#hope you enjoyyyy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eddiesghxst · 10 months

Text

cigarettes, coffee, and club-hopping

alrighty, she's here and i hope she lives up to the expectations! this is part one of...idk how many yet, but enjoy!

based on this idea I had 80 years ago

————

part one | part two | part three | part four

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: ex-bf!rockstar!eddie x lawyer!reader

summary: you're a divorce attorney in Los Angeles and your newest client is filing against famous rockstar, Eddie Munson, who is also your ex-boyfriend

contains: exes to lovers trope, mention of a past relationship, slutty banter, smoking, mentions of alcohol, a hint of mean!eddie, public sex (restroom), a sprinkle of degradation, eddie likes to kiss your neck, fingering, eddie licking your c*m off his fingers (bye), and eddie being hot <3

word count: 5.8k

-masterlist-

Eddie hates waking up early.

He’s never been a morning person— in all his twenty-eight years of living, Eddie has never seen the letters ‘AM’ and smiled. This is partially why Eddie failed his first-period class in high school for two — almost three — consecutive years in a row. This is also partly why Eddie was fired from nearly every job he landed after graduating. You would imagine that Eddie has learned his lesson after all this time. Not quite.

Eddie is nearly an hour late to his first divorce settlement conference. One would think that Eddie would, for once in his life, wake up at a reasonable time to take a shower, grab his usual morning energy drink, beat LA traffic, and get to his appointment on time— as a mature grown man would do. Still, Eddie failed even to set an alarm to wake him up.

“You’re forty minutes late already— traffic is gonna make it even worse, and you don’t have another day to reschedule this for the next two months, so I suggest you get up, Munson!”

Eddie watches through sleep-fogged eyes as Kelly, his assistant, throws his window curtains aside to let the morning sun seep into his room. There’s a pounding kick drum beating behind Eddie’s eyes, a result of Eddie falling into Jeff’s sinister persuasion to go out. He should stop listening to that asshole— he’s part of why Eddie married his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Eddie’s bones click and crack as he stretches, sits up, and lazily swings his legs over the side of his bed with a sleepy groan. He can hear the rustling sound of Kelly picking up laundry from his floor— something he’s told her multiple times not to do, but she does it anyway, so he’s given up on fighting her. He runs a hand over his face, a yawn wracking through his entire body before reaching over to his nightstand, feeling around for the box of cigarettes he knows he left the night before.

“I tossed them out,” Eddie glances up at Kelly, who is now grabbing the last of his laundry on the floor and leaving his room. “Go freshen up and get dressed; we need to leave now.”

Eddie’s doctor advised him to start weaning himself off the cancer sticks; something about it fucking with his gums, and that’s on top of the risks he’s running with the vocal strain it’s put on his voice. Eddie knows he should take it seriously, but he needs a lick of nic before spending the next three to four hours bickering with his wife about what’s his and hers.

Eddie drags himself out of bed, shuffling across the cool tile of his bedroom floor. He sleepily rubs his bare stomach, flipping the light switch and groaning, annoyed at the sudden brightness. He brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face before walking into his closet and sifting through the random pants and jackets strewn across the floor. There’s gotta be some smokes in here somewhere.

He finds a nearly empty pack of Marlboro reds and wastes no time sticking it between his lips, lighting it up with the lighter on his nightstand before getting dressed.

By the time Eddie steps into the law firm, his headache has intensified by about 80 beats per second, and he’s gone through the old pack of smokes. It feels as if the back of Eddie’s eyes have a heartbeat of their own, throbbing with every direction they turn. Eddie can hear his attorney giving him pointers for the conference, but if Eddie’s honest, he doesn’t plan on talking much, so he doesn’t pay close attention to what the man is saying.

When they enter the conference room, Eddie is seated across the table from his wife and offered a cup of coffee, to which Eddie gladly accepts to nurse his hangover. “You could at least take the glasses off.” A sweet voice that’s grown to grate every one of Eddie’s nerves whenever he hears it. He glares at his wife from across the table, and though nobody could see his eyes behind his glasses, everyone could sense the distaste behind his words, “Fuck off, Nezza.”

A strong hand is placed on Eddie’s shoulder, his attorney’s, stiffly squeezing the thick leather jacket. “How about we get started then? Before things get… rowdy.”

“Great idea.”

Now that voice—- that voice, Eddie could hear at any second of the day, any time of the year, and know exactly who was conducting that sweet song.

Eddie likes to believe that the universe works in mysterious ways and that things really do happen for a reason, but sometimes he swears whatever god is up there behind the clouds just likes to fuck with him for fun. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared Eddie for the sight he sees when he flits his gaze from Nezza to the woman sitting next to her.

For a moment, Eddie is taken back to a time he remembers in golden dream-like clouds of smoke—- the spring of ‘83 when he fell headfirst in love with the woman sitting next to his wife. And for that moment—- for that split fraction of a second, Eddie is happy to see you.

It’s surprising; after all this time he spent resenting you and spitting out the sour taste you'd left in his mouth, Eddie imagined he would never be able even to see a picture of you and not want to slam his head against the nearest surface he could get his hands on.

However, that feeling only lasts about .012 milliseconds before Eddie’s entire being is filled with every emotion he’d suppressed towards you over the last nine years. Eddie looks at you and sees the girl he loved and the girl that broke his heart. His last memory of you is so vivid that it almost outshines all the good from your past relationship. Almost. Like a python wrapped around his neck, Eddie chokes on adoration and hatred all in one breath.

If Eddie said it didn’t piss him off to an ungodly level that he has a sliver of excitement to see you, he would be lying. You had always known the best ways to wriggle under his skin.

This one takes the cake for the cruelest way so far.

————

Eddie looks the same.

Not much has changed on him throughout the years apart from expensive clothing, healthier-looking hair, and a little more muscle on his arms to fill out the black leather jacket clinging to his frame. He still has a knack for jewelry, you note from the priceless rings hugging nearly every slender finger of his and the chain resting against his chest, hidden beneath his shirt. He carries himself the same way, confidently with a smear of carefree and chaos. You couldn’t get a read on him when settled down in his seat across from Nezza, and the black sunglasses shielding his eyes didn’t help you decipher him any further.

He smells like Marlboro reds and a sharp cologne; dark scented and intense, easy to tell he’s the one wearing the scent. It’s a different scent than you remember from him. He’s swapped the cheap four-cent bottle of Brut for a more decadent scent— a mix of tonka bean, musk, and patchouli with a dash of something feminine you can’t quite put your finger on. The scent matches him better than Brut could ever amount to, but you find yourself reminiscent of the past.

Eddie doesn’t look your way until you speak, and either Eddie has mastered his poker face over the years, or he doesn’t remember you.

Not even briefly does Eddie’s expression falter from the bored look plastered on his face. The sunglasses do no justice either, and you wish the universe would strike them off his face at this very moment. You had forgotten what his eyes looked like in real-time and desperately wanted to remember— take a mental picture and shove it in the corner of your brain filled with essential memories, all things that make you smile, cry, and scream.

There’s a moment where you feel pained by Eddie’s unwavering reaction to seeing you. That feeling is quickly replaced with relief, relief that Eddie has matured just as much as you’d hoped he had. When you found out your client would be filing against Eddie, your high school boyfriend, you had initially panicked and paced the living room floor of your tiny studio apartment, thinking of ways to back out of the case. However, after a hefty glass of wine, you managed to persuade yourself that Eddie most likely isn’t still hung up on something as silly as a high school relationship. It happened nearly a decade ago; surely, you’ve both moved on, right?

With this indication, you feel the tension in your shoulders ease a little, hopeful that this process will be seamless, seeing as both parties want nothing to do with each other and Eddie holds no hard feelings against you.

Once the conference begins, you don’t look away in time to avoid Eddie’s gaze as he removes the glasses, your eyes landing on those dark pools of brown that you used to dip into each night. Vibrant and so full of life, full of untold stories and sights you’d missed out on in the last decade, a story unfolds beneath the glimmer of his eyes under the lights. They feel like home at first, but as you continue holding his gaze, your home becomes clouded by lightning and wind, dark storm clouds with a promise of a downpour.

As you gaze into Eddie’s eyes, you see nothing but the boy you left behind in the summer of ‘85.

————

Stomach growling and frustrated sighs indicate the need for a break at around 12:40 PM.

The conference had started on a good note, with seamless agreements between you, your client, and Eddie’s team. That was until your client decided to become rather difficult and demanding.

“We’ll pick up where we left off in ten minutes.”

The atmosphere in the room has become stuffy and tight over the hours, so you get up to stretch your legs on a short walk to the coffee cart in the hallway.

Your mind feels muddled, pushed to exhaustion from hours of reading documents and going back and forth with Eddie’s attorney. Nezza wants more than Eddie is willing to give, money-wise, property-wise, and everything else under the sun. You’re determined to get your client as much as possible, but it’s proving to be more of a struggle than expected; Eddie’s team is headstrong and unwilling to bend to your substantial advances. Oh, and Eddie’s been practically throwing daggers at you from across the table with each chance he can get.

As you stir in a sugar packet, you watch the dark brown liquid swirl in the foam cup. You fall into a short trance as you watch the tiny bubbles dance within your drink, but the sound of a throat clearing shatters the spell. You glance to your side where the person is standing and are surprised to be met with a leather-covered shoulder and dark brown curly hair.

“Are you done with the sugar?” Eddie points towards your hand, and you blink, stuck as you stare at him for a moment. You know you should be professional, you’re an established attorney, and you’re in the middle of doing your job, but you’re also 100% fucking human, so— “I don’t know, are you done sending me death glares from across the table or do you wanna keep being an asshole?”

Eddie grabs the jar of sugar packets from your hand, “You wouldn’t have to put up with it if you just… quit the case.” Eddie shrugs as if his advice is a task as easy as folding towels. You take offense to his response, eyebrows pinching together as you watch him rip open a packet and sprinkle sugar into his cup, “I can’t just drop a case, Eddie.”

Eddie mockingly laughs, “Really? That’s weird; I mean, considering how you kind of just dropped everything and fled the fucking state, I’m sure you can drop a case just as easily, sweetheart.”

His words hurt. As much as you wish he didn’t have that effect on you, it’s evident that he still does, considering how your neck heats up in anger. You don’t miss the pet name he slipped in; you hate that it makes your neck even warmer. “I didn’t flee the state; I went to fucking college— and how is that even my fault? I gave you the number to my dorm, and you never called.”

And Eddie remembers that letter you left him. He remembers it like the back of his hand. He memorized every sentence, including that stupid number you left for him. “Yes, I did. I called you after every show for months, and you never picked up!”

You spent eight years in New York, and out of those eight years, you spent four of them staring at an ugly green phone on the wall of your dorm hallway, waiting for it to ring so you could pick it up and hear his voice again. You asked your roommate to listen for a call if she was up studying late or if you went out and she stayed in. Now, you wonder if she failed you on her part because you would’ve never, in a hundred years, missed Eddie’s call. Never.

Before you can respond to the information, you are being called back into the room to resume the conference— you’d almost forgotten that’s what you were here for.

You and Eddie let the man know you’ll be right there and watch as he walks back into the room. When you turn to Eddie, his gaze is no longer on you as he tosses the small wooden stirring stick in the trash.

Eddie is silent for a moment before he looks at you and gives a forced, close-lipped smile, “It’s nice to know you’re still full of shit.”

And then he’s gone. Eddie leaves you there, stunned and offended by his words. Eddie Munson thinks you’re full of shit— as if you were the only one to blame for your falling out. You feel stupid for believing in a better-evolved version of the Eddie you’d known. You wish his words didn’t affect you, but the conversation has left a bitter taste on your tongue. You glance down at the cup of coffee in your hands, and your stomach churns. You no longer have an appetite for the drink.

————

Late-night club hopping has never been your preferred way of spending a Saturday night. There’s a different type of energy in LA’s club scene than there is in New York. It was easy to have a good time in New York; the clubs are all close to one another and stay open nearly all night. In Los Angeles, it’s been a slow rise to liking the nightlife— clubs are more scattered, and on top of that, you learned the hard way that it’s difficult to even get into clubs when you’re not Madonna-level status. That last problem isn’t so much an issue now that you’ve settled in and made a few connections around the city.

Tonight you’re celebrating a friend from work's birthday. Penny was the first person you talked to at the law firm; she instantly made you feel at home and offered to buy you lunch at a cafe next door. The two of you have been joined at the hip ever since.

You’re happy to celebrate Penny’s birthday and glad to be tagging along with her in this new chapter of her life, but what you’re bothered about is the fact that you chose to wear the most uncomfortable shoes in your closet. You were under the impression that you would be eating dinner with Penny and a few of her friends, but somehow, dinner turned into a night-long clubbing adventure.

Logically, you have no one to blame but yourself for wearing Steve Madden pumps, but if Penny had told you the night would be long, you definitely wouldn’t have worn these god-awful shoes.

You’re sitting on a bar stool waiting for your drink and thinking about what excuse you’ll give Penny to go home when suddenly, you feel someone walk up beside you, waving over the bartender. You glance at the person and immediately look away, preparing to run for it before they notice.

Sadly, you’re not fast enough to escape his line of sight, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re stalking me.”

You turn to the man and take in the sight of him as you tilt your head. “Wouldn’t it be the other way around since I was… you know, minding my business until you came here.” You motion to where Eddie is standing, and he smirks, silently taking his drink when the bartender passes it to him.

“How’d you get in here anyways?” He asks. It’s not a bad question; sure, you’re a damn good attorney, but you’re of no celebrity status, and this club is one of the more difficult joints to get into. However, you still take offense to Eddie’s question.

Your eyes narrow slightly, debating whether you should continue entertaining Eddie or leave and find your friends. “If you’re going to continue to be an asshole, then I’m leaving.”

“Fine by me; I want nothing to do with you.” Eddie scoffs into the rim of his drink before taking a short sip. You roll your eyes, feeling like kids in elementary getting into petty fights. “What makes you think I want something to do with you?”

Eddie snickers over the rim of his glass, “The fact that you’re still sitting here says enough.”

You scoff, looking away from him as you shift in your seat, attempting to make it seem like you want to get away from him, but it only scoots you closer to him, your arm brushing his elbow. You panic at the touch but act as if it was nothing. “If my feet didn’t feel like they were about to fall off, I would be miles away from you by now.” You grumble as you distract yourself by tugging down the hem of your dress.

“I don't believe that.”

You let out an exasperated breath, looking over at Eddie with an annoyed expression as you speak, “Not everyone is head over heels dying to be around you.”

It might be the alcohol or Eddie’s sinister pheromones you’re breathing in paired with the sound of his ridiculously annoying laugh—- you’re not sure which it is, but you find yourself enjoying this back-and-forth banter. A big part of you is frustrated by Eddie’s insistent prodding at your nerves, but your other part is intrigued. Too stuck to grab your things, bid him goodnight, and leave.

You almost think you heard him wrong when he responds, “We’ll see if you’re saying the same thing once I get you in the back.”

You blink, momentarily silent, as you glance at him to watch him calmly sip his drink. Not a single hint of regret or shock flashes across his face, and you almost think you imagined it until you see a ghost of a smirk brush the corner of his lips. “Excuse me?” And like a child, Eddie’s response is quick and irritating, “You’re excused.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m willingly going anywhere with you that’s not a fucking law firm or courtroom.”

Eddie laughs, glancing at you and nodding once, “Sure.” You hate how smug he is, and you hate that he’s so fucking right, but you swear you won’t fold for whatever stupid game he’s playing. “Sure?”

You watch Eddie tip back his drink and finish what’s left, placing the empty glass on the bar countertop before lazily nudging it forward. You shift back with an annoyed grimace when he turns to you and leans an elbow against the bar. He points over your shoulder, and you catch yourself before you follow his lead, gaze stuck on his face as you prepare for whatever bullshit is about to leave his mouth.

“I’m gonna head to the restroom to take a piss. You can sit here and bitch about everything under the sun, or you can quit being a pussy and meet me there.”

And without further explanation or interaction, Eddie gets up and leaves. You turn and watch in shock as he walks off, watching his back until it’s washed away by the sea of people on the dance floor. You turn back to the bar and gaze at your drink. For a moment, you think this might be some elaborate scheme Eddie has to fuck you over. Complying with this proposition, Eddie has now opened, could very well lead to you losing your job, something you’re not very keen on doing.

You glance towards the direction Eddie had walked off in and groan, briefly shutting your eyes as temptation washes over you. There’s no way this is real. There’s no way you’re actually thinking about going into that restroom with Eddie.

You take a deep breath, clenching your teeth in thought before muttering a curse. You’re fucking yourself over with this one, but you do it anyways. You toss back the rest of your drink, wincing at the bitterness, before hopping off the barstool.

Your adrenaline is so high that you don’t even feel the ache in your feet as you cross the dance floor, maneuvering through sweaty bodies and spilled drinks toward the bright neon RESTROOMS sign.

From the corner of your eye, you see Penny standing at her rented-out section as she tosses back a shot with the girls you’d arrived with. You should turn around and join them, return to celebrating Penny’s birthday, and forget all about your interaction with Eddie. That’s what you should do, but you don’t. You continue walking towards the restrooms, mentally going back and forth with yourself until you reach the door and wrap your hand around the handle.

However, the door opens before you can fully prepare to open it, and the scent of hand soap and Eddie hits you in the face. Your wide eyes meet Eddie’s glinting gaze. A smirk spreads across his lips, and he snickers, “I’d say I’m surprised, but that’d be a lie.”

Your gaze is hot and heavy as you stare up at him. The sounds of the club you're in seem muffled as you spend your last seconds considering what you’re about to do. You should really turn around.

You tilt your head up, silently sizing Eddie and daring him, a tipping point where you both know there’s no going back now—- especially not when you mesh your lips against his and stumble into the restroom. You plan to blame this on the alcohol.

Eddie makes quick work of turning to press your back against the door, fumbling to lock the door as you grumble a breathless ‘Fuck you’ against his lips.

“I intend to, sweetheart.”

You hate how stupid and witty the response is, but it makes your stomach twist in need, nonetheless. Eddie’s hands are roaming and squeezing you wherever he can reach, hiking up your dress enough to slink a few digits into the hand of your skimpy panties, snapping them against your waist and smirking when you push up against him. Eddie manages to speak in between haste kisses, “I’m gonna be honest; I didn’t think you’d give in this easily.”

Eddie is now ushering you towards the sink, softly snickering at the gasp that escapes you when the cold marble digs into your lower back. “Are you trying to say I’m easy?”

You can’t hold back the moan that slips from you when Eddie’s hand slithers between your thighs to press a thumb against your clit. “Maybe… also just pointing out that you clearly missed me.”

You don’t answer him, leaning forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss as your hips rock back and forth against his touch. You smooth your hand down his chest and over his belt to grasp the heavy bulge between his thighs, humming when he moans, “Looks like you missed me more, Munson.”

You giggle when he grunts in annoyance, fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties before shucking them down your legs and lifting the flimsy garment for you to see with a smirk, “Won’t be needing these anymore, will you?”

You grimace in faux disgust as you watch him stuff the soaked material in his back pocket. “Gross,” you comment, although Eddie doesn’t answer, busying himself with pulling you off the counter, flipping you around to face the sink, and eyeing you through the neon-lighted mirror. “You’re a perv; you know that?” You add as Eddie wraps an arm around your front and hikes your dress to sink his hand between your thighs.

Your shaky fingers grasp Eddie’s wrist, hips squirming as he begins to rub your clit, dipping a finger lower to spread your sticky arousal. “If I were you, I would start being very nice to me.” His voice is low and gravely against your ear as you smile, gazing back into his darkened gaze through the glass reflection. You push back against him, and you both sigh in pleasure. “Just fuck me, Eddie.”

You gasp when he sinks a thick digit into your weeping cunt, slowly pushing it in and out of you to create a sinful twist in your tummy. You shake your head in protest, although your hips rock against his thrusts. “No, no, I don’t need it. I don’t need that. Just fuck me, please?” You repeat, voice teetering on the edge of a whine.

“God, you’re still a fucking brat. So used to getting what you want, hm?” Despite his comment, he doesn’t give you what you’d asked for. Instead, he slips in another finger, greedily squeezing at your chest with his other hand. Your thighs tremble as his fingertips delicately massage that sweet spot hidden between your wet walls, a shaky hand reaching up to grasp his hand as he fondles your breasts over your dress. “Not anymore, princess,” His voice is low and foggy with sex, purring against your ear with ease as he plays with you. “This time, you’ll earn it like a good slut. You’re going to have to ask me very nicely if you want it that bad.” “A-ah…Fuck you.”

Eddie laughs at your response, digging his face into your neck when you throw your head back, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your perfume. He presses a kiss to the base of your neck, and you hate how it makes your stomach twist, thighs clenching around his hand, causing him to pause. “Keep them open.” He warns, ignoring your pathetic attempts at rutting against his hand.

When you don’t obey his instruction, Eddie brings his foot in between your pump-clad feet, knocking the toe of his shoe against both heels, causing your legs to part, shaky limbs failing you as you stumble in his hold. Eddie chuckles, nipping your jaw as he sinks another finger into your soaking heat. Your moan is loud and pitiful as you reach forward to grasp the sink counter for stability. “Oh my god—” “Jesus, you’re fucking tight. Barely taking three fingers.” Your moans are high-pitched as you rock your hips against Eddie, nails digging into the skin of his flexing wrist as he fucks you with his fingers.

The sloshing sounds from between your legs are just loud enough to hear over the booming music of the club barely, and if Eddie’s fingers weren’t fucking you so well, you would’ve felt ashamed. You hardly notice Eddie’s free hand traveling to the low neck of your dress, tugging the material down to expose your chest. He groans at the sight, palming one of your tits as his mouth latches to the side of your neck. His fingers pinch and roll your nipples, his tongue warm and wet as he licks up your neck, humming at the taste of you and smiling when he feels you tremble against his body. “I can feel you squeezing me, princess; you gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your ear, humming when you hastily nod. “I don’t think so.”

He slows the draw of his fingers, softly petting at your walls to give enough sensation to have your eyes rolling but not enough to tip over the edge. You frustratedly huff, “Eddie—” “Good sluts ask to come, you know that.”

Your stomach twists at his words, hips squirming in search of more, more, more. You have a lot of pride; you’ve been told it’s your strongest and worst quality before— but here in this dingy club restroom, with Eddie’s overwhelming presence surrounding you and the incessant need to cum gnawing at every cell in your body, you find your pride quickly dwindling like a flame under water. The time when you need your pride the most, it’s nowhere to be found.

“Please, Eddie.” You whisper so quietly Eddie almost misses it. He smiles, “Since I know how hard that was for you, I’ll take it— but I won't be so kind next time, princess.” He pulls his fingers out of you and urges you to turn around and face him.

He nudges you back to sit on the edge of the sink, stepping between your thighs and opening them wide enough to see your glistening cunt, sticky arousal winking up at him beneath the dim neon lighting. “N-next time?” You take in a sharp breath as he hitches your leg around his waist

He chuckles, glancing at your swollen lips as you gaze up at him trying to fight through the hazy fog of arousal. Eddie runs three fingers over your clit before sinking back into you, a low hum rattling from his chest when your shaky hands grasp his shirt, fingers curling and wrinkling the material, “Next time.”

Your words get lost on you when he begins fucking you again, eyes fluttering shut as your legs subconsciously tighten around his waist. You can feel his breath against your top lip, and you fight the urge to seek out his lips with yours. You push up into him, mumbling incoherent pleas into the air. You lick your lips, pussy clenching when the tip of your tongue catches Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie doesn’t wait for you to make a move this time, his free hand reaching up to grip your jaw, fingertips digging into your cheek as he pushes his lips against yours. You both moan into the kiss, your hips grinding into the thrusts of his fingers.

You keep kissing Eddie until you can’t, too overwhelmed by the pending promise of an orgasm. You slide away from Eddie’s lips and nuzzle into his neck, finding solace in the soft brush of his hair against your face, the distant but familiar scent of his shampoo invading your senses. “I’m gonna come.” You whisper, nails digging into his biceps as your thighs quiver.

Eddie keeps his hand working between your thighs, thanking the many hours he’s spent playing guitar for training his wrist to maintain endurance. His other hand dances up your heaving back, dipping beneath the curtain of your hair to grip the back of your neck, softly squeezing in encouragement. “Let go, baby. Let me feel it.”

You nearly sob when you finally tip over, body tensing before melting against Eddie’s body in shambles of incoherent words and shaking limbs. You can hear the sticky wet substance of your release squelching around his fingers; you can feel it smearing against your thighs and dripping onto the cool tiles of the floor, and you almost feel ashamed when Eddie points it out, “Fuckkk, you’ve been saving this for me, haven’t you?” You hardly register his words, but you nod, mewling as you nuzzle deeper against him, thighs twitching when you teeter on the edge of sensitivity.

“I… Enough, Eddie, please fuck me.” You’re practically begging, pulling away from his neck to blink up at him blearily, sex-drunk hands fumbling to reach out for him. Eddie kisses you and chuckles against your lips, fingers finally slowing down. He pulls away with a lewd hum, leaning back to watch as he removes his fingers from your cunt, dragging the drenched digits up to smear your arousal around your clit, grinning when your thighs twitch.

You try to catch your breath as you silently watch him bring his fingers up to his lips, sinking them into his mouth to sinfully lick your cum from his fingers. He glances at you with a smirk around his fingers, and you squirm in your spot. “You’re being a tease.”

He releases his fingers with a pop before stepping away, “Sorry to cut this short, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta run, and I’m sure your friends are worried about where you went.” You watch in disbelief as he glances in the mirror and fixes a few unruly hair pieces. He looks your way and drops his eye in a wink, “I’ll see you later, princess.”

You silently gape in shock, watching him turn around and stride toward the door. Eddie can feel your eyes throwing darts at him, and he doesn’t bother hiding his smile as he opens the door and steps out.

You have to take a moment to wrap your head around it, but once you do, you wind up more annoyed with yourself for falling so quickly into Eddie’s trap. You clean yourself up and make yourself look presentable again before leaving the restroom to find your friends.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Penny exclaims once she sees you. She gasps when you get closer, and she sees your neck, leaning in to get a better look, causing you to slap a hand over the sore spot. “Oh, my god. Who?” “What?” “You were definitely screwing someone in the back! Who?”

You wince at her volume, quickly shushing her, “Nobody, Penny, this is old.”

Penny rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something, but you quickly cut her off, “I have an early meeting tomorrow, Pen; I have to get going.” Penny frowns but understands either way, giving you a quick hug and bidding you goodbye for the night. You leave her with a final Happy Birthday and make your way out of the club, already yearning for the comfort of your bed.

Before getting a taxi, you find yourself walking into a nearby store and purchasing a CD of Corroded Coffin’s first album, letting the CD burn a hole through your hands on the ride home. When you get home, you fall asleep atop your sheets before you can listen to the record.

You spend the rest of your night dreaming of hazy summers in Hawkins with a young curly-headed boy you knew once upon a time.

————

a/n: aH, i hope this was good, next part will be a bit more angsty so this part was for the sluts <3

————

teeny taglist: @eviethetheatrefreak , @sidthedollface2, @peachysink, @hereforshmut, @duncanhillscoffeecups

930 notes · View notes

marmastry · 1 year

Text

Quarrel

#I had a Sunday dedicated to beating my old score of 116 in Big Run AND I DID!! I GOT 130!! IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF YALL!! I WAS LITERALLY OBSE #DRIVEN BY NOTHING BUT PURE GRIT (And also one cracked 5% homie to twinlance with). I'm just very happy I beat my old score lol.#Anyway that's wholly unrelated to this but I figure you should know and this is everyone's reward for reading this far hahahaaha #This is part 2 to 'Missing'. I hope you enjoyyyy <3 #moomers #hasahasa #mayamaya #splatoonOC #splatoon3 #fancomics

969 notes · View notes

waterfallofspace · 8 months

Text

While picking the movie, (or more accurately, N/ejire begging M/irio to pick anything but E/ncanto) the Big Three find one of their members is a little a lot worse for wear.

I had a bunch of clips on my phone to clear out, soooo this was born~ A bit heavy on the snz since the goal was to get rid of clips, and it's a biiit choppy in places, but hopefully it's still alright!~

PRO HERO AU: ALL CHARACTERS POTRAYED AS 20+

#waterfallwav #had some clips~ haven't done T/amaki yet~ sooo here you go!#its just a little thing but it IS the first time recording dialogue on the new/actual mic #so hoooopefully that's a better quality! but i'll definitely still need to play around a bit to get it right #also just disclaimer: was not sick for this recording so I had to do my best with what I had #hopefully it's not too easy to tell~~#aaaaaaaanyways here is a lil T/amaki wav~ hope you enjoyyyy #also no ships are actively present in this but feel free to use your imagination for any variation of these three~#t/amaki #m/irio #n/ejire

103 notes · View notes

creatively-cosmic · 1 month

Text

POSTGAME

Red has won the championship. A prequel of sorts to the greater story of Missing Numbers. Told from Blue's POV.

CW: Suicidal ideation.

Before he got any closer, I made a grand effort to compose myself, puffing my chest out and shutting my eyes in what I hoped looked like a cocky expression, rather than me holding back tears.

“Well, I THOUGHT I hadn’t made any mistakes raising my Pokemon. But darn, I guess you’re the new Pokemon League Champion…”

I sneered at him, “Although I don’t like to admit it.”

I stuck my hand out, offering a shake as if to officiate yep, you did it, you’re better than me, good job in the way that I’d seen grown-ups do on TV. He just stared at it, still looking like someone had died, not like he’d just done the greatest achievement any Pokemon trainer could ever hope to do?

What an idiot. I couldn’t understand why he cared so much. It wasn’t like HE was hurt by any of this. He should be ECSTATIC.

He opened his mouth, as if somehow this warranted him using his words. Before he could, though…

The door opened behind him.

If my stomach had already dropped, well. Now it was digging itself a grave.

#missing numbers #writing #as of finishing this we don't yet have ao3 but this will be put up there once we have it and its ready #for the meantime i really wanted to put this up #just a wholesome story about the aftermath of the championship battle.#about two kids who clearly love each other preparing for their future #about making an unbreakable promise #about young. unconditional love.#about unforgettable memories.#pokemon #trainer red #red tajiri #blue oak #theres two 'chapters' to this- first being immediately after red wins #second being later that night.#i hope you guys enjoyyyy ♡

21 notes · View notes

echo-the-ghost · 4 months

Text

lost track of time oUGH whoops. I gotta go ahead and post this though even though there's technically a second part that's not done yet,,,

Some chillin Benjamins for @ceridvven for Lost Secret Santa!! Happy holidays and birthday and I hope you enjoy these :] apologies again for being late!

#spoiler alert! I drew rousseau too I just didn't Finish that art yet. sad #wORKING ON IT THOUGH I PROMISE #because I was super excited when I got you and your faves being listed as rousseau and ben because SAME #and there is NOT enough rousseau fanart so I was excited to create something of her. and then what did I do? I only finished the ben art 💀#this felt like cheating. felt like I was drawing art for myself ahfgkjhksjd #i'm very silly. but anyway #enough rambling. posts this and runs away #I hope you enjoyyyy <3 #echo's art #my art #lost #lostsecretsanta2023

21 notes · View notes

bisexual-horror-fan · 1 year

Text

Through The Heart Is The Only Way. Chapter Eight. "I Can Fix This."

Oh fuck, here it is! I know over a month without an update but shit has been wild for me as of late, creativity was sapped hard but hopefully with this job change that will fix things, I should know very soon if I got the job! So, let’s get into this juicy update and not take too much time to get to the goods. Masterlist for the whole series is, here.

—

Rating Explicit. Length. 8.4K. Charles Lee Ray X Tiffany Valentine X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Manipulation. Gaslighting. Mild Stalking. Trent Is A Fucking Creep. Emotional Vulnerability. Making Out. Dirty Talk. Teasing. Banter. Blow Job. Guided Oral Sex. Swallowing. Praise. Tiffany Is A Sweetheart.

—

He motioned for Tiffany to come closer and she did, leaning over, his hand hiding his mouth from your view as he whispers something you cannot hear to her. She considers it before doing the same action, she says something back to him that again you can’t catch and then they are both turned back to look at you head on. He speaks up and asks, “How exactly do you plan to make it up to us?”

A great fucking question honestly and one that you really should have given some thought to before you presented them with this offer. Luckily you were smart and you thought fast and so working off the model of first thought best thought you offer up, “How about you come over to my place and we can talk this all out?”

A glance between them, the silence too much, you worried it wasn’t enough so in a slight moment of panic you add on just a touch too quickly, “I’ll cook?”

The pair shared yet another look and then Chucky says, “I think I am thirsty now. How about you Tiff?”

“Positively dehydrated. I’m practically withering away.” She drawled with a slight pout and you asked quickly with a nod, “What would you like?”

“You’re pretty good at picking out drinks, surprise us.” He said easily and so off you scurry back to the bar to fetch them some refreshment pronto.

They watch as you go and unbeknownst to you a conversation is struck, him inhaling deeply from his smoke before Tiffany plucks it from his fingers and he lets her, as she takes a drag he asks, “So what do you think?”

“Dinner at her place?” She asks on an exhale and he nods with a hum,“Yeah, thoughts?” And she responds as she glances at him with a big smile, “I can’t wait.”

“Not gonna lie, I’m impressed with the idea too, seeing how she lives, having her cook for us, it’s got a certain kinda appeal.” He says with a nudge of his shoulder to hers, she smiles, nose wrinkling with a fond muttering of, “Course you’re into this.”

He scoffs, “Like you’re not.” She shrugs and says, “Never said I wasn’t.” A deep sigh before asking, “So how do we play it?”

“Let me lead.” He insists and she passes back his cigarette as she sighs, tucking a loose piece of blonde hair behind her ear with the other hand as she says, “I dunnoooo-”

He lets out a small groan around the smoke in his mouth, “C’mon, trust me-”

Back with you, currently on edge as you stood at the bar, nervously tapping your manicured nails on the lacquered wood, nearly whining, “Logan, come onnnn man! I’m fucking busy, I need these drinks yesterday.”

“You wanna try asking that again a little nicer this time?” He inquired as he slapped the shaker to loosen the bond before pulling it apart and pouring the mixture into the first of the two laid out glasses.

“Lo do not test me right now, please?” You begged and he got this look on his face that you had come to know that meant he was going to deliver some truly cringe worthy joke and you cut him off with a small stamp of your heel and a smack of the tray in your hands against the bar. “I mean it. Don’t.”

“Jesus, who pissed in your punch?” He asked with a pinched brow and you groaned, “I’m sorry just, people at my tables are being difficult tonight-”

“How difficult? What kind of difficult?” The concern was immediate, he had paused his current action of passing the now finished cocktails to you so you could put them on your tray. You really didn’t want to expend a lot of time or energy reassuring him, you wanted to get your drinks and go back to them so you simply said, “Nothing serious Lo I swear, they just want their drinks strong and service speedy.”

“Honest?” He asked, still cradling those glasses as he looked you over and the response you gave came paired with a nod, “Yes, sorry for snapping at you, it wasn't cool.”

He stared you down for only a moment more giving over the drinks, placing them onto your tray and said, “You are lucky I am so generous and forgiving you know.”

“Yes, yes I know, you’re the best, you’re the man, I’ll stroke your ego and verbally fellate you later, alright?” You said it with a big and actually genuine smile and he returned it, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’m so sure.” You call from over your shoulder and you speedily make your way back to their table to find them waiting for you just as they had been, smoke stamped out in the ashtray in the centre of the table and both of them looking expectantly at you.

You set the tray down and gave over the drinks, Tiffany taking hers with a thank you and Chucky taking the next one as he says, “Pretty fast, did you sprint?”

“In these heels? You flatter me and my waitressing ability.” The joke earns a smile and you bite back one of your own. You can’t wait, so you ask, “So have you thought over my little proposal?”

He speaks up and says, “Yeah we talked it over and decided we are open to it.”

“Really you are?” The excitement bleeds into your tone heavily, and Tiffany leans closer, her chin on his shoulder, “Really we are. But we aren’t sold on this all yet, you still got some work to do.”

You do let yourself smile now, “Oh don’t worry I know but thank you, I don’t think you’ll regret it!”

“We better not.” He threatened, the tone makes you laugh and after that your evening is significantly lighter, they stay for a while, finish their drinks, you tend to them and so it is decided in three days time they are going to come to your place for you to make dinner and all of you to talk this through.

Which means that now, you have a menu to plan.

The rest of your shift is good, you feel lighter and before long it is after close and you are rushing through your closing duties and everyone notices how quick you are moving, Marcy calling you out as you are quickly counting out your tips, “Your train isn’t coming that soon is it?”

“What?” You ask as you keep your mental count, bills passing through your fingers swiftly, laying out the neat piles in front of you.

Logan joins in, mocking you, repeating what you said in a high whiny tone, “What?”

You flip him off with a sneer that makes him return the gesture with a grin and Marcy expounds, “You’ve been running around like nuts tonight, what is up with you?”

“Nothing, just a busy night.” You lied, as if you weren’t used to working under pressure and flourished during busy nights, as you banded up your tips. “Yeah so you said earlier when you were rushing me through making those drinks, did they like them?”

“Yes they did and thank you again for that by the way.”

“Oh yeah no problem.” He let it hang for a moment before saying, “I seem to recall some promise of verbal fellating and ego stroking?” He reminded you and you groaned, he refused to drop it, drawing out your name in this annoying sing-songy way that had you conceding, “Okay, okay! Fucksake-”

A deep inhale, Logan nudging Marcy as he says, “This’ll be good.”

You begin your praising session towards him, the words over the top and everything he wants to hear but your tone is less than impressed. Honestly it is hilarious to listen to, Marcy is trying to stifle her laughter behind her hand and failing. “Logan, you are the best bartender in the whole city, no one makes a manhattan as good as you, I am jealous and wish I was so talented. In fact that story you tell at parties about how you invented the drink sex on the beach is totally true and next time you try to impress a girl with that I’ll wingman and back you up. There. Happy?”

“You left out the part where I am a living God amongst men but I guess that is good enough.” He assured you with a shit eating grin so large you thought it might just split his face in two. A shake of your head as you say, “I’ll make sure to slip that in next time, kay Lo?”

Marcy turned to you and asked, “What did you do that required you to say all that to him?”

“Don’t ask.” You tell her as Jackson walks up, his coat on and yours in his grip along with your bag having snagged it from the break area, “Ready to go?”

“Dear Lord, yes.” You got up from your stool as Rachel came up asking, “You not coming out tonight?”

“Nope, something important on the docket tonight, sorry.” You tell her as you take Jackson’s hand and tug him along, he waves with his other hand calling out, “Bye guy’s, see you tomorrow.”

Thankfully Jackson was so busy on the walk to the train station filling you in on how well his date with that busboy went that he didn’t even think to ask about what was going on with you.

It has been two days and you are struggling to come up with something adequate to serve them. Everything just doesn’t seem right and you are getting more and more frustrated, the more you think about it. You look through cook books you own, pass over elaborate meals deciding they were too tryhard, you felt that vibe didn’t fit the occasion. You remember their rant over their shared distaste for New York city and all its pretension, you didn’t want to offend or alienate or the last thing you wanted to do was to make them think you were trying to manipulate them into forgiveness by presenting some ridiculously fancy meal. Further even if it was right, it wasn’t like you had the skills to cook something of that caliber anyway.

You searched through your other books and again over and over nothing was quite what you wanted, or within your skill level or wheelhouse, hell you even went to the library and still came up empty.

All this thinking about food had gotten you really hungry and you’d been running around all day and so you hadn’t had dinner yet, you needed to eat before your shift too so you went to that diner you liked to frequent, the same one you had run into the duo that one rainy evening a while back.

You sit yourself at your favourite stool at the counter and a menu is handed to you, a thank you is uttered, your eyes scanning over the laminated sheet, trying to decide what you want, breakfast or a sandwich or an entree’ or-

Inspiration hits you like a freight train.

They loved pizza, breakfast food, this diner, they loved more easy, comforting foods.

You were making this way, way too hard, you need to keep it simple. Your lack of complex cooking skills would actually be an advantage and an asset here. The gesture of you doing this is what is really important, the effort and care, you can make a stellar version of an old classic and wow them, you had this, you could do this.

Emboldened, confidence resorted, you allow yourself to enjoy your lunch, leave an ample tip and then you go shopping for ingredients.

Work that night was a breeze, nothing could touch you, not a thing could ruin your mood, you even indulged your co-workers post shift, went out for a drink with them and you were very glad you did so. When you go to bed that night you feel ready for tomorrow.

You have the whole day off, when you get up you devote some time to cleaning the apartment up, making sure everything is looking good, before doing some food prep and then ensuring you are looking good. You don’t go over the top, try to go for a bit more modest and understated just elevate something you would wear at home normally. The jeans fit well, the top a little low cut but not ridiculously, a few more well picked pieces of jewellery, makeup you thought Tiffany would like and hair half up you set to work on dinner seriously.

You lose yourself in the music on the radio and in the meal prep, you are on schedule and speaking of on schedule, they show up right on time. You hear the knock on the door and drop what you are currently doing, dish towel picked up, hands dried as you walk to answer their call, one hand slinging the slightly damp fabric over your shoulder and the other opening the door.

The smile that crosses your face upon seeing them standing there is as natural as breathing, said smile broadening slightly as they greet you, “Hey!”

You respond with an enthusiastic, “Hi, you’re right on time, come on in.” Stepping aside to allow them entrance.

“Wow, l love this-” Tiffany said with a point, gesturing up and down to your whole outfit, before her head turns and she is starting to look at the space you called home, “-you look great.”

She says it so easily, as if it still doesn’t blow you away that she thinks YOU look great when she is now standing in your apartment for the first time. She is removing her coat to reveal she is in a dress that looks like it could have been painted on her, that is in a colour that suits her so well, beautiful blonde hair piled up, exposing her neck, looking just stunning and so thoroughly her. You compliment her in kind, managing to keep your voice light as you take her and Chucky’s coats, “Amazing dress Tiff.”

He was a bit more dressed down, short sleeved button up shirt, with the first few top buttons undone and slacks, you still eat it up and make sure to let him know. “Here we are going around in circles and not telling ol’ Chuck here how good he looks.”

“Finally, some Goddamn recognition.”

“Awe sweetface, sorry for not saying something sooner.” Tiffany cooed as she leaned over, a small kiss to his cheek and you wished for the same treatment but wouldn’t dare dream of pushing for that yet before you were sure you were back in their good graces. Since it is their first time in your apartment, naturally you give them the tour.

You really liked your apartment honestly, had found a lot of ways to make it your own, knick knacks, personal touches, pops of colour to place emphasis on certain parts, since you were renting and couldn’t paint of course. You had a few windows, two in the living room on either side of where you had placed your tv, coffee table, some book shelves, and your couch. Your kitchen was nice, if not just a touch messy from you being in the middle of cooking, window was open in there to help keep it cooler so you didn’t overheat when you worked, after showing them the bathroom and your bedroom you then led them to the separate table you had that occupied the space between the kitchen and the living room.

They hold hands as they walk around, small moments of that easy affection they have and you do your best not to let your stare linger, it hurts too much. You are reminded of what it was like for you before you all got together, a weird layer of separation, on the outside looking in.

Shrugging off those emotions and complex feelings, you instead provide some drinks and tell them dinner will be ready soon before retreating back into the space to finish up making the food. The pair of them have to admit, especially since you were away from them at the moment, “I like her place.”

“Right? I wasn’t sure what it would look like but it’s cute, totally her.” Tiffany praised as she leaned forward on her elbows, keeping her voice low and he hummed with a nod but the conversation they had didn’t last much longer than that before you were bringing out the plates. You set them down on the table in front of both of them, you had decided to make burgers and hand cut fries, had gone to the trouble to make the patties yourself and took a lot of care to get some ingredients and put your all into this.

Tiffany is in shock. Chucky is making some joke that she can barely hear, something along the lines of, “-this is the best you could do?”

But she didn’t care, wasn’t listening at all, instead she was picking up the burger, taking a close look at it, pausing before taking a bite and practically melting.

It tastes perfect to her. It tastes like home and like the burger her favourite diner made back in Jersey, the one her mom would get for her whenever something good happened or they had something to celebrate, big milestones, birthdays. It hits the spot perfectly, she is barely able to suppress a moan of pure delight at the flavour exploding over her tongue, and after that first bite is swallowed, eyes back open and she realises her partner is still being kind of an ass to you she refuses to set the burger down and gives him a very pointed look as you turn to go fetch your own plate.

“What?” He asks quietly when you are out of earshot, and she says simply and firmly, “You know what. Cut it out.”

“But-” He starts and she cuts him off, “It’s time to stop, Chuck.”

“Ughhh, not Chuck-” He knows he has been beat. It’s time to drop the act and stop being such a dick. He sighs and says, a hand raking through his hair before he is holding both his hands up, “Alright, alright, fine. I’ll ease up.” He picks up his own burger and after taking that first bite he too had to admit that it was a really fucking good burger.

Dinner is good.

Sharing a meal with them that you crafted with your own hands is really good, you honestly can’t remember the last time you cooked for someone other than yourself. The act of it fed a part within yourself that you hadn’t expected.

During the meal they feel much more like the them you had been getting to know previously, throughout dinner much conversation is had, and when they complimented what you cooked it made you preen under their praise. Tiffany was hardly able to restrain another moan after another mouthful, “This is so delicious.”

Chucky asked, “Seriously, where did you learn to make a burger this good?”

“Would you believe it was the first thing I learned to make when I started cooking?” You asked and he said, “No shit. You know how to cook a lot?”

“Oh God, no, hardly. I know enough to get by, how to make a few good things for myself,” You shrugged and he looked over to Tiffany and said, “Ooh you could show her a thing or two.”

“Do you cook a lot?” You asked.

She gave a coy sort of smile, “Well not to brag but I’ve got some skills in the kitchen.”

“She is way underselling it.” Chucky insisted before he complimented her further by saying, “You should see her knife skills.” She said to you with a fond look on her face, “He’s such a flatterer, isn’t he?”

“I think he’s just a fan of you and honestly I can’t say I blame him.” You pluck up a fry on your plate, raise your eyebrows and look back at Chuck who asks, “We gonna be the co-founders of the Tiff fan club, you and me? What do you say?”

“I say fuck yes, obviously. We can spread the good word and convert people like that.” Punctuating the end of your sentence with a snap of your fingers.

As Chucky dragged one of his fries through the ketchup you had placed on the table earlier, he said, “Thanks for providing my supposed, what did you call it again? Juvenile?-” A nod from you remembering your lunch you had post skating date, he then finished the thought, “-Preference.”

“Hey it’s what you like and I’m hosting, it is the very least I could do.” You say simply. “And you didn’t provide any mayo for me?” Tiffany asked, tone taking on the hint of mock offence and you laugh.

“You just said that is what some people in the world do, not that you like it!” You defend and she says, tone still light, “Maybe I wanna try it?”

“Maybe we should all try it next time?” You offer, your previous stance on the subject softening along with your voice, “If there is you know a…A next time.”

None of you had talked about the real reason they are here. For you to all hash out and talk through what happened previously and with dinner mostly eaten it seemed like as good a time as any.

A hard swallow, you asked tentatively, “Will there be a next time?”

The pair shared a look, he placed his hand on hers and Tiffany’s gaze broke away from his first, looking at you, “We think we’d like there to be.”

There it is again, that funny feeling, warmth and hope in your chest.

“We just want to understand where you are coming from.” He said and you had to admit that was fair, very, very fair.

You did think a lot about this, had every intention of giving them more information and thought a lot about what you wanted to say.

“So. Way back when I first came to Chicago, I had a string of not so great jobs, right? But then, I got this job at this really nice restaurant and things were looking up. I discovered I am really, really good at waitressing and was finally earning some decent, consistent money.”

A small sigh, “And there was this thing that happened while I worked there that changed everything, that made me want to stop giving out my real name and be more cautious.”

You were going to hold some back but you hadn’t talked about this in full maybe ever? And being here with them, how they were looking at you, listening, you felt safe and like maybe it was all okay. So without you really making the conscious decision it all starts to come spilling out.

“I had this regular customer, Trent, he was in finance, he loved our restaurant, had a lot of money to throw around and decided that he wanted to throw a lot of that money around on me. I kind of became his favourite waitress. It got to a point he didn’t even have to ask, everyone just knew and he would be sat in my section, I’d serve him spectacularly and he would drop just stacks of tip money on me. He’d bring in business clients and I’d help him wow them and he’d close deals, ergo more money, ergo more tips for me. It sounds great right?”

A nod from them both and on you press, a gesture of your hands as you do. “And it was, for a while.”

You take a brief pause before continuing, “Trent was a charming and funny kinda guy, he could make you feel at ease and also important all at once and I thought we had a good thing going, a simpatico relationship between worker and patron but that is all it was.”

You wished you had a drink right now.

“He apparently didn’t see it that way. So this one night, months into me knowing this guy and him coming in, he closed the place down, like stayed for hours. I can’t tell you how much he spent but it was a lot. He clinched this huge deal that was months in the making, he was feeling good about it and so he celebrated it up late. I didn’t have a ride home, I usually didn’t, but he was there and when he found out I didn’t he offered. And, like an idiot, I agreed because I’d known him for like six months, I ‘knew him’, so it was fine, right?”

You were feeling some serious nerves as you approached this part of the story, “He had a nice car. The drive started out okay but quickly then he started asking all these probing questions…Ones that were just uncomfortable and way, way too personal. I felt small and claustrophobic, and just, weird. It felt different when I was at work with him but now I was very aware of how uhm…”

Then this laugh breaks out, small and bitter before you said, “Fucking stupid this idea was.”

Eyes closing as you go further, “It really sunk in when he made the suggestion of taking a detour to his place, he put his hand on my thigh-” You were staring down at your hands, couldn’t look at them at this moment. “-he made what he wanted from me crystal clear and I started to seriously freak out, wondering just how I could get out of this, I was having what felt like the worst panic attack ever, I could barely rein in my breathing.”

You shake your head, fight off a shiver and then say, eyes opening again, “But thankfully, we stopped at a red light and I took my chance, I unlocked my door and fucking bolted from the car. I heard him calling my name, over and over as I fled and I ran until I couldn’t hear him any longer. I got home shaken but safe that night.”

You finally manage to glance up at them, their eyes still fixed on you, before your eyes go back down and you say, “I kept working that job. He kept wanting me to serve him, I kept refusing and kept my distance as much as I could but one night he cornered me near the bathrooms and he talked at me, not to me. At me. And I hate when people do that.”

Hands curl into fists and you pull your napkin into your lap and twist it in your hands. “He asked me what happened that night? He thought we were getting along well and clicking or something. When I ran off he was totally confused, I tried to tell him that he was imagining things, that we weren’t a thing but then he got angry with me. He told me that he deserved it, I owed him for all the money he threw at me and that clearly I wanted it, he put his hands on me and I-”

You stopped. A deep breath. “I ran again. I quit on the spot. I have never been back to that restaurant, I have never seen him again and I steer clear of the financial district where I know he works.”

Tossing your napkin back onto your plate you say next, “I started lying about my name at my jobs and keeping my distance, being careful about who became my regulars, what I said, what I did. I let myself be close to my co-workers and through that I learned my story isn’t the only one like that sadly, similar things have happened to similar people in my line of work.”

You have been talking for a long time, you realise, you try to rush through the ending “Anyway after that I have always kept customers at arm's length. I started to think that they were only good for what I was there at work for anyway, money. I used em as such and I didn’t feel bad about it either, I didn’t think there were any good people left who come into the places I work at. The only good people are behind the counter, not in front of it.”

Finally you gain courage to look at them again, “Until I met you both. I didn’t think there were any good people left until I met you two.”

You clear your throat, “So uh, again, I should have been upfront and told you my real name sooner but I hope you have a better understanding of why I hide my name the way I do.”

Of course they understood now. Your forearms are resting on the table now and then you feel them, each of them taking a hand, you look up and see them staring at you, concern and worry clear in their expressions.

“We had no idea it was all like that.” Tiffany said quietly.

Chucky cleared his own throat, gaze shifting to his partner briefly before he said, “Right, no clue but it totally makes sense why you hide your name.”

You nod once, “Yeah I uhm…It’s just easier, makes me feel safer. Harder for someone to really track me down if they are looking for the wrong name.”

“Wait, did Trent ever try to hunt-” Chucky started to ask and you cut him off, “God no, when I stopped working there he dropped it, I mean it, I’ve never seen him or heard from him again, thankfully.”

The pair relaxed slightly at that, “Okay good. But fuck, the fact you had to go through all that.”

Tiffany agreed, “Yeah, and thanks for sharing it with us.”

“No small thing to admit all that, especially after what you have been through.” He added on.

You felt better, much, much better for sharing it, for them understanding you, hearing you out and being so reassuring.

“So are we okay?” You asked and Tiffany said, “Of course we are! Everything is all good, right Chucky?”

“Naturally!” He said it so easily as if it was obvious.

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you so much for hearing me out. I’m glad we could work through this, work on moving past it.”

“Me too.” Tiffany said and Chucky gave you a reassuring squeeze of your hand.

So you were all going to keep seeing each other. You felt immense relief, so much lighter, you felt a smile spreading on your face, just happy this wasn’t over and you were going to see where this went. You ended up clearing the plates, and then set to making dessert. You brought out the tray with what you had made on it.

“Seems like you are always bringing us drinks.” Chucky mused and Tiffany said, “Right? We should bring her some drinks sometime.”

You let out a light laugh, as you set the tray down, saying, “Oh I’d love that.”

Taking your seat again as you said, “I made us malts for dessert.”

“Shut up, no you didn’t!” Tiffany exclaimed and you said, “I did! Chocolate, classic.”

Chucky was already picking up his drink and he took the first sip and he was thoroughly impressed, setting it down before saying, “Holy shit.”

Tiffany took a drink from hers too before agreeing, repeating those two words in a shocked tone that made you laugh too hard.

“So malts.” Chucky started and you nodded, “Not milkshakes?”

The straw popped out of your mouth and you leaned closer and said, “Okay so a milkshake is bullshit in comparison, a milkshake wishes it was a malt. A milkshake is a poor excuse for a treat, lacking depth and nuance. It is cloyingly sweet and just ugh, just fucking awful-”

The pair shared a small look as you continued, “-milkshakes are just so tired, so cliche’!”

“And what makes a malt better?” Chucky dared to ask and you said, “What doesn’t make a malt better than a milkshake?”

“Better question, what makes a malt?” Tiffany asked and you proceeded to expound on the process, a small thought in the back of your mind that you were happy that you managed to finally get your own rant about something when with them.

Once the malts were done, and the small heaviness from your previous confession about what happened to you back then had totally left, it was getting late. You were about to clear away the last of the dishes and an offer to help clean them was given but you refused, brushed them off saying, “I can do it, don’t worry, you are my guests after all.”

“She’s too much.” Tiffany said and he had to agree, pitching up his voice a touch and saying in an overly cheery tone, a small shake of his head, nose scrunching as he said, “The most.” A joke made that got his partner rolling her eyes with a smile and him snickering from the response.

You walked them to the door, another conversation struck, “So when are we gonna meet up again?”

“Oh we might be busy for a few days, got something going on but how about we give you a call when it’s sorted and figure it out then?” Chucky offered and as you leaned against the doorframe beside your front door you agreed, “That sounds great.”

It is quiet for a moment before you say, “Thanks again for hearing me out.”

“I am really glad we did and got the whole picture.” Tiffany said as she reached out, her hand on your arm and the contact made you feel warm.

Clearly the now obvious date was coming to an end and you wanted to reach out, wanted to touch both of them, kiss them, say goodnight properly but again the trepidation was there, not wanting to overstep. Before you could try to really think about how to initiate it, you didn't have to figure it out because she asks so sweetly, “Are you going to kiss us goodnight or?”

You try to school your expression and not appear shocked, instead you just did what felt right and natural, what they wanted from you, leaning closer and into her first.

The second your lips touched hers, the thought that ruled over all was: God, you missed this.

The heat of her body, the taste of her tinted with her lipstick and cigarettes and the heady smell of her perfume, it was floral but not too sweet, there was more to it. Your hand comes up, touches her face softly, cups her cheek, draws her closer, you can’t stop yourself around them both, they make you feel a little out of control in a very good and very welcome way. You are such a cautious and careful person, maybe being a little more reckless, a bit more spontaneous, giving into the moment a little more is good for you?

You think that they are both good for you.

His hand is on your wrist and you are reminded of him, you break apart from Tiffany, he has moved much closer, you don’t waste time in making sure he feels included. You race forward and kiss him next and what should have just been a simple good night kiss didn’t stay that way for very long and it was shockingly not his fault, it was hers. Your lips were encouraged to move more fervently against Chucky’s when you felt her hands on you, pushing you closer to him, his own hands meet the back of your neck and you are pressed between them, can feel her against your back.

Her curves are almost as distracting as Chucky’s mouth, his tongue parting your lips with a tilt of his head, the taste of him invading your senses. The heat sparks in you so quickly, you had been so nervous and keyed up and distracted you had been neglecting yourself, the last time you got off was with them, over a week ago at this point and now that you were kissing him, that need rocketed back into you at a blinding pace. In three short minutes that flew by you were feeling less than steady, hands on him, needing to cling a little closer to him to stay standing upright. Tiffany’s hands slide up your arms, squeeze your shoulders when she reaches them, she leans in closer and you feel her lips brush the shell of your ear, “Seems like you are really into this.”

A hum, refusing to break the kiss with Chucky, particularly when he bit your bottom lip, you were very into this. He was the one to break it, asking, “Did you miss us?”

“So much.” You breathed, “Too much.”

“Not sure I believe you.” His tone did something to you, made your need sharper. Still nearly pressed to you, from how you were holding onto him,

“How can I prove M’ serious?”

Tiffany says then, “I think I have a way you can.” You felt her hands starting to push down and you took the hint, sinking to your knees. As you sank down, your hands slipped with you, trailing down his sides until they were resting on his hips for a moment before you started to go for his belt. You had thought about this a lot, about finally returning the favour, you thought you’d never get the chance when your little lie came out, but now here you were in your apartment, things smoothed over, safe and warm and in between them, about to do what Tiffany suggested back in that diner, about to “indulge.”

“Oh she is so eager.” The mirth in the blonde’s voice made you smile, the belt in your hands now open, busying fingers with the fly and zipper you say, “Can’t help it, s’ been a long time coming.”

The hands still on your shoulders squeeze again, “I’ll say, how many times have we both gotten you off so far?” She teased and you say, “Oh at least two each, I got some catching up to do.”

“Damn right.” Chucky affirmed, you could hear the grin on his face.

You stifled a laugh as you started to pull the fabric down his hips, there was something about this, all of this, that made you feel good, the cocky confidence was worn much too well by him and you found it more amusing than you probably should.

But the giggles died when you got his pants down, you had felt him, hell, you had him in your hand, made him cum, but you also had Tiffany partially undressed and grinding on your thigh so you were a bit distracted at that particular moment. In fact you had been pouring over that hook-up a lot after it was over, moments break into your mind unbidden constantly as you appreciate it in a way you couldn’t when so caught up with satisfying them and yourself, mind and body overtaken by baser urges to chase sensation.

Now, you could take some time, breathe, really take him in while still in this moment, rather than upon reflection. Fingers hook in the waistband of his underwear before you tug down and are greeted with a more than generous handful of him, hot, heavy and thick mere inches from your face.

You look up, catch him already look at you and his stare, fuck, it’s intense, just like that first night you met him. It makes you clench around nothing, the still confident grin on his face almost screams, “It’s not gonna suck itself.”, even though he doesn’t actually say that, the energy radiating off of him showed he didn’t have to verbalise it, to get the point across.

More wetness seeps into your panties and without breaking eye contact your hand reaches out and closes around him, you watch the shift in his expression as you do, starting to stroke slowly, purposefully before leaning in, your tongue peeks out from between your lips and you lick, tongue on bare skin for the first time. The taste of salt and pre-cum is a good one, to be honest, one you hadn’t tasted in too long. It makes your eyes break away, wanting to roll back but instead you lean closer, tongue runs from base to tip before your lips close around the head of his dick, nestling into that sensitive ridge before it becomes the shaft and you suck.

Tongue lathes over, he moans, you are further emboldened and you set to work.

The pace and rhythm is easy, it feels startingly natural considering the amount of time since you last went down on someone, but hey, you’ve known your way around a dick for a damn long time, it isn’t exactly something you forget, especially when you enjoy it as much as you do.

Is oral your favourite thing? Hard to say, you think pleasing your partner is your favourite and being on your knees is a fantastic way to accomplish that, one you have a lot of skill and natural talent at, it makes whoever is receiving feel special, important, cared for, right? Appreciative of the effort being expended. You liked pleasing, feeling useful, it fuels you, turns you on further.

Speaking of being turned on further, Tiffany sinks down beside you, her hands hadn’t left you this whole time, leaning in closer, clearly watching and that thought is amazing, her watching you please her man with rapt interest, more than all this, I mean she suggested it.

“You really seem to be enjoyin’ yourself.”

A hum around your mouthful, fingers still locked around the base as you bobbed up and down the length of him, another moan ringing out from above you and Tiffany asked, “Feels good sweetface?”

You suck harder, take him in deeper and he groans out, “Fuck! Yes, so good, she’s, ugh, so-” That same hand slides down, cups and toys, he feels full, heavy, you know the load is going to be impressive.

“Sooo?” Tiffany asks, “C’mon Chucky, expound.”

He opens his mouth to try and do so but you take him deeper still, tongue pressed to the underside of his shaft as you pull back up and any attempt at praise is broken into another strangled sound of pleasure. “Damn, you really are good! What a talented mouth on you. It isn’t easy to make him speechless.”

“But I think it can still be better.” She sighs, she moves, fingers brush over your neck, you shiver before her hand is on the back of your head and asks so sweetly, “Can I give you some pointers?”

Who knew better how to please him than her? You also are very turned on by the idea. You nod, refusing to break stride and she says, “Good girl.”

Her fingers grip and she pushes and pulls you, changing up the rhythm, leading you as you blow him, and you follow along no problem. She speaks right in your ear, “Oh there you go.”

Her praise makes you squeeze your thighs together, “Okay, now, pull up more, mmhmm, good now I want you to-” She told you just how to swirl your tongue around the tip in a way that made his knees get visibly weak and you are dying over how great this all is.

In another two minutes of her guiding you, telling you how good you were doing, how hot this was and you looked, Chucky had to lean against your door for more support as you practically sucked like your life was dependent on it. “Do you know how long we have been talking about this?”

You hum with a small shake of your head, not wanting to stop, you could feel if you kept it up he would be at his end soon and you wanted it, so, so badly.

“Wanna tell her?” She asked and he ran a hand through his hair, a nod, a hard swallow and he tried, “Fu-fuck, she kept going on and on this one night, God, about how she wanted to do fuckin’ this, this shit right here-” He gestured down to you and looking at you and her, staring up at him, his dick half in your mouth, it made him pulse on your tongue and you know he isn’t going to last.

“About you, being on your knees and her watching, seein’ how you like to do it and how much I wanted to feel it an-and fuck, don’t stop-” The light thunk of his head hitting the wood of your door as another groan leaves him brings you so much satisfaction, “You heard him, don’t stop. He’s real close. Don’t you want him to cum in your mouth?”

Of course you wanted that, you wanted it more than you thought you wanted air in your lungs, your mind was swimming, so totally lost in this moment, in them and what they had confessed. They had talked at length about you in this very scenario, she was filling you in further. You hum the affirmative, hand moving in tandem with your mouth as you take him, a bit messy at this point, spit acting as lube, gliding along with ease, movements just a tad sloppy but undeniably passionate in a very endearing fashion, giving away just how invested you were in this, in the now. “Of course you want it.”

She was whispering in your ear, as if sharing a secret even though you know he knows whatever she is about to divulge, the act still makes you feel special. One of her hands running teasingly down your side as she tells you, “I was on my knees for him last time we talked about it, I played pretend and did to him what I thought you would do.”

Jesus fucking Christ they were going to kill you.

“But seeing it? I gotta say, I didn’t do it justice. You look so, so much better than I ever could have dreamt up.” Her praise is punctuated by that hand leaving your side and palming one of your breasts through the top you had on.

Then you hear it, him above you, all your work and effort, which while it was impressive, wasn’t that long, him warning you, “Gonna cum, fuck-”

“Ooh, what are you gonna do?” Tiffany asks, louder so he can hear and you don’t even have to think, you look up at him, stare into his eyes and feel it happen, your hand slips away and you push yourself, take him as deep as you can reasonably allow without gagging yourself and he spills into the wet warmth of you. The moan of your name, your real name, the one that when revealed almost unravelled all this and fucked everything up, it passes his lips and the feeling it invokes is as if you have only just really heard it for the first. You didn’t think you could like the sound of your own name so much, but just like with many things you had experienced with them so far, you are proven wrong once again.

You swallow him with ease, took all he had to offer before you slowly and carefully pulled him out of your mouth, looking up to see the state he is in; his pants open and sitting low on his hips, hair worse for ware from where he had dragged his hand through it, trying to catch his breath and recover post orgasm.

You feel good, really, really good. You feel better when you hear the soft laugh beside you, her hugging you from behind, her chin on your shoulder as she says, “Oh she swallows! No prompting or anything.”

Chucky laughed, this breathless amused kind of laugh as he began righting himself, pushing away from the door, doing up his pants, “Yeah she’s a keeper.”

Letting out a laugh yourself, the back of your hand smacks him gently on the thigh as you say, laced with affection, “Asshole.”

Your knees ache from kneeling on hardwood, you lean back into Tiffany’s hug before asking him, “Help me up?”

“Yeah I gotcha.” He takes your hands as Tiffany untangles herself from you and he helps you stand up.

You are wondering about what to do for her when she is handing him his coat and plucking up hers from your coat rack. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” She asks, you think she is playing dumb for a joke but you go further anyway, “Don’t you want me to-”

She leaned forward, cuts you off with a kiss that has you melting before she pulls back, “Appreciate the offer but I’m okay and we have to get going but this?”

“Was amazing, totally amazing.” He finished her thought as he pulled his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, and she agreed doing the same, “Yes completely, but it’s late and we gotta get going, I wish we could stay.”

You wanted to tell them,”So stay. If you want to, then stay.”

But you just fixed things, you didn’t want to push, you realise yourself and that tonight was a big step for you all, it’s fine, there will be time for more in the future. You need to give them space and honestly, you think you need some yourself. So you know it’s all good, especially when she says, “We mean it, we’ll call you soon about going out again.”

So instead you say, “Sounds great.”

Another goodnight kiss is shared, this one more chaste then the one previously, you joke, “Good to know you aren’t one of those guys who doesn’t kiss a girl after she swallows your load.”

That gets a good laugh out of the pair, another joke from him, “You dunno how tolerant I am of bodily fluids.”

“Yours or other peoples?” You follow up as you open the front door, and as they breeze past you and take a step out the door, she says as, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Goodnight-”

And she said your name, it makes you feel just like how it did when he said it earlier. He follows up with his own, “Yeah goodnight, get home safe.”

The jokes never stop and you say, “I’ll try, night.”

You close the door, walking into the kitchen you see the sink full of dishes and decide to leave them for tomorrow, you turn off the light and think about that question she asked. You go into your bathroom to start getting ready for bed and her voice vibrates around your skull, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You think you really would.

#Through The Heart Is The Only Way #TTHITOW #Charles Lee Ray X Reader #Tiffany Valentine X Reader #Poly!Chiffany X Reader #Slasher x reader #BHF writing #Enjoyyyy it #I hope you fucking loooove it

61 notes · View notes

tiptapricot · 11 months

Text

Word count: 3,639

Summary:

Peter cares about Miguel. He cares about seeing him happy, about knowing the man will endure even after losing so much. He cares, and he does what he can to show it.

That includes a lot of things (jokes sent over HQ’s chat platform, back rubs when he’s tense, holding him when he’s too deep down to breathe), but sometimes that means he does this, too. It means he presses Miguel back against the kitchen counter, cringes as his knees pop when they meet the floor, and listens to Miguel’s deep, even breathing as Peter begins tugging at his belt.

———

Or: I wanted to write some spiderdads dynamic exploration alongside t-dick blowjobs 😎

#nsft #yahOOO!!#hope you guys enjoyyyy!!#spiderdads #peter b parker #miguel o’hara #atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse spoilers #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #the fruit is talking again #my fic #my-fic

16 notes · View notes

justanothereddiemunsonslut · 2 years

Text

A Table In The Woods

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Masterlist)

Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: You and Eddie Munson, your new found friend and science assignment partner, get started on your project for Ms O’Donnell’s class. While both of you know that your strengths lie with academia, you never knew just how skilled Eddie was on guitar. (cute slow burn in progress)

Note: hey so this took me forever to get back to whoops. My paragraphs after the read more cuts keep disappearing and/or duplicating and I cannot get it to stop??? Hopefully all the paragraphs are there when you read it, if they’re doubled sorry, would rather them there twice then have bits missing :/

Part 3: Pretty Metal, Huh?

“Hello, anybody home?” You call out as you tap the door of Eddie Munson’s trailer a few times with your foot, your hands preoccupied with the crate of small plants you were carrying.

“Yeah! Just a sec!” You hear some clattering around from inside before Eddie flings the door open and bows with one arm, “welcome to my humble home.” You raise your eyebrows.

…

“Thank you, thrilled to be here,” you say with a touch of sarcasm but also a smile, then you nod back towards where you’d parked, “I have other stuff to get from my car, where do you want these?”

“I shall take those,” he takes the crate from you, looks around and decides that it’s nice enough to sit out on the porch while you get organised. He carries it over to the old brown couch sitting on the small porch while you grab your bag, containing your books, pencil case and camera, out from the passenger seat. By the time you walk back over and step up onto the porch Eddie is holding up one of the plants in it’s black plastic container, surveying it carefully in the daylight.

“It’s called pothos,” you offer casually.

He scrunches up his nose at the name, “sounds kinda science-y, I guess.”

You try to hide a smile before telling him, “it’s also known as devil’s ivy.”

When you had seen the name written on the sign at the store that morning you had instantly thought of Eddie and how he might enjoy that. He smirked.

“Devil’s ivy, hey? I like it.”

“Thought you would.”

He stopped eyeing the plant and looked at you instead, tilting his head to the side, “you thought I would?”

“Well yeah, you run a club called ‘hellfire’ so I thought if you were going to like any plant one with the name ‘devil’s ivy’ would be it,” you shrugged, as if anyone would’ve thought the same upon reading the name. Eddie placed a hand over his heart

“And so you picked it just for me?” he teased.

“No,” you said with a roll of your eyes, “it was the best one for what we’re doing. The lady said it grows fast and we should definitely see some obvious change over the next couple weeks, which is exactly what we need.”

Eddie nodded fake-seriously.

“But I did think of you when I saw it.” Shit. Why did you say that, now you sound weird, he’s going to think that you’re weird, that just slipped out-

“I am honoured,” Eddie smiled as he put the plant back amongst the others in the crate. “So what do we do?”

You spent the next half hour of your Saturday afternoon setting up your experiment. You’d decided that the plants would stay at Eddie’s trailer, as much as the control freak in you wanted to keep them it made sense. “Just leave them at my place,” he had said that day at the table when you came up with the idea, “to save you lugging them over all the time, if I’m gonna be playing guitar.” When you hesitated he went on to say, “I can look after the plants, okay? You look after the science presentation side and I can handle the music stuff, so you don’t have to come over every single day.” Eventually you’d agreed, when you could go over to Eddie’s and work on it together you would but when you couldn’t Eddie would cover it, so long as you took the reigns on actually putting together the assignment aspect.

You had six plants total, which you made labels for with paper ripped from your notebook as you sat on Eddie’s porch. When you had taped the labels on each plant you lined them up along the edge of the porch and stepped down after grabbing the Polaroid camera from your bag. You crouched down to try to get level with the row of plants to get a ‘before’ photo. Just as you took the shot Eddie leapt from where he was sitting on a rickety old chair to the left and landed on his side right behind the devil’s ivy line up, propping himself up with one elbow. He stuck out his tongue and threw up both hands with the index and pinky fingers sticking up.

Click.

You burst out laughing, almost falling over backwards, “that’s gonna look great on our project board, Munson.”

Eddie laughed and rolled onto his back. You took a second photo, just in case you lost one, and put both in the small pocket of your bag. Then it was time to begin.

“I don’t think you’re ready for this,” you weren’t sure if Eddie was talking to you or the small pothos plant you held in both hands as if it were a hot cup of tea but either way you thought he was probably right. He was carrying his guitar from what you guessed was his room to where you were standing just inside the trailer door, the amp already set up next to the couch. He seemed in his element, something he never had in a classroom.

He paused getting organised to continue, “now I’m just guessing from the-“ he gestured with his free hand in a circular motion to you “-of you, that you’re not overly familiar with metal.”

You scoffed, “from the what of me?”

Eddie shrugged and looked away from you, smiling shyly, “you know, just the general-“ he waves his hand at you again, “-of you.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, “like, the all of me? Seriously?”

After leaning his beloved guitar against the couch he held up both hands in defence, “sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, you just… don’t seem like a metal head,” now gesturing to himself.

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” you give a short laugh, “I’m also not a metal head so I guess you’re right.”

“Ah! See? I could tell,” Eddie grins, “from the all of you.”

“Okay then, pray tell, what does the all of me suggest I listen to?” you implored, moving to sit on the floor a few feet from the amp, wondering what your appearance told of you, with your baggy lilac tshirt tucked into your jeans.

Eddie lifted the guitar strap over his head and looked up at the ceiling in thought, “uhh let’s see, pop? No wait,” he closed his eyes and held up one finger as if to stop you interrupting, “dance-pop,” he opened his eyes wide and looked down at you.

You widened your eyes back at him, challenging him to go on. He continued, “maybe some new wave stuff, oh don’t tell me you like disco?” he screwed up his face.

“You’re the one telling the story! Do I like disco?” you questioned, amused.

Sitting down cross legged with his guitar across his lap, he slid closer in front of you, “hmm, nah. It’s a bit 70’s, isn’t it?” You laughed and Eddie smiled. “So, how right am I?”

“You’re not completely wrong, but at the same time you’re totally wrong,” he furrowed his brow at this. “Dance-pop is fun, I do like a bit of that, so you’re kind of right there. But I also love, like, rock music. And a bit of everything in between really, I like a lot of music,” you shrugged.

Eddie looked surprised, maybe even impressed, he nodded slowly as he pondered this new information, trying to piece together who you were.

“Anyway, we better get started,” you said as you placed the unassuming plant in front of the guitar amp.

You watch as Eddie strums and plucks away at his guitar for the next few minutes. He’s good at it. Hell, he’s really good at it. He plays softly, seemingly lost in the melodies. It’s mesmerising. Suddenly you wished you could play guitar, or any instrument for that matter. When it’s time for the so called ‘plant specimen #3 - metal guitar’ though, he starts to light up like a kid at Christmas. His eyes wild with excitement as he rambled about the new Metallica song he’d been practicing.

“It came out just before spring break and I spent so long learning it, my fingers actually bled! On several occasions! It’s sick. So metal, it’s insane.”

He went on about some of the intricacies and how he’d attempted to master it in just a few weeks.

There’s something fascinating about people when they talk about something they are truly passionate about, when they are engrossed in it and every word is dripping with enthusiasm. In this moment you think you could listen to Eddie talk for hours, seeing the joy written all over his face, the intensity of his eyes.

Then, he started playing.

Holy shit. Your jaw dropped. If you thought his playing was skilled before this was something else entirely. The noise filled the trailer, it reverberated in your chest. You watched intently, trying to keep up with the speed of Eddie’s fingers. It was true that you weren’t a big fan of metal music but the pure skill demonstrated before you was undeniably captivating, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

The last striking chord echoed out. Eddie tossed his head back, ran his hands through his hair and let out a deep breath.

“Pretty metal, huh?” he grinned.

You finally managed to close your mouth that had been hanging open for the last 4 minutes.

“That… was amazing. How the hell did you learn that just over spring break?! That’s insane, Eddie!”

He waved a bashful hand at you, “psssh, stop,” but his grin widened.

“I’m serious! You are crazy talented!” you sat in disbelief, a bit stuck for words. “I don’t mean to sound surprised by the way! I knew you could play but whoa, you can play.”

“Thanks,” he tried to sound casual but you thought he was pretty proud of himself, which was nice to see.

By the end of the afternoon you had completed the first round of your experiment and left the six devil’s ivy plants on the porch outside of the trailer, up against the wall. You planned that tomorrow you would drop by after your shift at Melvald’s for day two.

At home, you sat your bag down on the floor of your room, smiling to yourself as you thought about your day. Your day with Eddie Munson, your new unlikely friend. Then, you remember. You open up the front zip of your bag, the small front compartment, and pull out two photos.

And there it is.

Eddie, in all his glory, bombing your scientific evidence shot.

This guy.

***

(part 4)

#okay so it’s 2:30am and I’ve re read this like 3 times but honesty there’s probably still mistakes lol #hope you enjoyyyy thanks for reading #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson fic #the table in the woods

101 notes · View notes