and it woke you up in an instant. Your husband next to you stirred as well, giving a tired little snuffle, and Billy mumbled, “I’ll get her.” 

“She’s probably hungry,” you mumbled sleepily. “I can get her—”

“No, darling, no,” Billy insisted. “If she’s hungry, I’ll bring her over, but let me get up. You’ve had a big few days, get your rest.” 

In the darkness, Billy shifted in bed to get up, and he flicked on a lamp. You looked over at him, bathed in the golden light, and you watched him card his hand through his long hair before he stood up, and he went to the other side of the room, where tiny Camilla’s bassinet sat. She really was the smallest thing, born premature, and Billy looked down at her, crying and sniffling. She was the spit of him, downy hair, round nose, pert lips. Oh, yes, she was Billy’s daughter, no doubt, and, as he pulled her into his arms, he thought that there had never been a luckier man than him. 

“Oh, Cami,” Billy whispered, holding her to his chest and lightly bouncing her. “My sweetest girl, what’s wrong? Tell your daddy what’s the matter.” Camilla continued to cry, and, even though Billy knew that babies were babies and that babies were wont to cry, it still broke his heart to hear her so distressed. Luckily, though, he didn’t have to be heartbroken for much longer, as the wee girl trailed off with her wailing, only cooing and making small sounds. “There she is, my girl, did you just need a cuddle?” 

“Was’the matter?” you mumbled, still half-asleep, and Billy slowly came back to bed, sitting up against the wall with Camilla on his chest. 

“She just wanted a cuddle,” Billy said fondly. The newborn, hardly a week old, was alert now, her eyes darting all over and examining everything, and she made a sweet noise when she saw you. You smiled at her and reached out to carefully smooth down her hair, and you whispered, “She’s so amazing.” 

“So are you, y’know,” Billy said. He looked at you then, his eyes full up of stars and hearts, and you grimaced. “No, darling, you are. You gave me a daughter, you made her and carried her and gave her to me, I can’t ever thank you or repay you.” 

You blinked slowly, and you reached up to kiss your husband, feeling the scruff on his face against your cheeks. “I love you,” you whispered. 

“I love you more,” Billy whispered. His hand smoothed down Camilla’s back, soothing her little whimpers, and he added, “D’ya remember when we met? So long ago, it feels like a lifetime.”

“I remember…” you started. “I had come to the pub with some uni mates, and I stepped outside for a smoke, but I had forgotten my cigs, and you were out there, and I asked to bum one.” 

“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” Billy laughed. “In a little sundress, even though it was freezing cold, and your hands were shaking as you held your cigarette.” 

“Can I admit something?” you asked, and Billy furrowed his brow before he nodded. “That dress had pockets. My cigarettes were right by my side, but… I had seen you when I was with my friends, and I… I needed to talk to you. I just had to. So I pretended like I didn’t have them so that I’d have an excuse to talk to you.” 

“Really?” Billy asked. “But that’s…” 

“Silly,” you huffed. “I know. But I couldn’t think of any other way to talk to you, and I was too nervous to just start a conversation.”

“Not silly,” Billy told you. “Cute. So cute. But I asked for your number before you could even finish the cigarette. And you smiled and shook your head and said, ‘You don’t wanna really talk to me’. But I did, and you eventually gave me your number, and—”

“We texted all night,” you recalled. “Until the sun came up.” 

“And we haven’t parted since,” Billy said with a sappy smile. “And when I asked you to be my girlfriend, I was so nervous, I felt sick to my stomach, but you were so kind and sweet, you put me at ease. You’ve always put me at ease. And then when I proposed, I felt the same way, and on our wedding day, and… I sorta have never stopped being nervous around you.” 

“You remember the first night we spent together?” you asked. “I was so nervous to have you over to my flat, but you were so easy-going.” 

“Yeah, well, I was shitting myself, I was so scared,” Billy chuckled, bouncing Camilla a bit. “I didn’t expect anything to happen, and thank God you made the first move because I knew I couldn’t. Do you remember what you did?”

“I had gotten up to get you a drink,” you said. “And when I came back, I… I took a huge chance, and I sat myself in your lap. I knew I had done right, because your arms went around me instantly, and you looked at me like… Well, like you wanted me. And I kissed you, and you kissed me back, and then—” 

“You asked me if you could go down on me,” Billy laughed. “It was so cute. You were so cute all night, you kept asking me if I was okay and if I wanted to keep going, a-and you were just amazing.” 

“And you made me breakfast in the morning,” you added with a laugh. “You were plenty cute, too. Billy, I love you so much.” 

“But…?” Billy prompted, and you shook your head. You sat up and opened your arms for your daughter, and Billy delicately handed you Camilla, being careful not to move her too much. The girl had closed her eyes, maybe asleep, and you held her close. 

“But nothing,” you said. “No buts. I just love you.” 

Billy smiled at you, and he leaned in and softly kissed you, just enough for you to really feel his love. “And now we have a daughter,” he said softly. “And she’ll never…” He sighed, his dark eyes faltering, and, in a thick voice, said, “She’ll never have to know any cruelty.”

“Never,” you assured him. 

Quickly, you stood from the bed, and you set the sleeping baby back in her bassinet, and you joined your husband in bed once more. His arm went tight around you as you settled your head on his chest, and you listened to the thump of his heart against your ear. “Billy?” you whispered, and you looked up at him to find him already looking at you, his gaze full of love and admiration and pride. “I do love you.” 

“I know you do, pet,” Billy whispered, squeezing you and laying a kiss on your head. “I never doubted it for a second.”

[lengthofropes]

EDDIE MUNSON ®️

this Barbie is everything.

[ediewentmissing]

giving eddie a wet, messy handjob and he’s bucking into your hand and cursing under his breath.

and after watching his cock slide in and out of your hand’s grip for only a minute or two, you’re already soaked. you can feel your arousal seeping through your panties.

so in a rush of want need, you throw your panties somewhere on the other side of the room to be forgotten, you get on top of eddie, his hands on your hips, and you sink down slowly onto his throbbing cock.

(NSFW AUDIO WARNING)

[funsonmunson-again-deactivated2]

I want gangster eddie to make me hold his 20k$ gold rings ; so he can beat a mf up for me, then treat me to a steak dinner afterwards🥰

mafia!eddie who's late to your date night, and you're refusing to let him in. "baby, I had to handle some things, you know that." he coos, but you're not budging.

"go out with your other whores, eddie, I'm not wastin' my time with you tonight." you snap from the other side of the door.

eddie finally coaxes you out, promising you anything you want for the night and a shopping trip the next day, just the two of you, his full attention.

he takes you to the tiniest restaurant in the area, his arm on your waist, diamond necklace around your neck, his piece on his hip. some drunk bastard passes you, wolf whistling and making a lewd comment towards you.

you freeze, not from his comment, but from the fear of what's coming next. cringing, eddie removes his hand from you gently, pulling off his rings on by one, eyes still locked on the guy.

"hold these for me, baby doll, I'll just be a second." he presses a kiss to your cheek, the cool, heavy metal in your palm.

the crunching of bones, smacking of knuckles on flesh, and wails of the man from the alley eddie had pulled him into fill the quiet street. no one dares to look, they know what's going on.

eddie emerges, knuckles bloody and bruised, chest heaving but he gives you a dimpled grin. "sorry about that angel." he holds the door open for you, casually and sweetly, blooding hand finding it's way back to the small of your spine.

your thighs clench, following the waitress to your usual booth, in the back. a corner booth with perfect view of all of the restaurant; private and the perfect place for no surprises. you sit next to him, pushed on the inside, your little hand pumping eddie under the table. his arm is down the length of the booth, grinning at you salaciously when you lick his spend off your hand, pushing himself back in his pants.

[funsonmunson-again-deactivated2]

evie! 🤯

mafia eddie has me as much in a chokehold as rockstar eddie does, girl you’re on fire 👏✨

you’re new fic got me thinking -

how would readers cope with eddie being shot? like he’s really hurt this time - she’s called from work by hopper of all people - to the hospital and all of eddie’s boys are there waiting for news, he took a bullet right in the stomach, medically induced coma, the whole nine yards

yes, yet again, i stole that from the sopranos 😏

she would be a wreck. wouldn’t leave his side. they’d have him in a private wing, secluded away and even then, only a few people even know he’s there. jeff, gareth, and nick would want to stay guard, make sure he’s ok, but they’d also be itching for revenge. they decide that they’ll rotate, two go, one stays-armed protecting you and eddie.

they get the guy easy, with rick and hopper’s help, and that still doesn’t make them feel better. not when eddie’s fighting for his life, tube down his throat, on a ventilator.

you talk to him a lot while he’s in the coma. you’re not sure if he can hear you, but it makes you feel better. you’re by his side constantly, only changing when gareth finally brings you clothes. you don’t sleep, maybe a few hours on the window bed by the icu, and you refuse to cry. you just watch eddie, watch him slowly slowly get better. wayne stays there a lot too with you. you’d only met wayne once before, but you’re comforted by him a little. the two most important people to eddie by his bedside.

when he’s healed enough to be taken out of the coma, everyone comes, even rick. he comes down from chicago to ensure eddie’s ok.

the problem is, once eddie’s awake and coherent, he wants to go immediately back to work. back like nothing happened. the doctor, wayne, the boys, and you (especially) are dead set against it. he needs to take it slow, something he’s not very good at. eddie keeps telling you he’s fine, insisting he’ll be alright and trying to get back into things.

it leads to a blowout between the two of you, the biggest argument to date, until you leave. storm out screaming at him that, “I’m not going to watch you kill yourself, eddie! I sat in that hospital and watched you nearly die a million times over, and I’m not doing it again!” and you leave.

eddie’s sick at the thought. he thought you were going to cool down, but you didn’t come back at all that night. he went looking for you in the morning, all the usual places, and couldn’t find you. jeff was driving him around- until his stitches healed- and eddie was starting to get frantic, sick at the thought that something could have happened to you.

he looked everywhere, everywhere. all over hawkins, combing through the neighborhood to try and find your car or any trace of you. he finally beat down nancy wheeler’s door, demanding to know where you were. she hesitated but told him, after he threatened her life.

“she stopped by to calm down after she left,/ bad I gave her some clothes. she went to your uncle’s house.” nancy squeaked, eyes wide when eddie’s hand rested on his glock.

eddie made jeff fly down the backroads to the trailer park where wayne was, sprinting and beating down his trailer door.

wayne opens it with an unimpressed look. “boy, are you stupid or something?” he asks, leaning in the door way.

“is she here?” eddie’s frantic.

wayne sighs heavily. “yeah. showed up real upset. said you weren’t listening to her, to the doctor. said you weren’t giving yourself time to heal.” he gave him a hard, reprimanding stare. “told her that couldn’t possibly be my nephew.”

eddie rolled his eyes. “let me in. let me see her.”

wayne stopped him. “you might tell everyone else what to do, but you’re not doing that around here, boy.” he growled. eddie faltered, he hadn’t been talked to like that in a while. “you wanna see her? fine, but you listen to me.” wayne took a step towards him. “you’re gonna do what she and that doctor say, or she’s gonna leave you. ya hear me?”

eddie gulped, heart dropping so fast in his chest he thought he’d be sick. “you’re not gonna turn into your daddy. understand? he did all this shit too, killed himself working himself to death, and it didn’t do shit. he still got replaced.”

eddie stiffened at the mention of his dad. “the only way they’re gonna replace you is if you’re dead.” wayne said coldly. “I don’t know a lot about what you do, I don’t want to know a lot about what you do. but I do know that much. so you’re gonna heal up properly, let your boys do what they need to do, and stay home with your girl. let her heal you up.”

eddie nodded, jaw tight with emotion. “I will.” he croaked.

wayne scanned his face for a moment before nodding, stepping aside. “she’s in your room. probably still asleep. poor thing cried herself out in there earlier. you oughtta be ashamed for what you did to that girl.”

eddie felt his own chest constrict, a familiar cry seeping through his lungs when he opened the door. he found you, asleep, hugging one of his tshirts, an old hellfire one from highschool that he hadn’t seen in years.

eddie was mindful of his wounds when he sat down, stroking your hair and peppering kisses into your skin, muttering apologies until you awoke. he clung to you tightly, begging you to come home, teary eyed and lip wobbling.

“please,” eddie pleaded. “I’ll-I’ll do what I’m supposed to. just please come home. don’t leave me.”

you give him a watery smile, pressing your lips to his sweetly, finally kissing him deep and passionate like you hadn’t since before his accident.

he let himself heal for the time, letting you care for him while he did what he could out of his office. he thought he’d be a lot more miserable at home, not in the action, but truthfully he liked how you doted on him. fussing over him, and smothering him in affection. he was so used to being the one who spoiled you all the time, it was his favorite thing to do, but he loved having you do it back to him.

[funsonmunson-again-deactivated2]

I HAVE MORE MAFIA EDDIE

so first we'll start off tame, I headcanon that he's got that low bun, keep his hair out the blood, don't hurt the merchandise, and he wears those really dark tailored suits UGH WITH THOSE BROAD SHOULDERS something is purring and it's not my cat

Secondly, imagine he has to have this conference with a bunch of different around the area bosses, they're all very very dangerous, too dangerous for the kitten of course, and because he's our rich boy he's got this big dining room, and the one rule for the day is to stay. out. But of course, reader forgets her sweater and she's FREEZING and she just has to have that exact one, she didn't think she'd be very distracting, wrong. She opens the door and immediately all these very scary men are looking her right in the face, Eddie looks up at her and panic goes across his face, because she wouldn't disobey him unless there was something wrong, and then she just? grabs this sweater? that's all?

Instant spank. Leather paddle with his initials, the one that hurts. But in between smacks he's rubbing her ass and her back telling you how much he loves you and he doesn't want her to get hurt, "kitten, you've gotta understand, I knowwww" he mocks a little while her crying her little eyes out from the sting. "You can't be disobeying daddy like that you'll get hurt sweetheart." He waits until you've really got the message and then you have the sweetest sex that mafia eddie is capable of having because he needs you to know he loves you, it's just you can't be disobeying in a life like this.

le bow.

oh. oh wow.

this… this did something to me lol. this made me feel a type of way. I honestly didn’t hc mafia!eddie as a spanker originally but now… now you got me rethinking myself HELLO.

low bun- yes.

black, silk button downs with the buttons undone, tattoos and chains peeking out. black slacks, perfectly tailored. loose enough to run and move if he needs to, but tight enough that you’re always ogling his little ass ugh. he’d have cartier rings, a pinky ring OF COURSE and be tatted up.

he wouldn’t do business deals at his home with others just bc things could go south(and he doesn’t want anyone to know where he lives in case there’s a rat), but rick was always welcome there and frequented to talk business with him, jeff, gareth, and nick.

eddie tells you to wait, that it would just be a little bit and he’d be back, but you get bored in the room watching movies. you don’t even have the dogs to keep you company, so you start looking around. you use your sweater as an excuse to peek in.

huge mistake.

number one, rick doesn’t know who the fuck you are, and pulls his gun out immediately. you’re screeching, looking down the barrel of his glock while eddie’s trying to calm him.

“she’s my girl, easy! that’s my girl! she’s cool!” he’s shouting at rick.

“why the fuck didn’t you tell me she was here, huh? what’re you doin’?” rick knows eddie. knows he wouldn’t go against him, but still. he has to be cautious.

eddie is so disappointed in you. glares at you and you go scampering away. he explains to rick the two of you are serious. he didn’t want you in the middle of shit but you were cool.

later, eddie is back in his room. you’d “played” with eddie before, in his sex dungeon tied up while he spanked you lightly, just enough to get you squealing and cumming on the bed from the vibrations. he’d never punished you before.

“what did I tell you?” eddie sighs, picking up his leather paddle. “I told you to stay in here. didn’t I?” he shakes his head, brown eyes just sad, disappointed. “you could’ve got hurt, and I can’t have that, baby.” he sighs.

you whimper when he nods at you, motioning you over the bed. you do so reluctantly, moving your little stretch pants down by your ankles, tiny thong that doesn’t cover anything around you.

eddie spanks you until you’re sobbing, sure the message has sunk in and you’ve learned your lesson. you’re blubbering and he’s cooing at you, hand rubbing down your back soothingly. “I know, baby, I know, but I can’t have you actin’ up. you could get hurt. you gotta follow my rules. I just want you to be safe, kitten.” he sighs.

you nod, sniffling through your tears. he kisses your flaming cheeks in an apology, letting you calm yourself before he’s diving between your legs with his tongue, licking you up and down and all around.

what have you done. you’ve created a monster.

[sasageyoarmin]

head cannons for pet names that levi and yn call each other??? i loved ur last levi post :)

thank you !!!! this is my first hc on here , so please let me know if you like it :)

content : levi x fem!reader , suggestive nsfw content at times !!

love names with levi ackerman

•••

my love : this nickname is usually said late at night, when the pair are cozied up in their sheets, cuddling each other. hearing “my love” leave y/n’s lips makes levi’s heart just burst with even more love for his girl. when he says it to her, it’s usually in situations when y/n has been crying or in a bad mood and she just needs to cling to levi. the other time this name is used is when y/n wants something, or needs help. however, when she says it this time, it’s more drawn out at the end, such as, “my loveeee, can you grab the baking powder for me? please?”

mon amour / chérie : something about levi is so ~french~ to me, so i always imagine him which some sort of french origin in his heritage , which is why i feel like he would use these pet names for y/n. just imagine coming home from a long day at work to see your love greet you with a “bonjour, mon chérie, comment ça va?”

love : this is probably the most common pet name the pair has for each other. used many times a day, there is really no set scenario when the name is used more often. however, it is tossed around very frequently during more intimate moments, such as when the pair makes love. levi’s gentle moans echo the name, usually with a remark of praise at the end, such as, “oh love, you feel so tight around me, making me feel so good.” y/n echoes back the sweet word between her lips as she also gasps for air while the two come undone together.

baby : this nickname is one of the less common names used, especially on levi’s end, yet it is still said frequently. it is often used as more of a comfort word, said when the other is feeling down or needs a little bit of love. levi also uses this name when he’s in the mood, but it’s said in a much deeper tone and with more lust in his eyes.

angel : this is one of levi’s favorite names for y/n. he says it when she needs comforting, when she’s accomplished something, or even in the bedroom. he truly believes that she has saved him from a life of depression and loneliness, so she really must be his angel. levi just wants to worship her all day long.

sweetheart : this name is used by the both of them, but more commonly used by levi. it’s said mainly when y/n is unhappy or upset, and she just needs to rest in the comfort of her sweetheart. it’s not a word used very often, but when it is used, y/n’s heart melts.

honey : y/n didn’t really like this one in theory, but as soon as levi started using it, it became one of her favorite nicknames. hearing his sweet voice call her from the bedroom saying, “honey, dinner’s ready! i *attempted* to make your favorite!” makes her go all giggly and feel an overwhelming sense of comfort. she also jokingly uses this name for levi when he’s doing something slightly domestic (like cleaning), and although he won’t admit it to her or anyone, he secretly loves it the way it rolls off her tongue and hits him right in the heart.

•••

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Grays II

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays - Part I | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, matchmaking elements, meddlesome mother, lots of teasing, not-quite-friends to lovers dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, oral sex (F and M receiving), protected sex, dirty talk.

Word count: 8.5k

Notes: It's here - 4 months later! First of all, thank you so much for the love for Grays Part I. I still can't quite believe the reaction to Frankie and Shiv, you guys sure know how to make a writer feel special 🥰 This one was so much fun to write, and nervous as I am posting this follow-up, I'm telling myself to let go of my insecurities and just enjoy it because that's what it's all about. I hope y'all will have a good time at this wedding with the gang 😘

Francisco Morales likes to think of himself as a reasonably competent man. 

He can pilot a helicopter under intense enemy fire. He can take out a target from miles away in the tightest of spots. 

But he can’t do his fucking hair.

He glares at himself in the mirror. He can’t put his finger on it, it just doesn’t look like how you did it. He’s already washed it out and started over twice, and for a second, he considers driving to your salon. A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s far too late for that now.

Leaning over the sink, he says to his reflection, ‘Focus, pendejo. You can do it.’

He’s a pilot for fuck’s sake. He’s a man of procedure, he can follow steps. He just needs to break it down.

Hair half-dry - check.

Hair mousse applied - check.

Now he just needs to dry his hair all the way and style it - but the how is where it gets hazy. 

Frankie closes his eyes and casts his mind back to your salon. He’s sitting in the chair and you’re standing behind him. He wills himself to recall what you were doing with your hands, but all he remembers is the scrape of your of your fingertips on his scalp, the ghost of your breath on the back of his neck, and then -

Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.

He scrubs a frustrated palm down his face when his cock twitches in his haphazardly ironed dress pants, not for the first time… hell, not even the fourth time since he left your salon on Wednesday afternoon.

‘Goddamnit,’ he bites out, dropping the hairdryer with a clunk and grips the porcelain sink. He needs to calm the fuck down. 

He didn’t ask for - this, whatever this is. You’re you. You’re Shiv. The loudmouth with the wild hair he’s known since fifth grade. The fourth wheel at guys’ drinks when Will can’t make it. A relentless tease on a good day, and downright insufferable when you get enough tequila in you.

And quite possibly, the only person who’s ever driven him to the brink of unconsciousness with just the touch of their bare hands.

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe you’re right. It has been a while since he’s been with a woman. He just needs to get laid at the wedding, get this weird tension out of his system. And then hopefully, he’ll be able to go to sleep without being kept up by you telling him to go harder, deeper -

By the time he gets his head out of his ass, it’s too late for second-guessing. He rakes his fingers through his hair, sets it with hairspray, and quickly rubs the beard oil he bought in town yesterday into his whiskers. He takes a moment to look himself over while he clumsily does up the tie he borrowed from Pope.

This is as good as it’s gonna get.

He’s the designated driver tonight. By some miracle, he’s only five minutes late when he cruises into Pope’s driveway, where all three of the boys are waiting and sipping on beers.

‘Damn Fish, you look good,’ crows Santi as he climbs into the passenger seat, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You should get your hair cut at Shiv’s from now on.’

‘Only if you keep paying for it,’ retorts Frankie while he backs out of the driveway. He pauses as he changes gears, and adds in a grumble. ‘She’s making me use shampoo and conditioner.’

Pope barks in laughter, twisting in his seat to give Benny a knowing grin. ‘Someone had to, you caveman.’

The younger Miller brother ribs good-naturedly, ‘You ready for some action tonight, Fish? I brought some extra rubbers just in case.’

Meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, Frankie rips into him mercilessly. ‘You know your small ass condoms don’t fit me, Benjamin.’ 

The car erupts with playful jeers, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile as he palms the steering wheel.

‘That’s some fighting talk, Fish!’ goads Santi, punching him on the arm.

Will joins in the banter. ‘You better watch out, little bro. Big Dick Morales came out swinging tonight.’

Benny grins. ‘Ok, I see how it is. Let’s make it interesting, Fish. Whoever picks up a one night stand first wins a hundred bucks.’

Frankie shrugs in mock nonchalance and quips, ‘I mean, I can use the cash. Shampoo ain’t cheap.’

Benny chuckles and clasps his shoulder. ‘You’re on, man.’

It’s eight on the dot when you lock up the salon. While you did RSVP for wedding drinks - opting out of the sit-down dinner earlier in the evening - you hadn’t planned on actually going. But it seems like the whole town did, you’ve barely had two customers walk through the door all afternoon. 

So you let Ashton go home early, and after a quick snack, you take your time getting ready. Might as well have a Saturday night out - your first in many months.

The hotel is just a short Uber ride away. When you climb out of the car, you bite your bottom lip at the unfamiliar tension humming under your skin.

Nerves.

You’re nervous.

And worse, you know exactly what you’re nervous about. 

Or more precisely - who.

‘Pull it together, Shiv,’ you mutter under your breath. Steeling yourself, you stride into the hotel.

From his vantage point at the bar, Benny watches in amusement as Frankie glances towards the doors of the reception hall yet again. He doubts the pilot even knows he’s doing it, or at the very least, he doesn’t think that anyone would notice.

Grabbing his beer, Benny sidles up to his friend. ‘Looking for something, Fish?’

Frankie takes a sip of his Coke and feigns nonchalance. ‘Yeah, looking to win that hundred bucks from you.’

‘Dunno ‘bout that. I don’t see you trying very hard.’

‘Biding my time, Miller. Just make sure you have enough cash to -’ 

When Frankie breaks off in the middle of his sentence, Benny doesn’t need to look to wager a guess what caught his attention.

Turning around as you approach, he flings his arms out to give you a hug, eyeing you up and down appreciatively. ‘Babe, look at you all dressed up! Doesn’t she look nice, Fish?’

In lieu of an answer, Frankie stares intently at some invisible spot over your shoulder until Benny elbows him right in his stomach, jerking him out of his trance. ‘Fish?’

Frankie clears his throat and stutters. ‘Um. I - I don’t know.’

You arch an eyebrow at him. ‘You don’t know if I look nice?’

Benny has to stopper his mouth with beer so he doesn’t laugh out loud at the panic on Frankie’s face as he fumbles for a response. ‘I mean. Um, nice… pants?’

‘It’s a jumpsuit, Morales. Try to keep up,’ you reply and take two steps towards him, which has him backpedalling so fast that he upsets the table behind him, sending half-empty glasses spilling wine all over the white tablecloth.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he growls at you like a cornered stray.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pull him upright by his tie. ‘Is he ok, Ben? He’s even jumpier than usual.’

‘Well, it’s a funny night for him. Watching his ex get married and all.’

‘I swear to God, Benjamin Miller, if you don’t shut the fuck up -’ 

‘Pipe down, Morales, we’re just messing with you,’ you shush him, tugging on his slightly skewed shirt collar to set it straight. ‘Can’t believe you own a tie.’

‘Borrowed it from Pope,’ he grunts without making eye contact.

Smoothing the lapels of his slightly crumpled suit jacket, you probe, ‘You’ve been using shampoo and conditioner like I asked?’

Frankie huffs a dry laugh. ‘I don’t remember you asking.’

‘Someone’s mouthy tonight,’ you tease. ‘And the beard oil?’

He concedes with a sigh. ‘Yes, Shiv.’

‘You look good, Francisco,’ you grin and reach up to push his curls back from his eyes.

He looks away as he admits, ‘Took three fucking tries.’

At least he holds still when you make small adjustments to his hair, shoulders stiff with hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You catch yourself missing the way he leaned into your touch in your salon, and you have to forcefully push that thought away as you push your fingers through the roots to boost the volume. His curls feel softer already than you remember them, with a noticeably healthier sheen. 

After a final rustle to loosen up his fringe, you wink at him. ‘Mark my words, the bride will rue the day she dumped your ass when she sees you.’

A voice from behind you interrupts. ‘It’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it?’

Trading a look with Frankie, who gives you a sarcastic thumbs up, you put on a smile and turn on your heels. ‘Mrs. Morales, it’s been too long!’

‘I see you haven’t dyed my son’s hair like I requested,’ she says by way of a greeting, drawing you into an embrace.

Frankie’s taunt is so quiet that you nearly miss it. ‘Told you she’d come after you.’

Without skipping a beat, you elbow him in the ribs, ignoring his pained oomph from behind you. ‘You look wonderful tonight, ma’am.’ 

‘You can’t sweet talk your way out of my question, young lady.’

You cross your arms with a sigh. ‘I didn’t dye it because he looks good with the grays.’ 

‘Well, I don’t think so.’

‘In my professional opinion, he does,’ you retort pointedly.

‘If he looks so good, why is he still single?’

Frankie throws his hands up in exasperation. ‘Gee, thanks a lot ma.’

You turn to Benny, who has been silently watching you two spar. ‘What do you think, Miller?’

He dithers, eyes darting around in desperation until he spots Santi and his older brother coming back from the bar. ‘Look! Here are the guys, let’s ask them!’

‘Ask us what?’ asks Santi, giving you a kiss on the cheek and a glass of bubbly.

‘Do you think my son looks good with the grays?’

Your eyebrow twitches when Mrs. Morales carelessly ruffles his hair to emphasise her point. To your surprise, Frankie bats her away with an irritated ma!, before hastily rearranging it.

‘Your honest opinion, if you please,’ you add.

The boys hum and haw, sipping their beers and shooting uncertain looks between you and Mrs. Morales, clearly uncomfortable being caught in the middle. Upping the heat, you narrow your eyes at them, and Will folds first. 

‘Yeah, I mean - he looks good,’ he mumbles, avoiding the Morales matriarch's glare.

‘Pope?’ you prompt.

‘Cabrón rocking those grays,’ he nods supportively.

‘Ben?’

‘Uh huh,’ he replies vaguely, but at your menacing glare, clarifies, ‘Yes, I meant - yes, ma’am.’

Mrs. Morales scoffs. ‘They’re men, what do they know! I don’t see him catching any girls’ attention.’

Ah, that’s the easy part. You look around, scanning the crowds - and bingo, you see a brunette staring openly from across the dance floor. You hold up a finger for dramatic effect. ‘Excuse me for one second.’

Frankie looks ready for the earth to swallow him whole by the time you return with the said woman in tow. Pointing straight at him, you ask, ‘Lucy, this is Frankie. Do you think he’s hot with the grays?’

To her credit, she’s a good sport, and plays along with a cheeky wink. ‘Yeah, he is. You wanna dance, handsome?’

‘Yes, he absolutely does!’ you answer quickly before he can get a word in.

‘What the fuck, Shiv?’ Frankie seethes through clenched teeth, literally digging his heels in, but to his despair, his shoes skid uselessly on the tiled surface as you push him towards the dancefloor with this complete stranger. 

Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

‘Have fun, Fish!’ calls out Pope impishly, which earns him an emphatic middle finger. 

You beam at Mrs. Morales smugly. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

‘You better keep it up, young lady,’ she says over her shoulder as she turns to leave.

You raise your drink. ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs M. I promise you - he’ll be leaving with his future wife tonight!’

Santi is minding his own business, sipping on his beer as he stakes out the ladies, when a hand shoots out from nowhere and snatches the bottle from him.

‘What the fuck, man?!’ he bristles indignantly.

Frankie polishes off the drink in one mouthful, before slamming it onto the table and demanding, ‘Where’s Shiv? I’m done. I’m not fucking dancing with anyone else.’

Pope jerks his thumb to the other side of the room. ‘She’s arguing with your mother.’

Frankie flops into a chair, the dress shoes that he never wears are pinching his feet and he fights the urge to kick them off. He folds his arms across his chest petulantly, one palm over his mouth as his eyes wander across the hall to you, where you’re gesturing madly at his ma, embroiled in an impassioned discussion, probably still about his damn hair.

You’re all dressed up tonight, which is new to him - he’s only ever seen you in jeans when you go out drinking with them, and he’s certainly never seen so much of you. The ‘jumpsuit’ (he learns something new every day) is black and cut low both front and back, and fuck, all he sees is soft skin and the dip of your curves and red lipstick -

Pope must have nipped to the bar while he wasn’t looking, and a fresh bottle of beer appears under his nose. Glancing up at his best friend, Frankie mutters, ‘Thanks.’

‘You can’t marry her, Fish.’

He chokes violently at the casual non-sequitur, spraying beer everywhere. ‘What the fuck, Pope.’

Santi beams. ‘You got that look on your face, man. I’ve seen that look before.’

‘I don’t have a look on my face.’

He chuckles, mostly to himself. 'Damn, I really should've seen this coming.'

‘What are you even on about -’ Looking up, Frankie spots you making your way over and panics. ‘Shut the fuck up, pendejo.’

‘Why aren’t you dancing, my little debutante?’ you ask when you come within earshot.

Santi chortles and takes his leave, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck, Fish.’

You sink into the empty seat next to him and he deliberately twists his body away from you, drinking deeply from his bottle to drown out Santi’s words ringing in his ears. 

‘So, I heard you have a bet going on with Benny. I want splitsies if you win.’

Frankie rolls his eyes, staring resolutely anywhere but at the swell of your cleavage. ‘No.’

‘40/60.’

‘Fuck off, Shiv.’

‘30/70?’ you counter-offer.

He sighs. ‘You’re impossible.’

Ignoring him, you jump up with a happy squeak when someone Frankie vaguely recognises as a girl who used to be in your class approaches with a shy smile. You pull her close by the crook of her arm and ask, ‘Morales, you remember Sadie?’

He tries not to scowl too openly as he too gets on his feet. ‘Sure, hi Sadie.’

Herding them towards the dancefloor, you grin, ‘Go dance, get reacquainted.’

As he passes by you, Frankie grits his teeth and curls his fingers into the meat of his palms to crush the urge to reach out and touch you. 

But it’s easier to fall into your well-rehearsed roles, to toe the line that has been drawn in the sand since you were teenagers. And easier is certainly the safer option when it comes to you.

So he throws you a deliberate glare over his shoulder, with a deadpanned, ‘I hate you.’

You blow him a kiss and grin wider.

Frankie can’t hold back a relieved sigh when the interminably long song finally ends, and the woman he’s dancing with - he won’t even pretend he remembers her name - tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jacket after tapping in her number. ‘Call me, gorgeous.’

He stopped counting after the eighth woman you shepherded his way. This is it. He’s not above hiding in the toilets if that’s what it takes to make this stop.

Except he’s not quick enough. He spots you out of the corner of his eye, marching straight towards him with a fresh glass of water and a look of purpose on your face.

He doesn’t exactly know what came over him. He could probably blame it on the one and a half beers that he downed, or being pushed to the end of his tether. Whatever it is, there’s something he has to say to you, and it can’t wait.

You push the glass into his grasp. ‘Here, hydrate.’

‘Shiv -’

You’ve already swivelled around, your focus somewhere else. ‘Where is she? She was literally just behind me -’

‘Shiv -’

‘Mind you, she’s a sweet girl, but clearly not the brightest tool in the -’

His patience snaps, and he barks, ‘Shiv!’

You spin around, brow furrowed in confusion, and snarl back, ‘What?’

Frankie pauses, and you blink as his warm eyes hold yours. On an exhale, he says, ‘You look nice tonight.’

You’re vaguely aware that your jaw has gone slack, but only because his eyes follow the movement, dropping to your mouth. He considers you for a moment, head tipping just slightly to the side as he watches you. Then, satisfied that he has your attention, he brings the glass of water to his lips, throwing his head back as he drinks. 

Your breath catches in your throat when his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow, before he leisurely swipes his lips with the back of his hand.

Except in your mind, it’s not water that he’s wiping from his mouth.

In a perfectly mirrored imitation of what transpired between you earlier in the evening, he takes two measured steps forward, prompting you to back up against the table behind you. The tinkle of glasses falling over hardly registers in the back of your mind. 

The fabric of his suit is cool on your skin, brushing your bare arm as he looms over you, so broad and warm. Though his front barely makes contact, your peripheral vision gives and all you can see is him.

‘What are you doing?’ you croak the same words back at him, hating the way your voice shakes.

Frankie smiles - really smiles at you, with no colour of the usual irony or sarcasm. Warmth settles into the creases in the corners of his eyes as he holds up the empty glass. ‘Just putting my glass away,’ he says coolly, an edge of cockiness at your tragically obvious reaction to him.

You feel your cheeks heat up as he does just that - the back of his hand bumping into your forearm as he moves, the breadth of him pinning you against the table. He doesn’t pull away, clearly basking in the way the tables have well and truly turned -

‘Hi! You must be Frankie, I’m Jan.’

Frankie squeezes his eyes shut in irritation at the voice behind him, nostrils flaring as he collects himself. A resigned smile tugs at his lips, and he tips forward, his words grazing your ear. ‘Catch you later, Shiv.’

You only let your knees buckle when he’s safely out of sight.

You’ve barely stepped back into the reception hall from a much needed bathroom break to clear your head when someone grabs you by the arm, tugging you onto the dancefloor.

‘Benny!’ You reprimand, stumbling over your feet. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Relax, Shiv. Frankie can survive on his own for a second.’

‘You’re just jealous that he’s hogging all the ladies’ attention.’

He scoffs, palms on your waist as he sways to the music. ‘He has an unfair advantage, ok? How do I compete with the bride’s ex?’

Clasping your hands around Benny’s neck, you catch Frankie’s eye over his shoulder. You wink at him casually, having somewhat recovered your bravado - it’s easier to pretend from a distance anyway. He rolls his eyes at you over Jan’s head, but he doesn’t look away, watching you with a hint of something you can’t quite make out.

Glancing up at Benny, you ask a tad bashfully, ‘I know we give Frankie a hard time about all this, but is he - ok?’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

You hesitate. ‘Well, we’re not exactly that kind of friends.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, the kind who sit around having heart-to-hearts and painting their nails.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What kind of friends are you, then?’ 

‘I don’t know, he probably doesn’t even count me as one,’ you admit. ‘He barely tolerates me on a good day.’

Benny shoots you a cryptic look, but before you can quiz him on it, he changes the subject abruptly. ‘Can I swing by the salon tomorrow morning? I have a promotional shoot at half past eleven.’

‘As long as you bring donuts and coffee.’

He twirls you around. ‘Deal.’

Frankie slinks out of the hotel, somehow managing to dodge both you and his mother on his way out, which he takes as a win.

It’s cold outside. He inhales deeply and feels it burn down his throat. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he watches his breath mist in front of his face, savouring the quiet.

‘Hey.’

His shoulders stiffen. He knows he should’ve been the bigger man. Should’ve sought her out first, to congratulate her.

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

When he turns around eventually, she smiles brightly at him, her engagement ring catching the lights.

Closing the space between them, he presses a kiss to her cheek. ‘Congratulations. You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she replies. ‘I’m glad you came. Your mum too - it was a long way to travel.’

His gaze falls to his shoes. ‘Yeah, well. You know she loves you.’

‘How are you?’ she presses on, always one for polite conversation. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

Frankie shrugs but doesn’t answer.

‘Just because it didn’t work between us doesn’t mean I want you to be happy.’

He nods slowly. ‘I appreciate that.’

She points behind her. ‘Well, I should go back inside.’

‘Of course. I’m happy for you,’ he says. And he means it.

The hotel doors swing open, and Frankie looks up at the sharp clack of heels on the concrete. You pause at the sight of them by the curb.

‘Are you leaving, Shiv?’ the bride laments as you walk over to give her a hug.

‘I am, I’m afraid, gotta open up shop early tomorrow,’ you pull back. ‘Come by the salon any time, my treat.’

Once the bride is out of earshot, you turn to Frankie, hands on hips. ‘Alright, no more shirking, Morales. Get your ass back in there, your mother is on my case again.’

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Oh no, I’m not going back in there without you.’

You sigh dramatically. ‘Am I the only one in this town who’s not scared of your mother?’

‘You should be,’ he snorts, then nods towards the parking lot. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

Taken aback by his offer, you hesitate. ‘Um - I thought you were the designated driver for the guys tonight.’

He brushes off your concerns with an easy shrug. ‘I’ll come back to get them after I drop you off.’ 

Typical Frankie - he walks off without even glancing back to see if you’re coming with him.

You smile to yourself and follow.

You must be drunker than you realised, because you’re staring. Again. For what must be the fifth time in the ten-minute drive.

It’s a lot of staring, even for you.

His jacket lies abandoned in the backseat, his tie jostled loose and the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened, sleeves bunched up to his elbows. You watch from the corner of your eye as his left hand grips the top of the steering wheel steady, fingers flexing every now and then on straight stretches of road.

As if you’re not already discreetly squeezing your thighs together, he’s also rubbing his right palm idly on his leg, the innocent rustle of fabric against skin getting you far too hot and bothered under the metaphorical collar. 

And then - your eyes trail higher - settling on the heavy bulge at the top of his spread thighs.

Fuck. You’re definitely drunk.

You mull silently to yourself that you actually prefer him in his beat-up jeans and threadbare t-shirts before catching yourself. You weren’t aware you had any preferences when it comes to Frankie Morales. And you have no business doing so.

Clearing your throat, you break the tense silence. Well, tense for you, anyway. He seems completely oblivious to your inner strife.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t win the bet.’

His lips quirk, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

‘I had another five girls lined up for you, you know.’

He scoffs. ‘No, thank you.’

You reach over to punch him on the arm playfully. ‘C’mon, you know you enjoyed the attention, Morales.’

‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’ he peers at you.

You make a face of disbelief. ‘If you hated it that much, why did you go along with it?’

Cruising into your street, his truck rolls to a smooth stop outside your salon. Frankie kills the ignition, then turns towards you. His answer is simple, and hits you right between the ribs. 

‘Because you wanted me to.’

You force a chuckle in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Since when did you care about what I wanted?’

He smooths his palm over the steering wheel and holds your gaze. ‘Sometime when I wasn’t looking.’

It would be simpler to pretend you didn’t understand what he means. To brush off this pull between you as a champagne-induced episode that you could sleep off. If you did, you could still show up at Tuesday nights drinks next week as if nothing has changed, and carry on.

It would be simpler. So you ask -

‘Do you want to come in for a nightcap?’

Frankie follows two steps behind you as you grapple with the keys on the doorstep. Once inside, the salon is quiet, and you strategically turn on the lights by the backwash, the semi-darkness making it more homey than it would have been if fully lit up. 

‘I would invite you upstairs -’ you pause and add hastily, ‘I don’t mean upstairs like, upstairs in that way - it’s just that my apartment is tiny, and the backwash is the closest thing I have to a couch. Are you okay with beer?’

‘Beer’s good, thanks,’ he answers. ‘Need a hand?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘Oh god, please no - it’s a disaster upstairs. I’ll be right back.’

The rickety stairs creak loudly under your heels, and once you let yourself into your studio, you fall back heavily on the door, taking a second to catch your breath.

You invited him inside. 

He said yes.

You leap into action, shoving all your dirty laundry into the already full hamper. You try not to think too hard about why you’re cleaning up, you just hope you’re not making too much of a ruckus while you’re at it - because you have a boy waiting for you downstairs. 

Francisco Morales, of all people.

Despite having been in each other’s lives since high school, you’re pretty sure you’ve never been alone with him. Not even once. There’s always a buffer with Pope on his side, Benny on yours, and Will in the middle. And while some find Frankie hard to read, you’ve always known exactly how to act around him. You have an unwritten playbook - you bait him with cheap jokes, more often than not joining forces with Benny to gang up on him. He rolls his eyes and snaps at you to shut up. It’s the longest running show in town.

But this? Alone, after his ex’s wedding, in your salon? You’re going off-script and off-piste. Dangerous enough on a good day; outright stupid after a night of drinking.

Frankie is quick to help when you reappear, armed with beer and a bag of ice, using the backwash sink as a makeshift cooler. Your shoes clatter onto the floor as you settle in the chair next to his. Hugging your knees, you hold out your bottle, which he clinks with his.

‘Did you have fun tonight?’ you ask, rather mundanely.

‘As much fun as one is expected to have at an ex’s wedding,’ he answers with a sardonic smile. Taking a sip of beer, he adds, ‘Gotta admit, you winding up my ma pretty much made up for it.’

‘That never gets old,’ you smirk. ‘Although, I promised your mother you’d leave with your future wife tonight - so that’s a bust.’

You startle when Frankie chokes on his beer, his eyes visibly watering as he thumps a fist on his chest. When you ask if he’s ok, he won’t meet your gaze, downing more of his beer.

Not thinking anything of it, you move on. ‘You know, she sent a bunch of customers my way when I first opened up the salon.’

His voice is still a bit tight from his coughing fit. ‘And I’m sure she’ll deny it till the day she dies.’

‘I can’t figure her out,’ you admit. ‘I can’t decide if she hates me or not.’

‘She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t understand you.’

You hum, unconvinced.

He nudges your knee with his. ‘She was really proud of you when you opened the salon, you know.’

You toss him a sidelong glance. ‘You talk to your mum about me?’

He’s ambiguous in his answer. ‘She asks after you sometimes.’

‘And how would you have anything to say to her? We’re not exactly bosom buddies.’

Frankie concedes with a wry smile, ‘Benny talks.’

‘Ha!’ you laugh, echoing his words from a few days ago back at him. ‘Benjamin fucking Miller.’

He goes quiet for a second, looking around your salon as if taking stock. ‘It’s pretty amazing that you’ve built all this.’

The unexpected compliment catches you blindsided. You reply diplomatically, ‘Ashton helps me loads.’

Frankie’s eyes widen in feigned surprise. ‘Are you going humble on me now? What have you done to Shiv?’

‘Shut up,’ you grumble good-naturedly, adding, ‘Ben tells me you’re doing really well yourself.’

‘Yeah. I got promoted at work last month, and I’m saving up for a house,’ he replies, a hint of pride in his voice. ‘Things are looking up.’

‘You’re actually acknowledging your achievements?’ you gasp in mock outrage. ‘What have you done to Francisco Morales?’

With a shrug, he leans forward to put his empty beer bottle in the sink, but he doesn’t sit back. Instead, he sways even closer, one palm landing on the leather of your seat next to your knee, eyes darting to your lips. His voice is deep as he rasps, ‘Can I kiss you?’

It would be so easy to say yes, but when have you ever made things easy for yourself? 

Instead, you blurt out, ‘Why?’

Frankie looks amused, like he expected this from you. Slowly, not wanting to spook you, he gently plucks the beer that you’ve barely drunk from your grasp.

‘Because all fucking night, while you were throwing woman after woman at me, I just wanted to have a drink with you.’

He leans in close. 

You stop breathing.

‘Because since Wednesday, every time I wash my hair, I get hard thinking of you touching me.’

Closer still.

Your lungs ache.

‘And because when you told me to go harder, deeper - I nearly lost my fucking mind.’

He’s hovering over you now, and you can almost taste the bitter sweetness of the beer on his breath. He smirks at you, but there’s only warmth and mischief in it when he teases, ‘Speechless for once?’

‘Shut up, Morales,’ you breathe and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

And then you’re kissing him. You’re kissing Frankie, and he’s kissing you back.

It’s messy, and disorientating, and you clumsily fumble over each other until he’s sitting up in one of the chairs, with your thighs on either side of his narrow hips as you straddle him. He’s licking up into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip, his hands gripping your sides almost painfully hard.

‘Is this really happening?’ you garble into his lips, ripping off his tie and undoing his shirt buttons as fast as your shaking fingers allow you to.

‘If you want it,’ he mumbles back, loath to pull back from you even for a second to shuck off his shirt. ‘If you want me.’

He kisses you wet and insistent, but he doesn’t push you, waiting for you to make up your mind. Reaching behind you, you tug on the tie that holds your jumpsuit together with a decisive pull, letting the fabric ripple down your bare front and pool around your waist.

Frankie bites his bottom lip so hard it goes white. ‘Fuck,’ he cusses, his grip on your hips twitching as he stares at your tits. ‘Can I, please -?’

‘Touch me, Francisco.’

Your poor second-hand Ikea bed that Benny helped set up when you moved in was not made for this.

This being the way Frankie effortlessly tosses you onto the mattress, his arms flexing with an easy strength that goes straight to your head, as you stare giddily up at him.

His hair - your handiwork - has been well and truly undone, errant strands falling over his eyes as he watches you, his broad frame looming over the foot of the bed. He pulls at his belt, which falls open with a careless clink, and he makes quick work of his now crumpled trousers, kicking them off impatiently.

Your head is swimming, yet somehow, you muster the strength to shuffle towards the edge of the bed, rearranging yourself to sit on your haunches, knees folded neatly beneath you. Boldly, you reach out to slide his dark boxers down his hips, and they fall around his knees and onto the floor. His cock springs free, half-hard and heavy, and Frankie swallows thickly as you tilt your face towards him.

‘I want to suck your cock.’

His eyes close as if he’s in pain, nostrils flaring at your words. Taking advantage of his distraction, you wrap one careful hand around his length, and he jerks violently at the first velvety slide of your palm against him. 

‘Fuck, Shiv -’ he chokes, eyes flying open at the contact, pupils completely blown. He protests weakly, ‘No, stop, need to get you off first -’

You shoot him a lopsided smile, pumping him slowly, your pulse racing at the way you feel him swell in your grasp. ‘Can we not argue this one time?’

You lean forward and, holding his gaze, flatten your tongue and lick your way up the underside of his cock. His breath stutters, one big hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his eyes wide and almost frantic as you press open-mouthed kisses on his sensitive flesh.

With an insolent grin, you tease, ‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you, Morales?’

He whimpers, and you know you have him.

His size is obvious by sight, but you really feel it in the pressure bearing down on the hinge of your jaw as you sink down on his cock, fighting to squeeze the girth of him into your mouth. The guttural groan from Frankie makes your pussy clench, and he tastes like he looks - clean, and all man. 

There’s no way you can take all of him, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. He’s hot under your touch, muscles pulled taut with tension that you can feel thrumming under his skin as you take your time with him. Focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat, you bob patiently up and down on him, slicking up his length with your spit, working him slightly deeper with every stroke - until you’re so full of him that you gag, hard.

Frankie is slack-jawed when you release him with an obscenely wet pop, spit trailing from your lips to the swollen tip of his cock, eyes wild as swipes his thumb across your puffy bottom lip. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ he declares, almost solemnly.

Slinking down his front, one hand securely around the base of his cock, you take him between your lips again, moaning at the salty taste of his precum, which makes him quake above you. As you swallow his length and pump your fist in tandem, your spit wetting your fingers, you peer up at him through your lashes - nothing could’ve prepared you for the utter wreckage that you find on his face. 

His lips are pulled back, baring his tidy teeth into a snarl as he very clearly struggles to hold himself back from fucking your mouth. You feel every bump and vein in his cock with each descent, the wet squelches filling in the gaps of his low grunts and moans. His grip in your hair stings as he starts panting in earnest above you, and somehow he gets even harder on your tongue, making it harder to breathe - 

‘Stop, stop,’ he wheezes suddenly, pulling back in a hasty retreat that has you whining at the sudden loss of him. ‘C’mere.’

He practically hauls you up against him, kissing you deeply, delving into your mouth to taste the bitterness of himself on your tongue. The world tilts on its axis when he tips you back onto the bed, and holding himself above you, he peels the jumpsuit off, leaving you in just your panties.

‘Gonna eat you out, baby,’ he drawls by your ear, trailing one palm up your body, which stops at your tits and squeezes. ‘Get you good and ready to take my big cock. How does that sound?’

‘Fuck, yes, Frankie, please,’ you beg.

There’s no shyness when he pushes your legs up and apart, and instead of taking your panties off, he hooks a finger under the thin fabric and pulls it to the side, his eyes darkening as he stares down at you.

‘So pretty,’ he praises you lowly. Holding your breath as he sinks onto his front, you breathe heavily in anticipation as his shoulders slot neatly underneath your legs. ‘Look at how wet you are for me. All this from sucking my cock?’

You nod frantically. ‘Frankie -’

Straight to the point as always, he ducks his dark head and drags the broad of his tongue over your clit - and you’re gone.

Admittedly, you have not had the best experiences with your exes. There was always too much gratuitous moaning and too little finesse, and afterwards, they always act like they deserve a medal for failing to get you off. But even if your past lovers had been more adequate in the field, you’re sure it still wouldn’t have prepared you for this. 

Frankie goes about it with a quiet focus that veers on reverential, the intensity in his dark eyes watching you makes your knees weak. He’s obviously picking up signs and reactions from you and adjusting his game plan accordingly, the pilot in him clearly in the driver’s seat. 

Not that he’s silent - far from it, you feel the reverberation in your core with every satisfied  hum deep in his chest, and the occasional, muttered fuck, so wet, want more in between licks and groans. But there’s nothing performative or showy about it, just a forthright competency that has you hurtling towards a toe-curling orgasm.

‘Frankie,’ you whine when you feel it about to hit. ‘Frankie Frankie Frankie -’

‘Eyes on me,’ he slurs against your sopping folds, and you listen - for once - watching him watch you fall apart on his tongue, thrashing in his hold as he grips you harder to keep you in place while he laps you up, until the burn of his patchy beard on your inner thighs makes you arch away from him from overstimulation.

Your pussy is still fluttering when he sinks two thick fingers into you, and he hisses at the way it clenches around him as he fucks you, leaving his digits slicked and slippery.

‘So tight, baby,’ he declares through gritted teeth, working you open for him. ‘Gonna feel so fucking good on my cock.’

You point towards the nightstand. ‘First drawer,’ you pant.

Needing no further prompting, Frankie yanks your panties off and flings the soaked scrap of fabric over his shoulder, then lunges at the cupboard where the condoms are. You scrape your nails over his thighs as he kneels over you, his usually steady hands visibly trembling as he tears into the wrapper and rolls the rubber over his heavy cock. He watches you with hooded eyes and settles between your legs, kissing you desperately as the swollen tip of him nudges at your entrance.

‘Ready?’ he asks, nose skimming yours sweetly.

You wind your arms around his neck, holding him close. ‘Fuck me, Frankie.’

The first push is a tight squeeze, and you can’t help the wince at the slight pinch as he sinks into you slowly. With a grunt of effort, he buries face into the slope of your neck and breathes, ‘Fuuuuck. You ok?’

‘Give me a second,’ you gasp, feeling your walls throb tightly around his length. ‘You’re so big, Frankie.’

He tangles his tongue with yours lazily in a deep kiss, before brushing his way down your throat and sucking on one nipple, making you cry out. He murmurs against your skin, ‘I know, but you’re doing so well for me, baby.’

Shifting your hips, Frankie groans when you slide him in deeper, the friction making you quiver beneath him. ‘Move, Frankie, please.’

He starts carefully, his strokes measured and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of him as he draws back then sinks back in, exhaling shakily. ‘You feel so fucking good.’

‘Harder,’ you demand when you feel your pussy relax around him. ‘Fuck me harder.’

‘Shit,’ he growls and snaps his hips, drawing a squeal from you as he hits somewhere deep inside. You wrap your legs around his waist, bracing yourself as he drives into you again and again and again, the bedframe hitting the wall with each thrust.

‘So good, Frankie,’ you plead in between hard pants. ‘Keep going. Don’t stop -’

Looking up at him, you admire the way his hair falls over his eyes, swaying with his movement. Absent-mindedly, your fingers wander into his curls and his reaction is instant - he cries out, arching into your touch, his hips faltering as he seems to lose his rhythm. ‘Oh fuck, baby, been thinking about those hands all fucking week, just wanted to feel you touch me again -’

As wrecked as you are on his cock, you smile at his confession and slide your hands languidly in his locks, dragging your nails on his scalp, your chest swelling with pride when you watch his face - dazed and completely wrecked - fucking you so hard that you’re sure the bed is about to break.

When he finds his voice again, it’s your real name that slips past his lips. ‘Gonna cum so hard, oh fuck - I’m gonna -’

Frankie’s thrusting frantically into you, eyes screwed shut until his hips stutter and then - after one perfect moment of stillness suspended in time - shudder after shudder thunder through his body, your name a broken record as he spills into the condom, his scratchy baritone moaning into your neck as the frenzied energy bleeds out of him.

His weight pins you to the bed as he catches his breath, and you play with his curls gently, basking in the rumbling purr in his chest as you run the strands between your fingers. Eventually, gathering himself, he rolls off you to let you breathe, tying the condom neatly and tossing it into the trash can.

For a second, Frankie lies on his side, watching you quietly. You watch him back, casting your gaze over the curls stuck to his sweaty forehead and his broad outline backlit by your nightstand light. Before self-consciousness can settle into the small distance between you, he cracks a smile and quips, ‘You did say I’d get laid even if it killed you.’

You laugh, which makes him grin. One strong arm reaches out to tuck you into his side, securely beneath the duvet. You hum at the tickle of his beard on the back of your neck and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

Right on the cusp of sleep, you sass, ‘Guess you’ll have to split the winnings with me after all.’

Any other day, you would’ve woken up if you heard someone on the stairwell. Hell, you’d hear if they were knocking on the salon door downstairs.

When you’re rudely shaken awake by frantic knocking on the studio door, you realise it’s because your hearing has been impaired by the side of a very warm body smooshed into your ear.

‘Shiv! Open up! I need to leave in fifteen minutes for my photoshoot!’

‘Shit,’ you croak, throat dry, limbs flailing as you try to sit up. ‘I forgot about Benny.’

‘Fuck him’, grouses Frankie, pulling you back into his arms, eyes still closed.

‘I can’t, I promised to help him with his hair. Fuck, do we need to hide you, or -’

‘The door’s thin, Shiv, I can hear him. And we put two and two together when you guys disappeared last night. We're pretty, but we ain't dumb!’

Frankie lets you go with a grumbled Benjamin fucking Miller under his breath, but he visibly perks up when you stumble out of bed naked.

You half-jokingly shield your boobs from his view. ‘Are you perving on me, Morales?’

He smirks, leaning back into the pillows with his hands folded behind his head while he eyes you appreciatively. It’s not fair how his triceps flex deliciously with the movement. ‘Why bother covering up? I’ve seen everything already.’

Trying - and failing - to shoot him a stern scowl, you pull on a robe and yank the door open, nearly careening backwards at the sight of Benny’s grinning face right in the doorway. 

‘Since when did you bang paying customers?’ he demands in lieu of a good morning.

You roll your eyes and usher him downstairs. ‘He’s not a paying customer. He’s on Pope’s tab.’

Benny flops into his usual chair, making it squeak, one eyebrow up as he does the air quotes. ‘Well, I guess we now know what kind of friends you guys are.’

‘Shut up, Miller,’ you gripe, but your mouth twists into a grin, giving you away as you set up.

‘Damn, that good, huh?’ he laughs. ‘I mean, Fish does have a rep, but I've never had insider confirmation.’

You point your styling scissors at him menacingly. ‘Shut up, or I won’t be held responsible if my hands slip by accident.’

Benny feeds you a sugar donut while you work quickly, trimming the ends before styling it, going for a tousled bed head look. You hear the water pipes run upstairs and the carpeted floors creak when Frankie gets up. Trying to play it cool, you only briefly glance up, catching a glimpse of him in the mirror as he makes his way down the stairs in his rumpled shirt and trousers, zipping up the fly when he reaches the bottom.

‘Morning, stud,’ sing-songs Benny, which earns him a slap on the head. ‘Ow! What the fuck, Shiv!’

Frankie loiters behind you for a second, scratching the back of his neck, before pulling you to one side. Not that it affords you much privacy anyway, with Benny wriggling his eyebrows impertinently at the two of you in the mirror.

‘I - uh -,’ he starts haltingly, one hand rubbing at the silver patch in his beard sheepishly. ‘I had a really good time last night.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ you smile.

His voice dipping lower, he asks, ‘Can I take you out to dinner sometime?’

Benny, being the shithead that he is, interjects loudly. ‘Hey lovebirds, I’m kind of on the clock here, if you don’t mind -’

‘She’ll get to you when she gets to you, Benjamin,’ snaps Frankie, one hand on his hip and the other pointing a stern finger at him.

Something about him being so assertive sends heat running up and down your spine. Stepping into his space - beaming when he doesn’t back away - you smooth a palm over the front of his shirt, unintentionally catching the rabbiting of his heart underneath.

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug nonchalantly. ‘Do you intend to come back as a cash-paying customer?’

His eyes flash with want, one hand closing around your hip and he leans down to let his heated words brush by your ear. ‘Not if I can keep paying in other ways.’

Reaching up, you run a hand through his curls, preening at the way he closes his eyes at your touch. ‘Alright then, take me to dinner, Francisco.’

Peering around you, Frankie barks, ‘Miller, I’m cashing in on our bet.’

‘Fuck’s sake. I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,’ he gripes, digging into his wallet reluctantly.

Swiping the bill from Benny, Frankie winks at you before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth - chaste, but charged with meaning. ‘Looks like you paid for your own dinner, Shiv.’

With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head and playfully push him towards the door. ‘Get outta here before I change my mind!’

‘Yeah right - as if you would now that you know what you’ll be missing.’

You’re not sure which makes your jaw drop - his cocksure declaration or the roguish confidence with which he walks out the door. In either case, Benny howls with laughter as you struggle to stay on your feet, your kneecaps having been rendered completely useless.

Just as Frankie climbs into his truck, Ashton whistles to a stop outside the salon on his wheels. Jaw dropping at the sight of the disheveled pilot nodding at him through the windscreen, he abandons his bike right on the curb and dashes into the salon, the door banging against the wall as he rushes in.

‘Excuse me - what the fuck did I just miss?’ he demands frantically.

You roll your eyes. ‘Calm down, Ashton, it’s not what it looks like -’

‘It’s exactly what it looks like,’ interrupts Benny as he starts singing. ‘Shiv and Frankie sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-’

He breaks off with a yelp when you stuff a donut into his mouth to shut him up, sugar flying everywhere as Ashton picks you up and spins you around, squealing like a banshee the entire time.

‘You guys are the fucking worst,’ you laugh, out of breath by the time Ashton lets you go.

Glancing outside, where Frankie is still parked watching the whole embarrassing episode, he gives you one last wink and an amused grin before he pulls away from the curb.

In an almost exact repeat of the scene from a few days ago, Ashton joins you at the window, and the two of you watch, shoulder to shoulder, as Frankie smoothly steers his truck out of your street.

‘He even drives sexy,’ sighs Ashton dreamily. Nudging you in the side, he adds slyly, ‘You’re in so much trouble, Shiv.’

You grin. You know you are - and luckily, it’s not a spot of bother that you’ll be in a hurry getting out of anytime soon.

Notes: I'm so excited to have finally completed this little two-shot. The two of them have been hanging out in my head all these months, it feels amazing to finally yeet this part into the world! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you had as much fun as I did with these two 🥰 Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ❤️

Now that I've got you here, if you want more of Shiv, I wrote some silly little drabbles of her hair appointments with our handsome Pedro boys for a recent milestone celebration. There are also some fun thoughts that came out of an impromptu Grays sleepover we had last week 🤍

I'm sure we'll see more of Shiv and Frankie somewhere down the line. For now, thank you again, I love you all so much ❤️

[kirsteng42]

This was awesome, I love Shiv and Frankie so, so much!!!! Cannot wait to see what you have in store for us & them!

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Thank you lovely, I'm so happy that you enjoyed them! This is it for the twoshot, but I'm sure they'll come knocking again at some point ❤️

[enam3l]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMYHUKpBj/

Three words: Dad! Eddie Munson

Ok well I'm obsessed? I was literally just gonna reply like I love this but no I got too carried away and produced one of the most random and bizarre fics I've ever done. I'm sleep deprived okay!

the munson sandwich (rockstar eddie x reader)

/ hella fluff / taglist and requests open

you can see all rockstar eddie x reader stories and lore at #enam3ls rockstar eddie or the masterlist! and check out my new series love, lola

Should kids sleep in their parents bed? It was always going to be a bone of contention. Eddie was to the core, a clinger, he wanted to be in physical contact with you constantly. So you knew from the get go it would be no better (if not worse) with your children. After reading all the parenting books your brain could handle before imploding, you decided you didn't have a strong opinion either way on whether kids slept with you or not. 

However, once you had Sloane, both of you were so besotted, it wasn't even a question. As if meant to be, she fitted perfectly between you and Eddie in bed. Every night you would all get cosy and form the Sloane Sandwich. A perfect recipe with a slice of mom and dad and in between was the filling of Sloaney Bologna (a nickname coined by Eddie that neither you or your daughter were too thrilled about). Both of you were infatuated with the perfect little cherub you made together and just wanted to be near her always. Sloane could happily snuggle against her dad with you being big spoon and still able to keep your arm over her and Eddie's torso. It was ideal. 

Then Iris came along aka Eddie's clone and shadow. Naturally, she inherited her dad's clinginess as well as everything else. Unlike Sloane, who just slept happily in the middle enjoying both parents. Iris insisted on clinging to Eddie like a tiny curly headed spider monkey. Now it was a slice of you, Sloaney Bologna and then Iris insisted on being so close to Eddie, she was more like a condiment smeared on top of him rather than an extra filling. For the first time in your relationship, your sleeping position of having your arm draped around Eddie's stomach was no longer possible. Instead he just had a little Iris laying right on top, a mini Munson stack. But, you couldn't be angry, not when they looked so cute. Little duplicates of each other who'd become inseparable. 

It worked out that you had two years between each daughter. So by time you were pregnant with Maeve, the bed was full with four year old Sloane and two year old Iris, plus you and Eddie. Realising there's quite a difference between that and just a baby and a two year old in the bed. Iris was now less of a little mini Munson stack on top of Eddie but rather a lump. All of that mixed with your baby bump, meant it was time to have the talk with Eddie. 

'Baby, we can't all fit in the same bed anymore,' you broke it to him. 

He gasped like you had suggested something outrageously cruel, as if you now wanted your kids to sleep in cages. 

'But we're a Munson sandwich?!' He huffed. 

'Well, you've overfilled the sandwich,' you raised a finger at him, stopping him from sniggering at the innuendo. 'I am the top piece of bread that can no longer balance on top! Between you, your clinger, Sloaney and now the bump, your beloved wife and carrier of your children is practically falling out of bed.'

Over the years, you had learnt using carrying his children was a sure fire way to win with Eddie. He groaned like a teenager, knowing you'd used the secret weapon. 

'Fiiiine. We'll get a bigger mattress, sweetheart!'

Your jaw dropped. 

'Eddie! That is not what I was suggesting!'

He held his hand up in protest. 

'Well, sweets, you should've known better than to have ever let me have my way and have the girls in the bed. We're a bed sharing family now. Deal with it. We shall be getting a bigger mattress!'

By the end of the week you were the proud owner of a mattress that seemed to be the size of every other one you've owned, stitched together. Yet, Eddie would soon learn it would not be enough. Nothing was a match for the terror of Maeve Munson. 

'I don't know how, but I know you've taught her to do this,' he accused, outraged that a baby kicked him so hard he had a black eye. 

After you dealt with Iris clinging to your husband for the last two years, he was now getting a taste of his own medicine. Although, Maeve was far more ruthless than her sister, even as a newborn. 

'You were in her way,' you smirked, 'she thought you were trying to steal her Mommy.' 

'You were mine first,' Eddie grumbled from the other side of the bed, sore eye and all. 

Now Sloane was six, she wasn't a permanent feature in the bed but her absence did not create more space. Maeve simply turned it into a buffering zone. If her dad were to encroach on the space, little limbs would kick ferociously to keep him at bay. 

One night you had even been awoken by a wail from Eddie. 

'AHhh you better be sure that you didn't want anymore kids, Y/N because Cerberus Munson has just crushed all hope of it!!'

To go with his now sore balls, he got a hard shove from yourself. 

'Cerberus Munson? Absolutely not. That nickname is vetoed. Far worse than Sloaney Bologna. If Maeve is Cerberus, that means I'm hell!!'

He knew he'd stitched himself up with that one so sulked in silence the rest of the night; bringing you your favourite breakfast in the morning. 

As you sat on your bed, eating your apology breakfast, alongside a black eyed and tender balled, Eddie, you strategised. Despite how funny it was, there was no denying your precious, protective Maeve was a health hazard. It would be a real shame to injure him further considering you'd married a man with such a pretty face and balls. So, a new arrangement was made. No longer were you and Eddie the slices of bread in the Munson Sandwich. It now went a slice of Iris, a filling of dad, a filling of mom and then a slice of Maeve. It meant for the first time in four years, you and Eddie could actually fall asleep on each other like you had your whole relationship. Then, on the occasion Sloane joined, she could slip perfectly in between you just as she had when she first arrived. 

Even as your children grew older, the Munson Sandwich was still beloved. On sad days or chilly nights, the Sandwich would reassemble. It didn't matter if they were adults with their own children, Eddie and you were going to cuddle your girls like they were still your little babies. 

---

my taglist angels: @whoahoney@lukewearingbeanies @esme-viridian @elysian-chaos @munsonology@mseddiemunson @kreepja @midnightsgetawaycar @therosietoesy @littlepotatobeansworld

@josephquinncore

[munsonology]

I slept in my parents bed until I kicked somebody like way too hard 😭 parent beds are just so comfy

Eddie realizing he has to let the girls go to their own beds is the first time he has to separate from them. Then school, then friends and so on. Ugh 😭 i love him so much I’ll give him another idc

[ediewentmissing]

reminder to eddie fanfic writers that THIS is basically what the interior of his van looks like

nice and cozy ❤️

[hllfireclb]

I wanna take a nap in there tbh

[queenimmadolla]

hi!! i’m not so sure if you’re still doing pennyverse or not, but you should do one where she’s a teenager doing teenager things! whatever you’d like as the plot :) i love your writing so much

This one hurt ngl, this is how i know I’m not one for kids cause having penny grow up was PAINFUL. Hope you enjoy it, though!

(Dad!Eddie Munson/Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader)

more dad!eddie and penny adventures can be found here.

summary: Your daughter Penny is now a teenager >:| and Eddie is not happy about it. warnings: mentions of recreational drug usage, lil bit of fatherly hurt a/n: the UNBELIEVABLY HOT edit of Eddie was crafted by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple, whose edits have me in a chokehold. perfect depiction of how I see older!eddie in the penny 'verse.

“Hey, mom?”

  “Hmn?” You responded, halting the task of organizing everything for the night ahead.

  “I wanted to ask you something,” Penny stated, nervously fidgeting with her fingers as she approached the kitchen island.

  Her younger brother snickered, not bothering to glance up from his Game Boy—though he fully intended on listening to this play out—as she glared at him.

  You smirked, finger tapping against the box of popcorn you’d been about to open. It was clear from both of their mannerisms, what she wanted to ask would probably garner a no from you. You decided to humor her anyway.

  “Okay,” you nodded, gesturing for her to go on.

  She huffed, fingers reaching up to twirl around one of her curls. In the last couple of years, Penny had obviously grown significantly. She was still a little shorter than you—probably wouldn’t end up ever being taller than you—and while bits of Eddie obviously poked through her features (his eyes, his mouth and expressions), she was looking more and more like you every day. At one point, it had reached an uncanny degree and creeped you out a little. 

  Despite her physical alterations, her personality stayed the same. A big daddy’s girl, with her attitude and mischievous ways matching her father’s, it being the reason why you told her no so often.

  “Can I hang out with Maria and Shanti tonight? There’s this party and─” 

  “Ah, stop right there,” you interrupted, having heard enough to know where this was going. Over the years, the party scene had also changed. Especially since you no longer lived in Hawkins. After Corroded Coffin got picked up 10 years ago, Eddie was always traveling, on tour to open for one famous band or another. Two years after, they’d broken through mainstream heavy metal and shot to the top of the charts, starting their first official tour of their own.

  It had proved surprisingly difficult, being the wife of a rockstar who was always coming and going for work but Eddie hadn’t been about to lose you, always making sure his family came first. Eventually, it just made sense to make the move to Los Angeles—though you only agreed on the basis you’d be moving to one of the more quiet regions, away from all the millionaire mansions. While your home was definitely more than anything you could have dreamed up, it was still rather humble compared to the homes in West Hollywood; exactly what you and Eddie wanted.

  It was still LA, though, and you were wary of the parties thrown in the area. The drug scene here was a whole other ballpark. Keeping Penny away from alcohol and drugs was something you knew, realistically, you wouldn’t be able to do. Encourage her not to drink and do drugs? Sure, and you did. Actively and repeatedly. But you’d been smoking weed at her age and drinking, so you couldn’t be a hypocrite. And you didn’t want to ruin your relationship by being the domineering parent. If she was going to do these things (and, as a parent, you really hoped she wouldn’t) you wanted her to trust you, and know she could come to you about these things rather than having to sleep off a high at a strange home or wait out the alcohol until she was sober enough to see you like you had to do when you were a teenager. 

  Despite your hopes and wishes, Penny was going to be a teenager—whether you liked it or not—but above all, you wanted her to be safe.

  “You know why I don’t like these parties─”

  “Mom!” She groaned, frowning at the way this conversation was going. “You’ve got to trust me, I’m not gonna do anything. I just want to have fun with my friends. Please?”

  Dammit. She used the trust card.

  You sighed, actually mulling it over. You didn’t like it. You really didn’t like it. But you remembered asking your mom something similar once and being denied. Tired of being refused the right to be a teenager despite never being trouble for your parents, you’d snuck out that night and, ironically, considering said track record, almost got in trouble. The cops had gotten involved with the party, you hadn’t been able to drive so you ended up having to walk across town in the middle of the night to make it home.

  You didn’t want her sneaking out. You were about to cave, when suddenly you remembered exactly what you were preparing for when she interrupted you and guilt began to set in.

  “You can go─”

  “YES!”

  “—if you get your dad’s permission.”

  Penny instantly deflated, slumping down onto the island countertop. “Actually, I was hoping you’d talk to him for me.”

  You and Wayne locked eyes and snorted. 

  “Baby, I would do anything for you, but not that. Not today.”

  “What’s not today?” Eddie asked as he leaned against the doorway, scratching at the short hairs of his beard.

  “Yeah, what’s not today?” Came a little voice from his side. Maple was clinging to her daddy’s leg, her little blanket clutched in her free arm.

  Eddie reached down to stroke a palm over her buzzed head (Maple liked to watch King of the Hill with him and when she saw Luanne with no hair, she’d bugged and bugged and bugged until you finally caved and she hadn’t wanted to grow it out since), raising an eyebrow as he waited to be filled in. You and Wayne exchanged glances before you went back to pulling out snacks and he focused back on the game in his hand.

  Penny huffed again before facing her father and tried not to wince, “Dad, I wanted to hang out with my friends tonight.”

  Eddie blinked.

  “But it’s Sunday.”

  “Yeah, we’re on winter break, remember?”

  Oh, he remembered but that wasn’t what he was referring to. “Baby, it’s Sunday. New episode of The Simpsons.”

  It might have been trivial to others, but Eddie enjoyed every single second he got to spend with his family. After Corroded Coffin’s latest tour ended in the fall, Eddie had made sure his schedule was cleared for the rest of the year—save for playing two shows with Metallica, you’d threatened him if he said no to the opportunity of playing with his all time favorite band—for family time. This was a vital piece of it for him. Ever since it started airing, before Corroded Coffin was ever known and when Penny was still in diapers, it became routine to sit down and watch the show together. 

  Penny would always keep track of the time, and five minutes before it was due to start, she’d be tugging him by the hand to the couch and climbing in his lap. You’d snuggle up to his side, and when you’d had Wayne, he’d get comfy in your lap. Whenever Eddie was home from tour, it was the same thing; something that kept him sane and happy.

  And now Penny basically wanted to kill him. Hadn’t growing up been enough for her? She wanted to deprive him of his bonding time, too? 

  “I know,” came her hesitant reply as she lifted her shoulders.

  His heart was breaking. Eddie’s gaze darted from her to you and back. 

  “Did your mom say it was okay?” He knew how you felt about her going out, hopefully you’d already said no and this was one of those ‘let me ask the other parent things’.

  “Yeah.” Penny nodded, glancing over her shoulder at your back as you pretended to not hear every single word. It was like you and Eddie shared a heart, and you could very much feel his pain.

  Eddie stared at her for a couple of moments, stared right into those big beautiful brown eyes of hers, his tongue pressing against his canine tooth. 

  He knows he’s supposed to see Penny, his 15 year old daughter, but he just sees his baby girl; his tiny little toddler in her overalls with her untamable curls going in every direction and remnants of a sticky treat smeared over fat-filled baby cheeks, who always wanted to be around him, be with him. That’s who he sees staring back up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

  But that’s not her anymore, is it? 

  Eddie blinked, glancing away from her as he cleared his throat and tried to will the moisture from his eyes away even though he knew he’d get high and cry over this later. 

  “Uh, yeah. Sure, baby. You go have fun.”

  “Thank you, daddy!” Penny rushed forward, mindful of Maple as she hugged Eddie. He held onto her for longer than was necessary but she had a feeling this was hard for him, and she still loved it when he held her so she let him.

  Then she’d almost bound out of the kitchen before she whirled around on her heels and ran to hug you from behind, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

  “Curfew.” You reminded her and she nodded in agreement, not willing to push her luck and moved onto her next target. 

  Penny sunk her hand into Wayne’s curls, shaking his head and laughing as she bobbed away in time to escape his swipe. 

  “Later, knucklehead.”

  “Don’t touch me, beyotch.” 

  “WAYNE!” You and Eddie shouted while Penny just laughed and made a run for the front door before you and Eddie could change your minds.

  “What? I say it to her all the time.” He shrugged and got off the island stool, making his way to the living room so you couldn’t yell at him. Wayne had grown over the years, too. 

  While he had started off looking like an exact replica of Penny, his features had changed a bit. He still resembled you quite a bit but he had his dad’s nose, eyes, chin and dimple, making the similarities nearly uncanny. Unlike his dad (though Eddie had recently cut his mane), Wayne liked to keep his hair short but was alike to Penny as he also had his dad’s personality and attitude, and then some. 

  Wayne had been diagnosed with autism in the past—had nothing to do with the circumstances of his birth—and while you’d been briefly concerned about how to raise him, it was clear he’d be just fine in life, he really only interacted with the world differently than others, lacked a filter but he was still a sweetheart. To anyone except his sisters, anyways but it was always playful. On multiple occasions you’d caught them all conked out together in the living room or each other's rooms. 

  Maple detached herself from Eddie to follow him and you listened to their commentary.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Oh my god, Maple.”

  “Is it because you’re autistic?”

  “No, it’s not because—maybe it is, I don’t know, just—shush.”

  You rolled your eyes and abandoned your task again in favor of comforting Eddie. He sagged into you as your arms curled around his waist.

  “Honey, I’m gonna need a bowl to survive tonight.”

  “I’ll pack you one,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to his pouty lips. “I know that must have been very hard for you.”

  “The other two are gonna finish me off if they try to grow up.”

  Almost an hour and a half later, in the midst of the episode, you got up to get a refill of popcorn and encountered Penny as she walked through the front door.

  You hadn’t been expecting her back for at least another two hours. 

  “Hey, baby.” You approached her with a gentle tone, mom senses tingling. Penny looked nervous.

  You were about to ask her what was wrong when she blurted out, “I got high, mom.”

  Okay, you hadn’t been expecting that so you tried to school your shock. “Oh.”

  “They were passing around a bong and I took a hit and I just wanted to come home.”

  “Okay.” You could tell it was her first experience with it, thank fuck, and while you weren’t pleased she’d done it, you were happy she’d come back home when she was obviously freaking out and where she’d be able to sober up in a safe setting. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get into your pajamas? The episode is still going on, you can curl up on the couch with us if you want.”

  She looked relieved and nodded before running upstairs to her room. 

  By the time you’d made more popcorn and returned to the den, Penny was back downstairs, in her PJs, and curled into Eddie’s free side, the side she’d always occupied. While Eddie had gotten over the majority of his blues by the time The Simpsons started, you could tell he was still a little sad. 

  Now, there wasn’t a trace of the emotion on his face, he looked perfectly content and happy as he beckoned you over to his other side, your spot and you went willingly. 

  Eddie pressed a kiss to your head as you resettled yourself, and relaxed further into the comfortable couch. The family of yellow cartoon characters held his attention for just a moment before his eyes did one last sweep.

  Despite the open recliner and their bickering, Wayne and Maple—heads barely visible with all the blankets they were hogging—shared the love seat.

  Penny looked relaxed—she seemed anxious when she’d come in to the den to join them and surprised the fuck out of Eddie—eyelids drooping as she cuddled right up to him.

  Then his eyes fell on you. The lights from the television danced over your face, the perfect picture of peace as you rested your head on his shoulder, hand over his chest. Eddie wanted to kiss you so bad. 

  You always said that your shared life was Eddie’s doing but he knew the truth. You’d given him all of this. 

  For some strange reason, one he was very thankful for, you wanted him out of everyone in Hawkins. You’d married him, a loser who took three fucking years to graduate high school. You’d given him one child, then another and still encouraged him to pursue his dreams. He honestly hadn’t expected to play anywhere but in state. And when his band blew up, you still stayed by his side and gave him another baby. It wasn’t easy, he remembers the fights, the tears and every single trial thrown your way but the two of you had made it out on top with your family intact and stronger than ever.

  Homer’s yelp of pain followed by his family’s laughter brought Eddie out of his contemplation and he joined in.

  Yeah, this was the life. 

[hllfireclb]

This is seriously so unbelievable perfect!! I‘m not a big fan of fluff dad!eddie stories but THIS is perfect!!!

[unsaideddie-archive]

joseph quinn gifs - 19/?

[newlips-deactivated20230810]

eddie loves it when you ride his thigh. laying back, smoking a joint, just watching his girl writhe and moan and use him like he's her favorite toy? bliss.

mhm: 18+, thigh riding, masturbation

the brown leaf hisses as eddie takes a toke of his blunt; fat and fresh. his eyes are hooded, more than yours because you haven’t had nearly as many hits as he has. not since you straddled his thigh.

you’d climbed into his lap to enjoy the blunt together. it’s both your favorite way to unwind after a long day, after dinner. it’s bonding, sensual. sometimes you chat as you share it, sometimes you just enjoy each other: touch a little, kiss a little, tease a little, he gives you shotties and you blow them back in his face.

tonight you’d climbed into his lap in just your underwear, they’re high rise, half an inch from covering your bellybutton, they’re soft and your favorite to sleep in. the plan was to smoke on the couch before bed, but sometimes the touching turns to grabbing and the kissing turns to sucking. after a few hits you were no longer straddling his lap, but just his thigh, unconsciously searching for friction — and as hard as eddie is just from watching you gradually work yourself up into desperation, he’s more than content to watch you take what he gives you — and it’s not his cock tonight.

your panties are soaked through, leaving a trail of sticky arousal on eddie’s bare thigh where you grind against him. you bare down, pressing forward to relieve some of the throbbing in your clit, it stokes your fire — you moan his name and eddie groans in return while he exhales a plume of tangy smoke, irises a sliver beneath his dark lashes.

“that feels good, baby?”

you’re frowning but you nod yes, hands gripping down on his waist when he leans back against a folded arm. he slots the blunt between his wet lips, calloused fingertips pressing under your chin to tilt your head back so he can look into your watery eyes when he speaks; and he does so around the burning blunt.

you’re moving desperately now, rocking your hips faster and faster, close to panting when he reaches down to touch his cock over his boxers to relieve some pressure himself. saliva pools under your tongue, mouth watering at the thought you might get to see it, your eyes fixed on his ringed hand wherever it travels.

he knows you want to see it. he knows you want to ride it. he’s gonna give you one.

“i know,” he says faux sympathetically, voice low and raspy. “you want my cock,” he states.

“yes,” you whine.

eddie pushes down the band of his boxer briefs until his cock springs free and up, a heavy thud against his stomach that makes you vibrate.

“but you’re doin’ so good, baby,” he praises as he grasps himself for a quick stroke, precum bubbling out and dripping down over his thumb. “you’re makin’ a fuckin’ mess. using me like this— shit.”

and as if on cue, you feel arousal flow down from your aching pussy, pushing through your folds until your feel your panties dampen even more. the more you move, the closer you get. the heated coil in your belly burning red hot.

eddie’s hand leaves his cock so he can ash his blunt.

“ohhh— mmm,” you squeal, your fingernails breaking into his skin. the hair on his thigh scrapes deliciously on the inside of yours. the satisfied smirk on his face is enough to drive your wilder; eager to please, eager to cum. your tits bounce in time.

“you like fucking my thigh, huh? it’s a little pathetic, baby, don’t you think?” he coos, and you pout. he pouts back, “you know i love when you’re pathetic. couldn’t even wait to finish the blunt,” he mentions. the corner of his mouth quirks up and he looks so smug, so hot it makes you whine. hips writhing greedily, chasing the tingling warmth that’s ready to erupt.

“say it.”

“eddie— mmmplease,” you whine and eddie bucks his thigh up into you in retaliation, sharp pleasure courses up your spine. “i’m pathetic!” you cry, it’s a mortifying sound that’s amplified by your coil snapping as you rub your pussy against him in eager circles. “christ, eddie— fuck!”

eddie watches as you slow down, face hot and glowing with a sheen of sweat. he chuckles when you can’t even tear your eyes from where his cock lays in wait.

he’s not quick enough to stop you, not that he wants to. you move in one swift motion, your right leg stretching out over his other thigh, taking him in your hand to sink down on his pulsing cock until you’re stuffed and stretched with relief.

(last line of defense against the read more)

[joejoequinnquinn]

Bump In The Night

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS 🔞 Just some smutty thoughts about boyfriend Eddie sneaking into your parents house to surprise you and take you up against your bedroom door… 🙃

•••

It’s not that your parents don’t like Eddie, they actually do, much to your surprise.

They’re just a little old fashioned when it comes to your boyfriend staying over. Despite the fact you’re both adults, it’s still their house and their rules. Which means absolutely no sexy sleepovers for the foreseeable future. Unless Wayne works a double shift, or you’re house sitting for Steve…

…or Eddie sneaks his way into your room long after you think he’s left.

…

There’s a loud, disapproving tut as you wander into your room after showering before bed. It takes a second to register the sound after clicking your door closed.

You spin, a little yelp of surprise flying from your throat at the sight of Eddie perched on the end of your bed.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie! What the fuck?”

You whisper shout, grip on your towel tightening as he throws the pillow he’s holding behind his head, standing to stalk towards you.

“Really shouldn’t leave your bedroom window open at night, princess” He admonishes, arms caging you in against the inside of your door “anyone could just…waltz right in.”

“You’re n-not supposed to be here…” You mumble half-heartedly, too distracted by the sensation of his clothed body pressing against your barely covered one to actually care.

Eddie’s warm lips tickle the shell of your ear.

“Then tell me to go, angel.” He whispers a challenge, two fingers slowly tracing up your inner thigh and under your towel to press lightly on your clit.

You whine pathetically, head dropping back against the door with a soft thud.

“That’s what I thought…” His mouth attaches to the exposed column of your throat and you lean eagerly into the contact.

“But you left h-hours ago. You came back just for me?”

“Mhmm…” you feel him hum against your skin “…couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you on the drive home. You and that fucking sinful skirt you wore at dinner. Baiting me all night like a goddamn tease, huh?”

A giggle tumbles from your lips. All sweetness and light, the sound that makes his dick throb. Eddie straightens up, pupils blown wide as he looks down and holds your gaze. Trailing a finger along your jawline, he watches your teeth bite the pink flesh of your lower lip. Ringed hands move to tug your towel effortlessly to the floor. It lands at your feet, heat shooting in sparks through your body as you see his eyes slowly roam your naked form, sucking in a hiss of air.

“Shit, baby, you have no idea what you do to me.”

“Actually,” your palm presses firm against the straining bulge of his jeans “I think I have a pretty good understanding…”

Eddie grunts quietly, leaning in to capture your mouth, tongue licking eagerly across your bottom lip until you deepen the kiss with a hushed moan. Your fingers grip the hem of his Hellfire shirt, silently urging him to take it off. He gets the hint and it joins your towel on the ground.

Chest heaving, pressing hardened nipples into his warm skin, Eddie swipes a thumb along your kiss swollen mouth with an appreciative hum. You catch him off guard by letting your jaw go slack, sucking his thumb seductively between your lips, tongue circling the pad until you feel his fierce grip pinch against your waist and release him with a devilish grin.

“Oh you are playing a dangerous game, sweetheart…”

“I have no idea what you mean, Eds…” the feigned innocence has him tilting his head at you, cocky smirk tugging at his lips.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish, princess.”

Your eyebrow quirks in defiance, and he fucking loves it when you sass him. Loves it even more when he gets to teach you a lesson. Eddie’s tongue clicks against his teeth, shaking his head and sending his curls wayward as he drops to his knees and hoists one of your thighs up and over his shoulder.

You swallow hard, failing to contain a whimper.

“I warned you…” is all he says before pinning you to the door with hands gripped harshly into the flesh of your ass, spreading you open before him.

Knees nearly buckle as his mouth lands hotly between your legs, licking his way up you, over you, into you…

You grapple for something to anchor yourself to but there’s nothing except the smooth wood of the door, so you bury your hands in his loose hair and hope for the best.

His turn to moan when your nails rake against his scalp, muffled as the vibrations rumble directly into your core.

“Jesus CHRIST!” You yelp, already pulsing as his tongue circles you mercilessly.

“Shhh, they’ll hear you…” Words land warm and damp as he drags his bottom lip lazily across your skin, mouthing at your inner thigh; wanting to taste every inch of your body.

“Don’t care.” you murmur, fingers tangling deeper in his curls, tugging hard enough to force a groan from his throat.

“Fuck, I should do this more often…” Eddie chuckles softly, lips latching themselves over your clit as he sucks gently, rhythmically, feeling you tremble uncontrollably as you come hard against his face with a strangled whine.

Pulling him to his feet, you kiss him desperately, tongue sliding past his lips and stealing the taste of yourself from his mouth, fingers blindly fumbling with the buttons of his jeans until you huff in exasperation. Eddie feels the warm air on his face and chuckles lowly, kissing tenderly at the corners of your mouth before deftly undoing himself with one hand, kicking his way out of the tight black denim.

“Patience is a virtue, Princess…”

“Fuck patience” you gasp, mouth attaching to that spot below his ear that has his eyes rolling in his head “you have precisely three seconds to put your cock inside me, Munson.”

“My girl feeling needy, huh?” He growls, dick pressing teasingly between your slick folds. A sound catches at the back of your throat and he grins, satisfied at the way he riles you up so easily. His hips roll slowly just the once, a taunting swipe of pressure against your swollen clit until you grasp him firmly at the base and all but push him inside yourself.

You’re so turned on already, he slides in with little resistance until his balls are pressed up flush against your centre. A silent gasp as your body adjusts to his size. The stretch never gets less surprising.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Eddie curses, pausing to catch his breath, hands grabbing yours, linking fingers and pressing them hard to the door either side of your head. He pins you there, your body pushed against the wood by his weight, breathing ragged on your cheek as he runs his tongue along your jaw.

You clench around him with a whimper, enjoying the way he whines into your open mouth. He likes to act all domineering, and you love when he takes control, but the truth of the matter is Eddie is putty in your hands the minute he sees you naked, and you both know it.

His hips pull back and slam hard into you, a thud against the door as his body is thrust into yours at the momentum. You suck his bottom lip between your teeth, hands landing encouragingly on his ass cheeks as he does it again, dick pressing deliciously against your sweet spot. Another soft thump to the door. A pornographic moan erupts before you have a chance to stop it.

“Christ, baby, you gotta be quiet!” He hisses, forcing the noise back down your throat with his tongue hot and heavy in your mouth.

You try to hold the noise in, you really do. But he feels so good, and you just can’t help it. Every time he hits that spot inside just right, you feel like you’re going to explode.

“Fuck, EDDIE!”

His hand lands forcefully over your mouth, clamping your lips shut as you moan deeply into his palm. Forehead clammy as it rests against yours, Eddie bites his own lip harshly between his teeth as his pace picks up. Thrusts grow erratic, thighs beginning to shake as he feels you flutter and pulse around him. Your stifled scream when you orgasm around his cock serves only to make him come harder and faster than he has in a very long time, final desperate thrusts rattling your door in its frame.

The pair of you are still gasping to catch your breath when there’s a creak on the landing outside your bedroom. Eddie reaches down to silently turn the lock of your door just as a loud knock comes from the other side. You freeze, looking at each other in wide eyed panic.

“You okay in there, Y/N?”

It’s your Dad.

Shit.

“Uh. Yeah…” you cringe “all good, why?”

“Thought I heard some banging around. Sounded like you were yelling?

Eddie bites back a laugh and does wild Incy Wincy Spider hand gestures making you shove the heel of your hand hard into your mouth to stifle a giggle.

“It was just a spider…” you grimace. You’ve always been a terrible liar “all good now. Back outside where he belongs.”

“Your mother warned you about leaving that window ajar.” Your Dad tuts “Just an open invitation for all sorts of critters to barge right in unannounced!”

Eddie snorts. You swat him playfully on the chest, stomach jerking with suppressed laughter, sending little aftershocks rippling through your body while he’s still half hard inside you…

•••

•••

Hope you like! Like and reblogs will make me smile so wide…🥰🙏🏻

[babybluebex]

how do you think baby anthony would react to seeing joe in character as eddie??? like his wife would obviously think it’s really hot but little baby anthony is in her arms just staring at him😂🥺

ok i got like several requests for this concept and i just HAD to write it bc it's so cute (also hella short whoops sorry :/)

You spotted him before he saw you. Of course, Joe was working and wasn’t really paying attention to who came and went from the outdoor set— if you knew anything about film sets, people were always coming and going. The only thing that made you special was the baby on your hip. Anthony was a “wee lad”, as his namesake called him, only 13 months old, small with thin blond hair and giant brown eyes. He had just started walking on his own, babbling away nonsense every day, and you loved having a baby around. The part that sucked was that Joe had been called from home to film Stranger Things. 

He hated leaving you two, but you had convinced him to do it. He had auditioned back in 2019, before you even knew you were pregnant, and, by the time Anthony came around, he had already been offered the role of Eddie. Joe wanted to pull out of the project when you found out you were pregnant, mere days after the Duffer brothers had offered him the role and he had accepted, but you told him absolutely not. “This is the biggest thing you’ve ever done,” you told him. “You can’t sacrifice your career for me.” 

And now, you had flown from London to Atlanta with a baby in order to visit Joe. You told him that you were coming, but you had fudged the truth a bit, and told him that you weren’t coming for another week. Just that morning, as you were about to leave for the airport, Joe Facetimed you and blew raspberries at Anthony. Joe had lost a lot of weight to play Eddie and the look of his thin cheeks was too different for you, and you had no idea what his costume entailed, so you had no idea what to expect when you got on set. 

You didn’t expect the long dark curls that ran down his back. You didn’t expect the ripped jeans and trainers and leather jacket and denim vest. You didn’t expect the shirt he wore, emblazoned with a logo for the Hellfire Club. He looked so different, yet exactly the same, and you bit your lip as the director yelled cut. 

You watched Joe fall out of character, and his eyes snapped to you in an instant. “Darling!” he called, and he started to make his way to you. You saw his scene partner (Joe Keery, whom you had never met, wearing a yellow sweater) give you a confused look, but you focused on Joe as he came to you, smiling wildly. He looked gorgeous, but you did take a step backwards as he approached you out of instinct. It was your Joe, but he wasn’t your Joe. It was Eddie. 

“Oh my God!” Joe grinned, throwing his arms around your middle and hugging you tightly. “B-But you said that you weren’t coming until next week!” 

“Surprise,” you told him, and Joe laughed. 

“Jesus Christ, he’s gotten so big,” Joe mumbled, looking at Anthony. Anthony was staring at his father, the way he did with strangers, and Joe added, “C’mere, Ant, come to Daddy.” 

The moment Joe put his hands on Anthony’s waist, the little boy whined and moved closer into your chest, and Joe withdrew his arms quickly, as if he had been burned. “Does he not recognize me?” he asked. 

“I mean, you do look pretty different,” you shrugged. “Really, really good, but also super different. The hair and the clothes and… God, Joe, why didn’t you tell me that Eddie was so hot?” 

Joe laughed lightly, his mind obviously still stewing on the fact that his son didn’t recognize him. “Anthony,” he said softly, smoothing his hand across his son’s downy hair. “It’s just me, it’s just Daddy… Can’t he, like, smell me and recognize me?” 

“He’s not a dog, Joe,” you laughed. “C’mon, baby, let’s let Daddy hold you or he might start crying.” 

“I definitely will,” Joe chuckled, and Anthony whined in protest as you gave him over to Joe. Instantly, he started to wiggle in Joe’s arms, trying to escape the grip of a stranger, and Joe frowned. “Aw, baby, you’re gonna make your old daddy cry here. It’s just me. I know I look pretty silly, but it’s me.” 

Before he could say more, Joe Keery approached the three of you. You had to admit that you were a little starstruck, and your mouth went dry as you smiled at him. “Well, well, Quinn,” Joe Keery said, and he extended a finger towards Anthony, tickling his little tummy. “Who’s this?” 

“Keery, this is my wife, Y/N,” your husband began, gesturing at you, and Anthony giggled as Keery tickled his belly. “And this is my son, Anthony.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you told Keery, reaching forward to shake his hand, and Keery’s eyes went wide in recognition. 

“Quinn’s shown us pictures of you guys,” he said. “I didn’t know that you’d be visiting!” 

“I told him we weren’t coming until next week,” you chuckled, and Anthony grabbed at Keery’s finger, sputtering his lips and laughing. “God, he seems like he’s having more fun with you than with his own dad.” 

“He doesn’t recognize me,” Joe said glumly, trying his hand at tickling Anthony’s belly. Anthony still laughed, but Joe still frowned. “I think it’s the wig.” 

“I mean, probably,” Keery laughed. “It does make you look pretty different.” 

“But I thought he’d at least recognize me,” Joe said. Anthony was looking around at everything, smiling his gummy smile at everyone who passed by, and he cooed when you took him out of Joe’s arms and back into yours. “I mean, I’m his dad, for God’s sake.” 

“Don’t take it personally, honey,” you told him. “He’s just a little thing, he’ll recognize you tonight when you get out of the costume.” 

“But I want it now,” Joe whined playfully. “I want him to do that thing where he plonks his head down on my chest and makes that cute little noise.” 

“Aw, yeah, that’s cute,” you mumbled, and Anthony kicked his little legs, obviously wanting to explore. “No, baby, you’ve gotta stay with either Mummy or Daddy, you can’t walk around here.”

“He’s walking?” Keery asked, and you nodded. “How old is he?” 

“Thirteen months,” you said, bouncing an increasingly-fussy Anthony in your arms. “But he’s really little, so people think he’s, like, ten or eleven months old. Joe was really tiny as a baby too, so it’s expected.” 

“Did my mother tell you that?” Joe asked.

“I mean, if it’s true,” you shrugged. Anthony finally made his tell-tale little whining cry, and you frowned. “Baby, can you get his binky from my bag? It’s in the front pocket.” 

Joe was quick to go to your back, where your backpack sat, and he passed you Anthony’s favorite blue binky. You carefully pushed it into your son’s mouth, and Anthony gratefully took it, his little fists curling in your shirt. “I think someone’s getting sleepy,” Joe said softly, pressing his hand to Anthony’s chubby cheek. “Did he nap at all on the plane?” 

“A little bit,” you said. “He was asleep when we took off, but he didn’t sleep for very long.” 

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t recognize me,” Joe said. “He’s just sleepy and cranky.” 

“Maybe,” you offered. “Anthony, baby, let’s go to Daddy before he throws a wobbly.” 

You gave Anthony over to Joe one more time, and your son made a soft coo behind his binky before his head thumped onto Joe’s chest. Joe smiled widely, bouncing Anthony for a moment, and he said, “He did it! He plonked his head down!” 

“Maybe he’s recognizing you,” you said as Anthony started to tug at the ends of the wig, obviously curious about it. You could see him starting to warm up to your husband, and Joe pressed a kiss to his hair. 

“My good boy,” Joe said softly, his eyes soft and warm as he watched Anthony suck at his binkie and play with the ends of Eddie’s curls. “My smart boy, my sweetie… God, I missed you two so much.” 

“Well, we’re here now, baby,” you told him, and you leaned in to kiss Joe’s warm mouth. His lips were dry and chapped, but you didn’t care. You had missed him so much, and the incoming week would hopefully heal your heart. Anthony whined and nestled further into Joe’s chest, and you smiled at him and kissed his blond curls. “You’ve got us now.” 

[loviestorm]

n.29 with Eddie (any possibility could be older eddie, if not that's ok)

I have attempted to write Eddie before, but have never actually shared any of it...so here we go, sorry if I balls him up.

Everyone in Hawkins knew Eddie Munson, he’d taken ages to graduate high school and there was that whole accused of being a murderer, but then proven innocent by Chief Hopper who everyone had thought was dead thing. It was all quite confusing.

Anyway, he was twenty-five now, rumoured to be missing a nipple and working as a mechanic alongside Hawkins Garages, which was owned by none other than your father. Your father had offered Eddie a job with him at the drop of a hat as soon as he’d shown interest, because he felt sorry for the boy. As he should, really, with all that he’d been through.

You wondered if he would still like him as much if he knew exactly what was going on inside your little pink princess bedroom right now? You see, you’d always been into music with a heavier edge and you loved the idea of being able to play guitar like one of the female greats - think Joan Jett, Nancy Wilson, Stevie Nicks… and so for your eighteenth birthday your Dad had splashed out on a sick guitar for you. The only problem was that you didn’t know how to play it.

And that had been where Eddie had come in.

It had taken three sessions for you to end up crawling into his lap to shut up his rambling with a kiss. You’d had a crush on him pretty much as soon as your Dad had hired him, you looked up to the older curly haired boy with his Dio vest and his sweet, sweet guitar. But you’d been smart enough to know that twenty-one would never go into fourteen. But twenty-five and eighteen? Well..

You don’t know why he’d acted so shocked when you’d done it either, almost like he was surprised that anyone would even see him in that light? Like, how did he not know he was the hottest thing going in Hawkins? But he’d been receiptive, a little worried about how your Dad would respond… but recieptive. He’d even started inviting you to his shows at The Hideout, to come and hang out at his D&D group (he always forgot you were there when he got into DMing the game, but it was the thought that counted).

You’re having a guitar lesson with him right now, but your hand isn’t wrapped around a fretboard like it should be.

“Touch me there, right there!” Eddie is leaning back against your headboard, his eyes squeezed shut and his breath coming out in fast pants as you work his thick, fat cock with your hand. You wished he could see how beautiful he was in this moment, all flushed and… ugh, it made you wet.

You keep doing what you’re doing, you’re not too experienced in this, but it’s something he seems more than willing to teach you, as well as the guitar. You work your hand the way he’s shown you he likes it, giving extra attention to the head as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth and moans out your name.

You can tell he’s close, you’ve done this enough to be able to tell from the change in his breathing and you decide to try something a little different this time… you’re not going to let him cum all over the pretty Led Zeppelin shirt he’s wearing.

You bend down and wrap your mouth around the tip.

And he fucking explodes within your mouth. You almost choke as the hot, funky tasting liquid fills your mouth, but manage to swallow it down.

You look up at him, your eyes meet his, your mouth still around his cockhead.

“We need to tell your Dad,” he says. “I’m officially in love with you.”

[loviestorm]

Please please please can you write number 16 for our baby boy Tom?

Thank boo, ILY 🥰💕

Ahhh, this is my first time writing Tom. This is the song he's dancing to incase you're unfamiliar? I think it's a cover of another song anyway but I see this song as very Brit coded to those of us who grew up at a certain time in the UK.

If Tom Grant has two great loves in the world, it’s you and carbs. Boy loves a fucking carb. You should have known when Tom had slid into your DMs that morning and asked if you wanted to come to his caravan that he would make spaghetti.

You have no idea how one human can survive on so many unsauced, unbuttered noodles. You wonder about buying some cooking classes for him for his birthday - but would that offend him? Nah, probably not, nothing offends him. Unless you mention the name Ruth.

When you’d started working at the caravan park, you had learnt very quickly that she was not to be brought up, but he’d ended up telling you the whole sorry story of his own accord one night when the two of you had had a little bit too much to drink and had ended up kissing for the first time.

It had taken quite a while to gain Tom’s trust and make him fall in love with you, but honestly it had been completely worth it.

He was sweet, goofy, loving and you couldn’t be happier.

“What are you smilin’ at?” Tom’s voice cuts through your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed that you were staring at him from where he was doing the washing up at his sink. That’s another thing about him, he wouldn’t even entertain the idea of you helping out with what. You’re a guest in his caravan after all.

“I don’t know,” you tell him. “But it’s cute and it’s staring back at me.”

He lets out a low chuckle, throwing the sponge back in the sink and leaving the pans and plates on the side to dry themselves off. He stretches as he moves away and the flash of stomach he shows off makes you want to drool. “It’s a bit quiet in here,” he murmurs moving to turn on the little radio that sits on a shelf. Some old 90s song is just ending and he hums along.

And the next one starts. ‘Freak me baby…’ 

And he grins.

“Shit, this is a jam!”

No Tom, it really isn’t, you want to yell at him but he’s really vibing to it now, thrusting his hips along to the music, lost in his own little world. “Let me lick you up and down… until you say stop…”

Your boyfriend has turned into Magic Mike.

You think he thinks he’s seducing you.

Oh great. He’s humping a table leg.

“Tommy,” you call out.

He doesn’t notice and keeps grinding his hips into the air. “Let me play with your body baby, make you real hot…”

“Tommy!” You call out a little louder. He looks up at you and you smile over at him, making a little ‘come hither’ motion with your finger. He practically falls over rushing over to you. You reach up and tug at the waistband of his sweats. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little breathlessly. “’Course it’s fucking okay…”

You tug them down, he’s obviously put them on fresh from the shower as he’s not wearing any boxers underneath. Good, easier access to distract him from the bloody song. You tug him closer, licking a strip up his cock -- he’s half bloody hard from the goddamn song -- before taking him in your mouth.

He growls from the back of his throat.

You take him fully into your mouth, his hand flies to the back of your head holding you in place. You pull away for a second and mutter “You taste so good,” before taking him back in your mouth and he groans again deeply.

You can’t help but look up at him as you take him further down your throat, expecting to see him with his eyes closed, his head tossed back in delight because he fucking loves it when you suck him off.

And yeah, his eyes are closed and he does look blissed out.

But he’s still mouthing the words of the fucking song.