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ramona-thorns · 7 days

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minors, people I know irl - DNI - this is fucked up

Yandere Billionaire Jeffrey Steinberg x fem reader

warnings: non-con, yandere, breeding, kidnapping, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Deactivated

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: SMUT, the most extreme non-con I have ever written, forced bondage, edging, forced orgasm, kidnapping, forced impregnation

Summary: When the apocalypse hit, you, Jeffrey Steinberg and eight of the world's other greatest minds were trapped in an underground ecosphere. This is an AU where the betas kill Nico and McKenna so Jeffrey hatches a plan to repopulate the world. (Full disclosure: That plan involves strapping you to a table and getting you pregnant.)

A/N: Genuinely might kink-shame myself into deleting this in the morning. Rape and forced pregnancy are incomprehensibly awful in the real world. This fic is intended to be an escapist fantasy. PS This is the only fic my partner has refused to proofread for me so apologies for typos.

Chapter text:

200 days.

200 days was all it took for the men of Evergreen to decide you were nothing more than vessels to be used to repopulate this hellhole of an underground ecosphere.

When they lined you up and began debating who belonged to whom, you and Ida took your chance to execute your hastily pulled-together plan.

Ida slipped a sickle she’d stolen from her agriculture station into a belt loop behind her back. You had pocketed a wrench from your mechanic’s workbench. You weren’t going down without a fight.

When Jeffrey Steinberg looked you over, dictating your height, weight, blood type and other vital stats from Cortex’s electronic display, you took your chance and whacked him on the side of the head with the wrench.

Then - chaos.

Ida grappled with David who caught her wrist as she slashed wildly with her sickle.

You were knocked off your feet and pinned to the ground.

Yelling.

Fighting.

You only remember Cortex being commanded to deactivate you before you were sucked into a black oblivion of nothingness. A door closing. More nothingness. The same door. Nothingness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up with a gasp - coughing, choking on air.

You’re in a hospital room. A brief glimmer of optimism that this was all just a coma-induced nightmare vanishes in an instant when with a sinking feeling of recognition, you realise you’re not just in any hospital - you’re in Evergreen’s hospital. David’s doctor’s office. This nightmare is real. And it’s only just beginning.

You’re in stirrups. Wearing a hospital gown. With your arms shackled above your head.

Oh, fuck.

You try to move your legs from the stirrups but they’re fastened tight. The handcuffs around your wrists only dig in when you try to slip your hands from them.

There’s an electronic beep and the door slides open.

Instinctively, you try to close your legs together. Preserve your last shred of dignity but your attempt is futile - the stirrups don’t move.

“Nice of you to join us,” says Jeffrey. Anger flares up in you when you see him. To think that you ever had even the tiniest romantic feelings towards such an awful human being.

“Us?!” you ask shrilly, a fresh wave of panic sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Just an expression.” Jeffrey presses a few buttons on the door panel, locking it behind him. “It’s only me.”

You should have guessed from the start that he’d be a monster.

Nobody becomes a billionaire without stepping on a few toes or, indeed, crushing a few skulls. Everyone else here hated Jeffrey Steinberg from the outset. But you? At the start of all of this, you had actually liked him. The two of you had spent your spare hours flirting with each other. You were like two peas in a pod working to fix Cortex. Mechanic and Programmer. Hardware and Software. Yin and Yang. It only made the betrayal worse when, mere days after Nico and McKenna were both killed by Nico’s experiments on human cloning, Jeffrey had decided that you and the rest of the women were to be reduced to glorified incubators.

“Only you?” you spit. “For now, right? Whose turn is it next?”

He shakes his head and stands adjacent to you at the head of the bed. This small movement to respect what little dignity you have left doesn’t give you much comfort when you know what’s next. “It’s not like that,” says Jeffrey.

You laugh although there’s nothing funny about the situation you find yourself in. “What’s it like, then?”

“It’s just you and me. I chose you and that’s one of our rules - David, Axel and I’s rules, I mean.”

“So you care about rules now?” you ask. “What about laws?”

“I care about the rules I make because there are no laws.”

You scowl at him with all the hate you can muster. “Who undressed me? Who strapped me up like this while I was deactivated?”

“David. It was entirely clinical. He’s your doctor, after all.”

“And you believe that? I could be pregnant already. In fact, come to think of it - I do feel kind of nauseous,” you say looking at him in distaste. “Or maybe that’s just the effect of the present company.”

He smiles. A perfect, arrogant smile that reaches his green eyes. “See? This is why I like you. You always have so much fight.”

“Get me out of these handcuffs and you’ll really like me, you piece of shit,” you hiss, pulling at your restraints.

“I know you think you’re angry but this is humanity’s last chance for survival,” says Jeffrey, picking up the tablet with your vitals on it from your bedside table.

“Look at yourself. Humanity is already dead.”

“After the betas killed Nico and McKenna, this is the only way we can survive.”

“You’re a psychopath if you think living like this is better than dying.”

“It’s about more than just living. It’s about our entire species going extinct.”

You stare at each other in silence for a few moments. You absolutely hate that even under these circumstances, you find yourself blushing when he looks at you for too long.

“Fine. Go ahead with your turkey baster and get this over with,” you say, breaking eye contact with him and staring furiously ahead.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

You hold your breath as Jeffrey puts the tablet down and walks to the bottom of the examination bed standing directly between your open legs. Something long and metallic glints in his hand and you attempt to shrink back.

“Safety scissors.” He holds them up so you can see the blunt ends. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Not with scissors, maybe, but you clearly have different definitions of what hurting another person means.

Jeffrey holds the end of your hospital gown and cuts upwards, careful even with the blunt ends of the scissors, not to touch the cool metal to your skin. Your chest heaves as the scissors split open the fabric over your tits and you close your eyes when they reach your neckline. You keep your eyes tight shut, listening to the snipping of the scissors as he cuts the fabric of your sleeves and pulls the gown away, leaving you entirely naked on David’s examination bed. Your nipples harden when you feel the cool breeze of the air conditioning fanning over them.

Jeffrey lets out a low exhale. “Your fight wasn’t the only reason I chose you.” You open your eyes to find him staring at your body. “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?”

Even though you still have to clench your fists to avoid letting him see that your hands are trembling, you feel your core tighten as butterflies erupt in your stomach. Under normal circumstances, you’d have liked to receive a compliment from Jeffrey - have him admire your naked form like this. But you remind yourself your current circumstances are as far away from normal as you could get.

“Don’t compliment me, you psychopath.”

He steps closer between your open legs and places his hands on your hips. There’s nowhere to cringe away to - but the sensation isn’t unpleasant. His hands are warm on your skin when he draws his thumbs along your hip bones. You feel goosebumps prickle on your skin as he does.

“Are you cold?” he asks gently.

The contrarian in you wants to argue with everything he says. To admit you’re uncomfortable in your vulnerable state would be giving him the upper hand. But the cool air makes the hair on your arms stand up so instead you swallow. “A - a little,” you answer quietly, deciding there’s no point in being even more uncomfortable than you already are.

“Cortex, turn it up to twenty-two degrees Celsius in here.” There’s a wave of warm air - a blessing on your cold, exposed skin. “That’s the temperature you like, right?” You don’t answer but your fists stop clenching and you can feel where your fingernails have been digging into your palms. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Jeffrey puts the scissors down on the empty hospital rolling tray table. He notices your eyes following them.

“I told you they’re blunt. But I bet you’d like to stab me with something right now,” he teases. “You’ll come around eventually.”

He smiles, teasing you like you’re friends again and this is just a silly game. Like how he did before everything went to shit. “I’ll never come around. If you go through with this, I’ll throw myself down the stairs. I’ll drown myself in the reservoir. I’d rather die than carry your baby.”

“I won’t let that happen. Cortex will be with you day and night.”

“Cortex can’t keep a watch on all of us. The others -”

“The others. Hannah and Ida both relented. They’re excited, even, at the prospect of giving the human race another chance.”

“They relented after being strapped to a table and forcibly impregnated?”

“They went along willingly with Axel and David, respectively.” You can’t ignore the way his thumbs are so tenderly stroking your hip bones.

“And you’ll be able to live with yourself once you’ve done this? Done this to me?”

He shrugs. “I’ve already made peace with it,” says Jeffrey, drawing his thumbs down and massaging your vulva.

You look away, trying to ignore the surge of heat you feel in your core at his touch. “Stop that,” you snipe. “Can’t you just jerk off until you’re close and finish in me?”

“The chances of conception are higher if you cum too,” he says, pushing your outer lips together, putting the tiniest bit of pressure on your clit. You breathe in sharply, freezing for just a second before trying to move your hips away from him to no avail. “Besides, if I know you’re having a good time it makes it much more enjoyable for me.”

“This - this is not my idea of a good time, Jeffrey.”

“I think - deep down - this is exactly your idea of a good time. I see how you look at me.”

You flush, embarrassed that he’s throwing your earlier flirting from weeks ago back in your face. “You’re deluded.”

He tuts gently. “Now, you can’t lie to me when I can see how wet you are already. ”

This time you feel your embarrassment creeping right down to your chest. “I can’t - I can’t help how my body reacts to you touching me - I mean, being touched.”

But he smirks at your slip-up. “Sure. And when you’re begging for my cock in a few minutes, we can pretend you can’t control that either.”

“Fuck you, Jeffrey.”

“Now that’s the spirit,” he says and your pussy protests when he removes his hands to drag over David’s office chair. You watch as he sits down and wheels closer, his head and shoulders still visible. “God, you have such a pretty little cunt.”

Jeffrey slides two fingers along your slit, dragging your wetness up and over your clit. You turn your head and look away, trying to appear disinterested. You’re determined not to enjoy this. Not to give him anything.

“What’s wrong? Are you worried if you watch that you’ll finish too quickly?” he asks, a mischievous grin lighting up his face as he lightly circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers.

“I’m just wondering if they have a hospital TV so I have something to do while you get this over with,” you say, blandly - a direct contrast with the heat pulsing from your clit.

“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that. Not when I can see you soaking the bed.” He runs the two fingers between your lips and holds them up so you can see them glistening and wet under the fluorescent clinical lights. “Do you want to taste it? Make sure I’m not lying?”

You stare at him insolently, refusing to answer.

“What am I saying?” He laughs. “You’d bite my fingers clean off if they came anywhere near your mouth, right?” Jeffrey sucks on his two wet fingers, briefly closing his eyes, before slowly withdrawing them. “Mhm. You’re missing out. You taste so fucking good.”

You hate that he’s hot when he does that. You hate that he’s hot full stop.

Why is the psychopath you're stuck here with hot?

Billionaire CEOs are used to controlling everyone around them. You’re not surprised he’s getting off on having you completely at his mercy. What surprises you is that he’s good at it.

When he slowly pushes two fingers inside you and curls them up, it’s like he knows it’s exactly what your body needs. You can’t help but gasp, feeling him gently stroking your G-spot. You bite your lip, trying to stifle any further noise involuntarily leaving you.

You don’t want this to feel as good as it does.

You try and leverage yourself up and away from him using your handcuffs but it’s no use when your legs are strapped down. Your ass barely lifts off the bed. He notices but he doesn’t stop tapping his fingers.

“C’mon, where are you going? We’ve barely even started,” he complains before inching his chair closer and pressing his lips against your inner thigh. “Tell me - how much - you want me - to fuck you.” Each pause is punctuated with a kiss or a suck on the sensitive flesh of your thigh as his fingers continue to curl up inside you.

“You’re crazy if - if - if - ah-” You swallow, watching him smile triumphantly against your soft thigh. Stop, you have to think of something else. You’re a mechanic - not a machine. You can be mentally strong. You don’t have to react automatically when you have these very specific buttons pushed. You exhale steadily. “- If you think I’d ever want you to fuck me.”

But the more you try to appear bored, the more relaxed your body becomes and that only heightens the sensation of Jeffrey toying with your pussy. Feeling your legs untense, he pushes his fingers in deeper and with a jolt of pleasure your back arches. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You curse yourself for making this so easy for him.

He laughs softly at the way your body becomes pliable under his touch and his hot breath fans over your clit. He picks up pace, tapping firmly against your g-spot. Everything pulls up in you like a spring tightening.

Oh, fuck. This is it. You’re gonna -

Suddenly, Jeffrey removes his fingers and frowns. “You know what? Maybe this was a bad idea after all.”

You feel your heartbeat in your ears below your waist screams in protest.

What did he just say? “R - really?” You’re surprised to hear your voice is just a whisper.

You know you should feel relieved. But you were so close.

You try to remind yourself to feel victorious. You resisted cumming long enough for him to come to his senses, after all.

“Although…” He tilts his head. “You’re soaked. What a mess you’ve made… somebody should really clean that up.”

You shudder when he draws his tongue all over your entrance, lapping up your arousal with the tip of his tongue before going back for more. He carefully avoids your clit, making sure not even the tip of his nose touches it. You feel the bundle of nerves throbbing, begging for his attention. You want him to notice, to move up just a couple of centimetres and slip his tongue over the sensitive little nub.

So, you chase it instead. The lower half of your body is in total disregard of your protesting mind. You roll your hips forward hoping to catch his velvet tongue as he mops you up.

“You like this, do you?” smirks Jeffrey and he pulls back to watch your chest heave. You stop your wriggling abruptly, as your brain fights to regain firm control of your actions. “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to cum until my cock is inside you. And the only way that’s going to happen is if you ask for it.”

He looks over you with a smug smile but you’re not going to crack yet.

Are you?

“This is how you’re going to justify it to yourself, then?” you snarl, with renewed pent-up aggression.

“What you’ve got to understand is that I didn’t become a CEO without firstly, having what it takes to make someone break, and secondly, refusing to compromise when it matters most. And you’re going to break long before I decide to compromise.”

He stands up and pinches both of your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and you suck air in through your teeth. “I wonder if you’d let me suck on your nipples today or if you’d try and bite me…” he thinks aloud, with a discerning look into your eyes as if trying to read your mind. Honestly, you’re not sure how you’d react, you feel so dizzy with need that you’re not really processing what he’s saying.

“I think it’s safe this time,” Jeffrey decides and then, as if for good measure adds, “Remember, I can bite too,” before latching onto your hard nipple. You huff a sigh, the fight burning inside you instantly forgotten as the contrast of his soft tongue running circles around the peak of your nipple makes you want to just melt away.

He firmly rolls your other nipple between his fingers and you arch under him, trying not to moan. Jeffrey takes an agonisingly slow time sucking on your tits, swapping from right to left, trying to fit them in his mouth, burying his face between them as you watch helplessly. The steady pulsing in your clit still throbbing, waiting for him to pay you attention below your waist again.

“God, you’re so hot when you’re being well-behaved,” he says. It’s probably a fair assessment - the last time you saw Jeffrey you hit him over the head with a wrench. You scowl - you don’t want him to think you’re complying just because his mouth on your nipple felt good.

“What’s that little pout for?” coos Jeffrey, straightening up and tracing a finger down your torso. “I know you’re smart but aren’t you tired of thinking all the time? Always thinking about machines and schematics. Solving problems. Wouldn’t you just like to relax for once?”

You purse your lips. This entire time in Evergreen has been so mentally draining.

“If you really thought about it, wouldn’t you like the chance to stop fighting to prove yourself? All you have to do is say the word and you can stop fighting. All you have to be is my little fucktoy.” You screw your face up and he laughs. “You’re not gonna make it easy for me, are you?”

Jeffrey leans down and presses his tongue against your clit. You pant, waiting for him to give you clit the same treatment he was just giving your tits. He looks up at you and raises his eyebrows. “I’m not gonna make it easy for you either. You want to be a worker instead of a fucktoy? Then you can work for this too.”

“Fuck,” you whine, feeling tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

You push your hips up against his face and rock back and forth as much as your constraints allow. Jeffrey follows your needy movements and sucks on your clit, swirls his tongue across the throbbing sensitivity and groans, sending deep vibrations across your skin.

You curse yourself for being so desperate for your orgasm.

Everything pulses and burns. Fuck, it radiates from your centre as you grind yourself against Jeffrey’s face.

“Ah - fuck,” you whimper as everything pulls up fierce and tight once more. Your fingers wrap around the chains of your handcuffs, giving you something to bear your weight against as you roll your pelvis and feel the flutter of his tongue on your clit.

Jeffrey pulls away and you actually cry out this time, arching your back and lifting your hips right off the bed as you helplessly try to follow his mouth.

“Was that a close one, baby?” He clicks his tongue soothingly. “Shhh, you don’t need to cry.” You huff and blink tears from your eyes as he leans over and wipes a fat tear from under your eye with his thumb, smoothing it across your cheek. “All you have to do is ask. Ask for me to fuck you.”

You take a gulp of air and shake your head, using your very last bit of resolve to pull yourself together.

“No?” he asks and with difficulty you shake your head again. With a sigh, he turns away from you and unbuttons his shirt. You blink slowly as he reveals his toned, muscular shoulders and back. “Usually this is reserved for girls who behave. But I can make an exception - given the circumstances.”

The room is silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning and your laboured breathing. Your eyes rake over him. He has no right to make you feel self-conscious. Especially when it’s his fault that you’re in the state you’re in right now. But he does. Just him existing - looking like that - makes you self-conscious of the sweat glistening on your stomach and the puddle of arousal coating the examination bed.

You were attracted to him the first time you saw him. Felt his bicep when you hit him on the arm playfully in the control room. Watched his muscular forearm flex under a rolled-up sleeve when you asked him to lift a piece of machinery while you fixed one of Cortex’s attachments. You already knew that his physical form was more than it seemed under his tailored shirt.

But Jesus fucking Christ.

Like the control freak he is, he folds his shirt neatly before turning back around and standing between your open legs again. Your gaze flicks down, following the dark blonde trail of hair covering his chest and stomach.

Jeffrey undoes his belt and the gentle clinking noise seems deafening in the quiet, clinical room. The atmosphere crackles as you hold your breath.

Waiting.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his overpriced, designer boxers and eases his cock out. And of course, it’s hard already - there’s no way he wasn’t getting off on this. But he’s thick too. Without realising it, your whole body tenses up when he wraps his hand around it.

“No.” You look away adamantly. Though you’re not sure whether you’re protesting about him having his cock out or if you’re resolving not to be persuaded by temptation.

Deciding it’s the former, Jeffrey says, “I already told you, I’m not gonna fuck you until you’re begging me for it.”

Jeffrey cups your pussy and for a second, your body hopes against your own will that he’s going to slip his fingers inside you again. But you feel a pang of longing when instead, he gathers up your arousal on the flats of his fingers before coating himself in your slick.

“I thought you’d break sooner than this,” he says, stepping close enough that the underside of his cock brushes your clit. Your breathing picks up again - his touch sending an electric current through you that kicks your needly little nerve endings into hyperdrive.

He doesn’t fail to notice.

Jeffrey holds onto your hips and fuck, you feel so small in his large, firm hands. He edges closer, dragging his length along your clit. All the gears whir furiously inside your brain - normally your thoughts are so collected. You wish your brain was working properly but all you can focus on is the delicious way he’s rocking his hips, putting the lightest pressure possible on your clit.

You can’t take it.

You can’t fucking take it.

You buck wildly, your body begging for more pressure but he keeps steady, giving you a knowing smirk as you arch your back again, chasing the sensation.

“God dammit,” you sob, wishing you had a hand free just to slap that smile off his face.

Your fingernails dig crescent moon indents into your palms as you exert yourself, shamelessly trying to grind against the underside of Jeffrey’s cock.

“Come on, baby. You can get it if you want it. Almost there.”

He follows your movements this time, pulling your hips into his own.

Holy fuck.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you teeter on a tightrope, willing yourself to fall off. To let yourself plummet.

Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, you think with every little grinding motion.

You squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm rears its head.

Then Jeffrey steps back and his departure fucking winds you.

“No! Fuck, nonononono!” you wail.

“I told you that all you have to do is -”

“Fuck me. Fuck me. Pleeeeaaassseeee,” you howl, feeling tears hot and wet on your cheeks.

What the fuck are you doing? This is so fucked up.

And what’s worse is that you want it.

You like it.

“Tell me you want me to breed you,” says Jeffrey, placing the tip of his cock against your entrance.

You nod, looking away in shame.

“Tell me. Using words.”

“I - I want you to breed me,” you mumble, feeling your face turn bright red once more.

“Good girl,” he says, slapping you on the side of the thigh like you’re livestock. Jeffrey inches forward and you’re so slick and hot between your legs that you’re able to take him more easily than you’d imagined when you first saw the size of his cock. His grip on your hips tightens as he slowly sheaths himself in you, sucking through his teeth.

“I’m glad you finally saw sense,” he grunts, wrapping his hands around your thighs to better leverage himself so he can sink into you deeper.

Sense? What sense? Your own thoughts have never made less sense than right now. You don’t know how to tell him this so you just whimper, blinking at him slowly while he stretches you out. The head of his cock presses against your G-spot and your eyes roll back in your head, grateful that this most sensitive part of your insides is getting the attention it’s been crying out for.

Holy fucking shit.

Your walls clench around him, clamping down hard as your legs begin to tremble. Jeffrey groans before pulling back out and slamming into you and, fuck, you’d be screaming if you could breathe properly right now. You’re only sure that you haven’t been deactivated again because you can still see.

“You’re all - fucking - mine. Forever,” he says through clenched teeth, drilling into you.

He removes a hand from your hip and starts rubbing circles on your clit as he thrusts. You finally take a gasp of air - so deep that you might be waking up from reactivation - as stars are exploding behind your eyes. “Ah - ah, Jeffrey - fuck,” you whine.

And then you’re writhing. Writhing and grinding as much as you can while he uses your body as a counterweight to thrust himself into you. You’re not losing it this time. He’ll be merciful this time, right?

“You gonna cum for me?” asks Jeffrey. “You gonna cum from being used like a slut?”

“Yes, yes - yes,” you pant, chasing your impending orgasm, everything pulling inside you like a rubber band getting ready to snap.

“Tell me you want my cum -”

“I - I want you to cum - fuck - cum in me,” you say, cutting him off before he can even finish as you take open-mouthed gulps of air. “Breed me. Use me. Do whatever you want.”

“Fuck, I’ve never heard you say that before,” he murmurs to himself, furrowing his brow. With renewed determination, he speeds up his thrusting in time with the circles he’s rubbing around your poor, abused clit. “Come on, baby. You can cum now,” he breathes.

You don’t give him a chance to change his mind. You vault over the edge this time. Your core tightens like a vice then explodes - wet and hot around his cock, squeezing and spasming around him as you tremble and beg for him to let you finish this time.

Jeffrey lets out a low groan, coarse like grit as he fucks you so hard the examination table moves and squeaks on the polished stone floor. You feel his cock pulsing inside you as he growls his way through his release, shooting ropes of his seed inside you.

He pulls out of you quicker than you’d like him to. But it’s with purpose as he pulls up his boxers and says “Cortex - tilt the bed back minus 30 degrees.”

The bed mechanically reclines until your pelvis is higher than your head. It doesn’t help with how dazed you’re feeling.

Your state of mind must be painted all over your face because when Jeffrey walks around to the side of the bed, pulling on his shirt he says, “Just like this for a couple of minutes to give us the best chances of conception.” He brushes a sweat-soaked strand of your hair back from your face.

You look at the ceiling as you regain control of your breathing.

Eventually, Jeffrey puts you upright.

“I’m going to take off your restraints so you can go to V-mem,” he says. “I’m warning you now that Cortex will deactivate you if you try to harm me.”

“V-mem?” you ask.

“I can understand that your current situation could be considered to be… traumatic. V-mem will help you rewrite that trauma.”

You nod and watch silently as Jeffrey presses a button that undoes your restraints. He taps an electronic key fob above your head and it unclips your handcuffs.

“Better?” he asks, watching you rub your wrists. You remain silent. You’ve nothing else to say. Nothing you can say that will change what your future will be down here.

Jeffrey frowns and hands you a fresh hospital gown and you put it on before following down the corridor in your bare feet to the V-mem room.

“You - you know how to use it? Even though McKenna is gone?” you ask, stepping into the chamber.

“We’ve not only used it but we’ve improved it,” he says, pulling the door shut. For some reason, this particular door shutting jogs something in your brain. “V-mem can do more than just help process trauma. It can actually delete memories.”

You stare at him through the glass pane. He might be evil but he has a perfect face.

Too perfect.

You remember hitting him pretty hard with a wrench. Shouldn't there be a bruise?

“Jeffrey... how long was I deactivated for?”

“Which time?” he replies absently pressing buttons on the V-mem pod.

Your stomach sinks.

Deleted memories.

“How many times have we done this?” you ask, your throat feels tight as he continues to press buttons.

Jeffrey pauses. “This is the first time you’ve ever asked that.”

“How many times, Jeffrey?” you plead.

“Nine.”

You feel bile bubbling up in your throat.

“And - and how many more times will we need to do it?” you ask, trying to keep your voice as casual as if you were asking the weather.

“We’ll keep doing it until you’re pregnant. Or until you agree that this is our best shot for humanity. You’ve taken much longer than Hannah and Ida to come around.”

“I agree,” you say quickly. You can’t let your memories be erased. You can’t let this happen again to future you. “I - I see it now. You were right Jeffrey.”

He raises an eyebrow sceptically. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I - I’m not sure. I think it just took a while to sink in.” His expression remains still. “And now I - I realise I’m so lucky that you chose me and I’m not stuck with David or Axel.”

Jeffrey’s face softens into a smile. It’s been so long down here that his ego must have been feeling so neglected.

“I’m the lucky one,” he says, opening the door of the V-mem pod and cupping your face. “You are the smartest person down here and I’ve missed you while you’ve been deactivated.”

You paint a simpering smile on your face, choking down the retort on your tongue - that it was he who deactivated you in the first place.

“No - I am. Think about how smart and beautiful our children will be,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes.

He laughs “Come on - let’s get out of here,” says Jeffrey helping you out of the pod and putting an arm around you. “And back to my quarters.”

“Your quarters?”

“Well, if we’re going to be parents together we should probably start sleeping in the same bed, right?”

“Right,” you chuckle weakly, letting him lead you down the corridor to the bed that you’ll be spending the rest of your life sleeping in.

#tw.noncon #tw.dark content #this is so twisted and i love it #freddie stroma #jeffrey steinberg #jeffrey steinberg x reader #hidden signal: evergreen #hidden signals: evergreen #jeffrey steinberg x you #jeffrey steinberg fanfic #jeffrey steinberg fanfiction #jeffrey steinberg fic #jeffrey steinberg imagines #jeffrey steinberg imagine

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ramona-thorns · 7 days

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Uncalculated Risk (adrian chase x oc female)

I wrote this to get back into writing. It's very flawed and has very cringy kinks and shouldn't exist but still, here it is.

Finding names for OCs is hard so I went with Kat again. Not the same character, just the same name.

Warnings: smut, violence, murder, blood, swearing, pregnancy kink, the OC is a weirdo but not in a cute way. More like in a mid-quarter crisis way.

Word count: 6672

More than two hours had passed since the workday ended, but the light grey walls of Volkov Systems still echoed with the exhausted but excited chatter of employees. "Get a life, losers," Kat thought. It was sad how in love they were with their jobs - they couldn't get enough of it. Work, work, work - that's all they could talk about. Sales, numbers, analyses, figures, executives, promotions, new product launches, endless rivalries... Kat even remembered people crying in the bathroom stalls, only to come out with determined and hardened expressions, minus the red eyes.

What surprised Kat most was the intensity of their loyalty. These people loved their jobs and felt like crucial, living parts of Volkov Systems, always ready to serve. She'd caught more than a handful of people gazing at the gold-plated three-arrow sculpture hanging from the ceiling in the entry hall with a mixture of awe and fearful respect. With as few incidents as possible, Kat had quickly figured out that Volkov Systems was a cult, not a business. She kept quiet about it, though, because one thing she was proud of was her wise and cautious nature.

Kat stared at her computer screen without really seeing it, trying to act like someone annoyed by all those unfinished tasks. The big boss man usually left the building at 7 pm and went for dinner with his entourage who happened to be even more disgusting than the characters in Entourage to a private club. No one knew about this club in Evergreen, even the smartest detectives failed to tail the guy but Kat came to this knowledge purely by accident.

That was when they approached her and asked her to handle some tasks. They had said they wanted to build a case against the Volkov Systems. Weird-looking people who applied no stereotype, dressed in suits in a non-intimidating way, calling themselves. Kat didn’t care, though. She didn’t want to bring down the big business and save the little people. All she wanted was to feel alive and leave this numb, sluggish feeling behind.

Transferring files, monitoring certain employees, casually existing around the partner meetings and using her expertise in Eastern European languages to catch small snippets from what they are discussing. It was exciting enough to finally bring some light to her eyes and give her enough energy to go shopping for a pair of new sneakers.

Caught up in the thrill, she hardly noticed that the tasks were getting more difficult every week and the excitement had already turned into dread and fear. She took a huge gulp of water from her bottle but stopped herself from drinking more – she didn’t know how long she had to wait at night.

When it was 9.20 she slowly walked to the water fountain to fill up the bottle, visited the printer for no reason whatsoever and then built her courage to confidently walk into the CEO’s office, holding a bunch of papers that had the value of trash, as if to do something work-related. Silly. No one used real papers or signatures – at least not in this field.

The bureau was empty, as she expected. Evergreen’s night sky looked particularly beautiful and intimidating from the floor-to-ceiling glasses. Take a deep breath and do this. It’ll be over in a few minutes. She crawled under the desk to get the hidden voice recorders and cameras as she had been told only to find none. Weird. There must have been other ways to feed one’s hunger for life. Ways that didn’t include career and reputation-threatening, litigation-attracting actions.

Kat felt some relief when she saw the tiny green light of the voice recorder and ripped it from the wooden surface it was clumsily taped to. Unfortunately, her relief lasted only a few seconds as he heard a loud and phlegmy cough just outside the door. Big. Boss. Man. It was his phlegmy cough. There was no way she could explain herself, no time to even partially hide herself.

Luckily a rush of adrenaline shut her always pessimistic brain up and she found herself in the closet where the Big Man kept his cigar-drenched coats. She felt like she was in an old movie. Maybe she could even hand the coats if they came to look for one.

Footsteps. Hurried and nervous. The Big Man. Kat pushed the closet door to let herself have the tiniest bit of crack to see what was going on.

“Weird,” biggie said. “I don’t remember leaving the lights on.”

Fuck! She forgot to turn the lights off. Kat squeezed her eyes shut and cursed herself. Stupid, stupid, stu– Wait a second, she thought. She hadn’t turned the lights on. There was no need to panic. Everything was going well, it was just a hiccup. Big Man was going through his drawers ad he would find whatever he was looking for in a second and get the fuck out of there without discovering the sneaky spy in his office.

“It’s because I turned them on,” said another voice cheerfully.

A rush of cold sweat covered her back instantaneously. Someone else was there, and she could hear the faint sound of flushing.

She pushed the closet door even further to see what was going on. The new footsteps were heavier. Slower and more confident, loud enough to smother the shocked, choking noises the Boss Man was making.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked. My thoughts exactly, thought Kat.

“Does it really matter?” the voice said. One more step and now he was in Kat’s sight. The blod teal color and the mask left her even more confused. What the fuck was going on?

“What the fuck is going on?” the boss vocalized her question. “Who let you in here?”

“I’m a grown man,” the man in the mask said. “I don’t need to be let in super-protected and exclusive places like this. No, don’t bother calling the security. I cut the lines off and put the best signal jammer one could buy in the black market in that closet before you came in.” He gestured at the closet Kat was hiding in. He must have been talking about the huge black box she was sitting on.

“What are you–”

“I’m here to kill you, if that is what you’re going to ask.” He let himself fall gracefully on the dark grey armchair across the work desk and crossed his long legs. Kat knew him. She’d seen him on the news before. He was trouble and not in a fun way. “I should have killed you when you first failed to keep up with the regulations,” he said. “But I let it pass because you’re not the main decision-maker, and I thought you could have been completely clueless.”

“I’m not,” the idiot objected for some stupid reason. Maybe he wanted to gloat – that was his thing, after all. “There’s a loophole in the law, and I rightfully use it. Aren’t you that guy who kills criminals and lawbreakers? Have you gone through every one of them and now you’re looking for easy prey?”

“That’s not very flattering, is it? For you, I mean.”

The way they sound, he sounds, Kat suspected they were familiar with each other. Friends, maybe. One was so careless, and the other sounded cheerful and excited, talking about killing.

“I’m already bored with this conversation,” the boss said. Now he sounded different. There was a slight tone shift, a tremble only people with absolute pitch like her. He took a deep breath and walked up to him. It was funny how he tried to make himself look bigger, like a bull frog.

“We can’t have that,” the masked guy said. Kat tried to remember his alias but her mind refused to focus on that. He stood up again and put a friendly hand on the boss’s shoulder. The boss smiled. That was it. They were friends and it was just Kat’s luck that she got stuck in the closet when decided to meet up. Maybe the masked one worked for the boss and did his dirty jobs – definitely the kind of information her other bosses would be interested in.

It happened so quickly like a scene cut out from a movie expertly. The masked one pulled out a knife, god knows from where and slashed, not stabbed, her boss’s boss’s boss from on his right side. Not the spot she would have chosen if she were to kill someone. His smile vanished, he tried to hold on to the masked guy’s arms and then dropped onto the carpeted floor with a muted sound.

Kat kept her cool until she saw his crisp white shirt underneath his too-tight blazer getting soaked with his own blood. That flash of color in the greige room finally let the reality sink in and her hands turned so impossibly cold that when she put them against her mouth to prevent herself from screaming, she physically flinched and her head hit the back of the closet.

Despite her mind-numbing fear, the masked killer seemed unbothered and was literally giggling and mumbling to himself as he wiped his knife on her boss’s grey blazer.

“What a dork,” he said. “Can’t believe he managed to pass all those regulations and committed so many violations. You must have had some help, I gues,” he said, addressing to the dead body on the floor. “And you, must think I’ve forgotten about you, but I haven’t,” he said, addressing…no one? He was talking to dead people, after all, maybe he also talked to spirits or voices since that was what crazy people did.

He took his time, admiring his work for a while, and then snooping around, opening drawers, stealing documents, plugging a USB cable and connecting the PC with several unrecognizable gadgets. This time, he sat on the office chair behind the desk and pulled out his cell phone to make a call. He put the phone on speaker, leaned back casually and started to hum an unfamiliar tune as if he hadn’t just killed a man.

“Yes?” said the guy on the other end.

“Hi baby–”

“I told you not to call me that.”

He totally ignored that. “Just wanted to do a follow-up. The job is done, he didn’t even put up a fight. Very anticlimactic and boring – this isn’t what was promised to me. You need to make this up to me.”

“Please, not now,” the man said in an exasperated tone, which made her feel better. The masked guy was crazy and the reassurance made breathing easier for her. “Just tell me if you transferred every file we asked.”

“Yep, it’s still transferring. You know Economos, this tech stuff is easy. I can fill for you when you feel sick.”

His gloved hand reached out to the back of his hand and in one smooth motion, he pulled his mask off, revealing dark waves most men would kill for and, from what Kat could see, a decent face.

He took a deep breath before speaking again. “How long does this kind of thing take? There are still people in the building and I can’t kill anyone who drops in because you guys forbade it.”

“Adrian,” the man said in a chilling serious tone. So that was his name. “We asked you to stop killing innocent people who just happened to be in the same place. If someone can possibly endanger this project, you know what to do. That’s why we’re using you.”

The weird and strenuous position she had been standing in finally got to her legs and a sudden and sharp cramp radiated through her right calf. She tried her best to keep silent and not move and slowly bent down to pull her toes back to relieve the pain.

The masked killer – Adrian – was still talking, mostly about what they should do after their mission was over, while receiving very little to none engagement from the guy called Economos.

He took a quick glance at the computer screen “I think it’ll be done in a short while. After that, I’m going to take care of the sneaky little spy in the closet and get home for a well-deserved rest–”

Kat didn’t hear the rest of it. She knew what fear was. She felt it so many times since starting to work with those environmental whackjobs and retrieving documents for them. It was what she craved for. Excitement, any kind of raw feeling that would awaken her from the numbness of her life. Ironically enough, the same kind of numbness covered all of her body, making it impossible to move or think. She tried to force herself to imagine how close she was to death and come up with ideas to save herself but it seemed like her flight or fight response also had a third option which was drop and play dead.

Fighting against the third urge as strongly as she could, Kat kept her eyes open and just when she commanded her brain to work and was about to find an idea to keep herself alive, the closet door opened, and the soft spotlights of the room temporarily blinded her.

Someone grabbed her arm and forced her to get out, and she obeyed, stepping out on shaky knees.

“Enjoyed the show?” Adrian’s cheerful voice asked.

Her recently adjusted eyes finally saw his face up close. It definitely wasn’t the face of a killer, she thought, hopefully. People probably had felt the same thing about Ted Bundy, too. She was so intrigued by his fluffy and messy hair, his large eyes that sparkled impossibly under the spotlights, his pink lips, his thick neck, and the huge gun in his hands that was directed at her and his lean waist and…yeah, the gun.

Still, it wasn’t fear what she felt. She was overcome with an unbearable pang of sadness suddenly. It was over. She was almost thirty and had never done anything exciting except steal documents, which were nothing worthy. She thought she had more time to take risks and feel alive but apparently not. At least her death would be something. Maybe they would think that she died while defending an innocent person. The thought made her feel even more pathetic and sad and she felt fat drops of tears running down on her face.

“What the fuck? Are you crying?” he asked, sounding almost accusatory.

She could only sob loudly. What she wanted to do was scream out your anger for the unfairness of the world. Instead, she dropped to her knees and kept on crying. It was creepy how much she enjoyed crying – she had no idea how much pent-up sadness stored in her body that she didn’t even care she had a gun directed at her by a murderer.

He crouched on the floor, still taller than her, and stared at her as if she were some kind of exotic animal. “Don’t do that, it’s not productive for either of us.”

“How about you don’t kill me?” she screamed, but the words were muffled in her crying.

His brows knitted in confusion. “I’m not going to kill you, where did you get that idea?”

“I heard you talking on the phone to that man. He–he said you were free to–” She couldn’t even bring herself to say the word kill again and a guttural wail let itself out. God, she was embarrassing herself. There must have been a way to die in a dignified and graceful way.

“Uh, please stop it. No offense, but your crying is really annoying. I’ve heard boars being slaughtered and still managing to be quieter than you. And mind you, there are still people in this building.”

That shut her up quickly.

“Yes, there’s a good girl. Now stay like that.”

“Wait a second, why am I being quiet? I want them to hear me. HELP!” she shouted. “IS THERE ANYONE OUT THERE? HE-mmmb…”

And then she shut up again because a huge gloved hand was smothering her mouth and nose, not only keeping her silent but also preventing her breathing. Long before getting to the point of suffocation, she started to struggle so hard that even a strong man like him had difficulty keeping up.

“Just…could you please…relax? Ow, watch your elbow!” Within seconds, Kat was on her back with him almost on top of her. His hand was still covering her mouth, but luckily, she could breathe through her nose now. His hair was truly a mess, and he, too, was breathing heavily. “Calm down, will you? I’m not going to hurt you. I’d also like to remind you that you don’t want people to find you in this situation since you have no business being in this room and if I tell them you are my accomplice, they will believe me.”

Fine, that was true, Kat thought while silently nodding. She still didn’t trust him, though, and the struggle, the rough play, and how easily he got her underneath him left her embarrassingly confused.

“We’ll talk about this…situation later on but right now, we have to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible. Upon her second silent nod, he snapped. “Okay, you can speak, just don’t scream. And please wipe those tears away. If someone sees your face in this condition, they will ask questions.”

“I could if you get off of me,” she said, mimicking his annoyed tone and pushing at him. “How do you propose we leave the building together? I think your ridiculous outfit is more eye-catching than my tears.”

“Oh yeah,” he said non-committally. “We could use the same way I got in.” He stood to his feet and held out his gloved hand to her, and she took it after a moment of slight hesitation. “Have you ever seen First Wives Club?”

“You mean the movie?”

“No, I’m talking about the re-make TV show,” he said, procuring a pair of glasses from his belt. “Starring Margot Robbie, playing Bette Midler’s character.”

“You’re lying! There’s no such show.”

He put on his glasses and stopped walking to examine her face. “Then why were you asking if there’s any other First Wives Club than the original movie?”

“You–”

“You look like a movie star. Old Hollywood types.”

The unexpected compliment made her stutter. “Um–”

“Like Humphrey Bogart, you know.”

“Just shut up and lead the way.” She couldn’t believe how minutes ago, she was ready to beg for her life. Now, she wanted to punch his stupid face.

“This is it,” he said, standing in front of the one-sided window. “Oh wait a sec, I forgot the hard drive and the other gizmo.”

“What are we gonna do? Jump out of the window to our death?”

“No, silly,” he said, smiling for the first time. “The maintenance gondola. Like how they used one to get away in First Wives Club. You’ll be Diane Keaton and I’ll be Goldie Hawn. Since you’re a nervous wreck and I look great for my age.”

“I’m not getting on a gondola,” Kat said. “I’d rather you kill me right here and now.”

“I think you misunderstood. I didn’t ask you,” he said. He grabbed her with one arm and lifted her so easily. She saw a tiny smirk on his face after she gasped before he unloaded her on the platform. Her already heightened heart rate became almost painful when she looked down and saw the view.

“Jesus fuck! It’s the 23rd floor, we’re both going to die!”

“Relax,” he said, jumping to the platform smoothly. The gondola shook and Kat grabbed the rails. “This is what I used to come up here in the first place. It’s perfectly safe.”

“Yeah but going up and going down are completely different things!”

Adrian sighed, took off his glasses and put his mask back on. With no warning he pulled a lever and they started going down. Fast, with acceleration. Instinctively, she sought out the assurance she couldn’t find from the unstable rails from his body and held on to his waist without permission. While it was impossible to bury her face into his chest due to some sort of body armor, she did her best to muffle her screams.

“That was fun,” he said and Kat realized the ride was over. “Wanna do it again?”

“I want to throw up.”

He took a step back and out of her grasp. “Please don’t. My car is parked over the next block. Can you run?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on then.”

And then, Kat found herself face down on the asphalt. He helped her get back up, but this time, his hands were much more gentle. “This is embarrassing,” he said. “For you, I mean.”

“Yes, I got that.”

“Your face is bleeding,” he said, gingerly touching her cheekbone. “Let me see your palms. Ouch, that doesn’t look good.”

“Doesn’t feel good either,” Kat responded and quickly skimmed the area for a perfect place to vomit. It was almost midnight and the streets were completely deserted. “Where was your car again?”

“You don’t think you can run?”

“I can’t even walk,” she whined. Her knees refused to work and keep her up and she heavily leaned on him.

He tilted his head to the side, god knew what he was thinking about. “Do you mind if I carry you over my shoulder?”

“Not at all,” Kat said. “A masked man carrying a woman on his shoulder while running to his car at midnight. No one would suspect a thing.”

“Perfect!” He swooped her up, ignoring her protests and speed walked to the dark end of the street. “You said you didn’t mind, why are you complaining now?”

“This isn’t a good position to be in when you’re nauseous.”

“Keep it in. We’re almost there.”

***

The car ride was mostly him blasting hair metal and her begging for windows to be opened. Adria told him they were going to her place. She contemplated about giving him the wrong address. Or the police station’s address. But something did not let her. The same thing that kept her quiet in the office, or what made her get in the car with him. This was what she wanted. Excitement and the fear that made her feel alive. Sneakily going around the workplace and stealing documents or trying to hook up with guys she met at the club and then abandon before they at her place didn’t give her that feeling. Nearly free falling from the 23rd floor, holding on to a masked man’s waist did.

“My building has cameras everywhere and I can’t be seen with you. Can’t you just pull another window trick?” Kat asked while he was parking.

“Ugh, no. I hate climbing. I can change here though.”

She didn’t expect to see him maskless, pantless and only covered in black boxer briefs and the tightest undershirt so fast but there he was, trying to get in his jeans in the driver’s seat. Making sure that she was properly hidden behind the shotgun seat, Kat stared at his arms and legs like a creep. A very happy creep. When finally his arms were clad in his sweater and his glasses were back on he looked back at her and smiled. “C’mon.”

He looked like a normal man, not a weird-ass murderer in his clothes. Even his posture was softer now. He chattered excitedly about her building, fascinated by the number of cameras and finding new ones she hadn’t even noticed before.

Things were tense in the apartment, though. He stopped talking and intensely watched her. She too wanted to change her work clothes and had to manage that in the bathroom. And when she got out he was dangerously close to the door.

He noticed her flinch. “You’re so jumpy,” he said with a small smile. “I like it.”

“Um…”

“Why did you let me come home with you? I thought you were afraid of me killing you.”

“You told me you wouldn’t.”

He looked confused, and his gaze turned intense. “How do you know I’m not lying?”

“I don’t.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

There it was, that smirk again. He sat on her pink armchair and leaned back. “I do. I know the effect I have on women.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s the mask and the gun, and the savior stuff–”

“You didn’t save me,” Kat said, still awkwardly standing up.

“It’s the danger, isn’t it?” he went on, ignoring her. “You want to be fucked by a dangerous, masked killer. It’s okay, I totally understand.”

“How do you know about the effect you have on women?” Kat forced herself to speak in a matter-of-fact tone.

“They tell me. Specifically, request it. There was this chick who seemed timid and shy like you, and very jumpy, too. I saved her from a few annoying guys. It was nothing she couldn’t handle by herself, but those guys needed to be taught a lesson. After it was done, she wanted me to bend her over her car trunk and fuck her hard.” His eyes slowly went dark as he spoke, as if he was reliving a very good memory.

“Did she enjoy it?” She was playing with fire and she very well knew it.

“Oh yeah,” he said as his high-pitched, nasal voice turned lower. “She confirmed it over and over again. It was so fucking good. I was ready to pursue it when it was over, you know, taking off my mask and…She didn’t want it. Said it was enough and didn’t want to ruin it. S’all good, I guess.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. So…What do you wanna do now?”

“Hm?” Kat asked, her face burning.

“Do you want to fuck?”

“Yes,” she blurted out without even thinking. If started thinking, it would be a no. Her soul, as well as her body, needed this and she wasn’t going to let common sense ruin it for her.

“You want me to go back to my car and retrieve the suit?”

“What? No, I want you to take off your clothes, not put on more. Shall we move to the bedroom?” she said and held out her hand like an idiot. Kat was relieved when he took it and let her lead the way. “My name is Kat, by the way. I hate endearments, you can call me by my name.”

“Oh good, you can call me Vigilante–”

“Adrian,” she said at the same time.

“How do you know my name?” he accused as they both went into her bedroom. It had too much pink for someone her age and for the first time in her life, she was embarrassed by her fairy lights.

“Your friend said it while you were on the phone.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Do you want me to call you Vigil–”

“No! Adrian is fine. How do you want to do this? Any special requests? Kinks? No-nos? I still have my mask in my pocket, I can put that on. I also have duct tape–” he added the last part with a frightening glint in his eyes.

“I–No, I want you naked. No mask. And I want it as vanilla as possible. No weird positions, no bondage, nothing that can be considered as a kink. Nothing that has its own forum on the internet. No spanking, no extreme biting, no insistent edging and no–”

“Why are you out of breath?”

“Just, let’s try to get to know each other, okay?”

His eyes narrowed. “Does that mean I can bite gently?”

“Um, yes.”

“Good,” he said and put his large hands on her shoulder blades and pulled her roughly against him.

She thought he would kiss her, and he did kiss her but on her neck. His lips were moist, cool and soft and despite his crude actions and words, his precision was excellent. Small close-mouthed kisses, occasionally just a tiny bit of tongue, small bites that can only be described and teeth grazing and she was already melting.

Kat held onto Adrian’s shoulders to stay on her feet and he slowly and very intimately nuzzled in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. It didn’t feel like a one-night stand with a murderous stranger. Then he opened his mouth and started sucking the sensitive skin, his hands traveled down to grab her ass and knead it and the most unabashed moans of pleasure came out right from his throat.

The point of no return was the second he pushed his legs between her thighs and encouraged her to ride him. This definitely wasn’t her first time having sex in a long time but with every surge of her hips with his help, it felt like her body was waking up after a very long sleep.

Her hands went down to desperately rubbing his shoulders through his sweater and the hard muscles under the fabric made her head swim with the anticipation of what he could do to her. She really wanted to be kissed – for him to take control and force her lips open with his tongue and swallow her moans.

She stroked his soft hair with both hands while he was still busy ravishing her neck. When gentle direction didn’t work, she scratched his scalp lovingly and then pulled hard, making him let out a guttural whine. She didn’t receive the intense kissed she was longing for. Instead, after a very dangerous look in his eyes, he almost assaulted her mouth. No way could anyone call it a kiss – it was a weird but consuming mix of licking, nipping and clashing of teeth.

Kat stopped thinking about the pathetic noises she made, the gore she had witnessed that evening and focused on the tightening in her abdomen and the feeling of going absolutely liquid from waist down.

Only when Adrian lifted her up and nearly threw her on the bed she realized they were both half-naked. When did that happen? Surely she wasn’t the reason of the slightly bleeding scratch mark on his pale shoulder.

“Do you have any condoms?” he asked. There he was in that ridiculously tight black shirt and black briefs again with one knee on the bed and staring at her like she was his prey.

“Nope. Do you?”

“Nope. Birth control?”

She bit her lip in disappointment. “Nope?”

“I could go out and get one,” he said enthusiastically.

“Aren’t you supposed to keep an eye on me?”

“Oh yeah,” he said and sat on the end of the bed and stroked her calves absentmindedly. His fingertips were roughened but she couldn’t get enough of it. “We could go together, a nice, short car ride together?”

“It’s a 25 minutes drive from the nearest pharmacy if it is open. And please take this with a pinch of maturity, but I don’t think I’d be able to keep my hands to myself.”

“It’d be nice to watch if you would,” he said with a real, genuine, warm smile. He was a beautiful man, and maybe he wasn’t that dangerous.

“We can do other stuff,” she said, needing more than a leg petting.

“Yeah, we can. I haven’t even seen your tits yet,” Adrian said, climbing on top of her.

She wanted to have a sexy response to that but to be honest, she was done with talking. Trying to lift herself up, she reached behind her to unhook her bra but apparently Adrian too felt the same kind of urgency. He lifted the practical pink bra up and applied the same type of attention to her nipples – lots of teeth and very little mercy. Now that was the point of no return for Kate. Combined with his occasional gentle kisses to the outer sides of her breasts, she was done for. She would let him do everything to her. Anything he wanted to do.

But it appeared what he was doing was what he wanted. He enjoyed it a bit too much, growling with pleasure like a man starved. When she decided it wasn’t enough and sneaked her arm to put her fingers in her panties, his arm moved with an impossible reflex and grabbed her wrist.

Kat protested but it sounded like a very horny approval and she was surprised when Adrian forced both of their hands against her mound while pulling her panties down with his other hand. It wasn’t precise, there was no circling or teasing her opening but every small movement and contact pulled out scream-like gasps from her.

“Fuck!” she heard herself say. “Adrian, fuck me. Now!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers.” The words were muffled against her tits and mixed with the wet, sucking noises.

“No, for real,” she managed to moan.

He lifted his head with a confused look and moved up to see her face clearly while correcting his glasses. “What d’you mean?”

She rubbed her lips against his. “I mean what I said. Fuck my pussy.” Reluctantly, she freed her hand from his and grabbed his clothed cock with her stick fingers. He immediately closed his eyes in pleasure and let out a delicious groan.

“You said–oh fuck, you said you didn’t have–”

“I don’t care,” she said. What the fuck are you talking about? her brain screamed. Of course, you care. Are you fucking crazy? “I want you to fuck me right now.” You know what this means? Are you not a fucking adult?

“Are you sure?”

She gave him a very sloppy kiss. “Yeah, I am.” Stupid, fucking idiot– “I’m clean, are you?” Yeah, but you’re sick, in the head, for even suggesting this.

“Yeah.” He seemed like he was offered the lottery of a lifetime.

Unable to wait any longer, Kat helped him pull his briefs down and pumped his cock up and down with her still-wet fingers as she was still fighting the battle of her lifetime in her mind with herself. …pregnancy, STDs, you don’t even know the guy and he’s a fucking murderer for fuck’s sake… But her body was now a slave to how he throbbed and twitched in her palm and how crazy the look in his darkened eyes was.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” Nope, this is the crazie– “Oh, god,” she cried as he slowly slid in. No way this was going to work.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he said in a guttural voice. He hastily took off his glasses and threw them on the floor. “So fucking wet.” He was inching in slowly with eyes closed shut. “Motherff–I don’t think–” In one, maybe not fluid, but decisive motion, he was in completely and his base met with her as both spat out several curses.

“I can’t believe I let you do this,” Kat said.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he said, moving with shallow thrusts as if he weren’t sure what was allowed. “You’re crazy to do so.”

“Uh-huh,” she said and helplessly clawed at his shoulders.

He increased his speed and everything turned into something rougher and hotter, including his words. “You’re definitely crazy. Or this was your plan all along, y’know.”

She had only half of an idea of what he was saying. With the way he filled her, he was touching all the right spots. She would gladly let him do this again and again, the risks be damned. It was so disgustingly and gloriously wet and noisy.

“Maybe you wanted this, huh?”

“Are you fu– Oh god!” she cried when he hit a particular spot.

“Did I find a sweet spot?” he asked, doubling down his speed and efforts. “This is gonna be so awesome. I can feel you getting wetter,” he rambled on. “I’m gonna cum inside you and get you knocked up.”

What?

Obviously misinterpreting her surprised gasp, Adrian went on. “Your stupid decision will tie you to me forever. Don’t worry, though,” he said and licked a long stripe on her neck. “I’ll take care of you. And the baby.”

WHAT?!

“Imagine you trying to find me. Desperately.” He wasn’t even looking at her face anymore. All of that nonsense was addressed to her wildly bouncing tits. “You’ll need someone to take care of you, won’t you? And I’ll be that guy. Like a protector, provi–” His own words spurred him on and he went impossibly deep inside her.

Delirious with a newly discovered feeling, unconsciously, she joined him in making no sense at all.

“Yeah? You–you’ll have to be stuck with me. Move in with me full-time,” she managed to say between her moans. “H-help me. Massage my shoulders. Rub my feet. Manage my cravings. Deal with my jealousy.”

He enjoyed. Of course, he did. He was the weirdest psychopath she’d ever known. He looked confused in the best sense, eyes widened while the rest of his face was tightened with pleasure.

“You’d have to stay with me. All the time and help me with motherhood and–”

Apparently, that was the magic word for him because, after a pained hiss between clenched teeth, he licked his two fingers and started flicking her clit with no finesse at all. Frankly, she didn’t even need that. She could have let go if he had just uttered the word “cum” in her ears. Which he did and it led to the most glorious simultaneous orgasm she had ever had – not that there had been many.

Kat clung to him with fingers and nails as he kept going and didn’t protest when Adrian slumped on top of her. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable but it felt good. Safe. She didn’t freak out like she thought afterward. It was done and there was no need to make a mess. In addition to the one in the bed.

She kissed his scratched shoulder and scratched his soft hair. He sighed and rolled off of her. There wasn’t really anything to say at this point unless one of them was really into embarrassment. Kat felt like Adrian did but he seemed tired. And to prove her right, he fell instantly asleep, his left hand still grabbing her hip and with his face buried in her neck.

***

Kat woke up to an empty bed, a desperate need to shower, and the buzzing noise of the morning news on the TV in the next room. She grabbed her fluffy robe from the nearest chair to put it on and padded to her living room to investigate what was going on.

Adrian was sitting on her pink couch, his hair slightly damp and a serious frown on his face. His glasses reflected blue light from the TV.

“Bad news,” he said instead of good morning.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “It was stupid of us.”

“No, I mean he’s not dead. Look,” he pointed at the TV with his chin. I don’t know how, but I guess I forgot to double-check. Your boss is in the hospital in an intensive unit. That was really sloppy of me.”

She stared at the news blankly. She couldn’t even feel excited about seeing her work building on TV. The mental calculation of her ovulation cycle should have been easy but maybe she lost a great deal of brain cells last night.

“I think we’ll be fine,” she said.

“Hm? Yeah well, I still need to finish it.”

“No, I mean…” Why was it so hard to talk about it? “Last night. I don’t think there’s a risk of pregnancy. I’ll still take care of it today, don’t worry.”

“Suit yourself,” he said casually. “Told you I’d be there for you.”

Kat looked at him again and for the first time, she felt the chill. He was seriously offering…whatever.

“You think we’d repeat last night again?”

She didn’t know how to answer that. Her boss was dead, the people she worked for, both sides, could be looking for her, and her future was uncertain. Oh, and she may or may not be pregnant.

“I’d love that,” she said. “There’s nothing else I’m looking forward to.”

#i know i say this every time #but this is one of the best adrian chase fics I've ever read #holy shit #adrian chase #adrian chase fic #adrian chase fanfiction #adrian chase fanfic #adrian chase x reader #adrian chase x you #adrian chase x y/n #adrian chase imagines #adrian chase imagine #vigilante x reader #vigilante #adrian chase smut

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ramona-thorns · 7 days

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adrian chase being super whiny and talkative when you can’t get a word in with how good he feels please help me (he whimpers, can confirm first hand)

oh MY GOD yeahhhhh YEAH!!!! saw this ask and immediately went feral, please send me more nasty adrian thoughts i love to see it. Hope you all enjoy this lil piece of filth <3

insult to injury

adrian chase x reader, vigilante x reader warnings: smut, dubcon elements, swearing, dirty talk, unprotected sex. Obviously the content is 18+, Minors DNI. as always comments and reblogs are super appreciated xoxo

It was supposed to be a one time thing, you had sworn not to get involved with people in your line of work. Made sense, since a lot of those people were either assholes or criminals anyways.

And yeah, maybe Adrian was both. But none of them were as pretty though, nor had such incredibly persuasive puppy dog eyes.

He only needed to breathe into your mouth a desperate and high pitched "Oh god, can we fuck?" after making out for only a few minutes outside a dingy bar for you to be disarmed immediately.

"Yeah? please? Fuck, I'll let you do anything you want-" He asked, filling up the space you could have used to answer him with his inpatient words and then his needy tongue slipping past your mouth.

You could have tried to answer him properly, but all you could do was nod and hum in agreement, growing desperate yourself with the way he was already rutting against your leg like a dog in heat.

It's not like you stood a chance, really.

Now the air in his shitty car suffocates you, its humid and hot and you really should have thought about cracking a window open before hoping on him in such a hurry to unzip his pants.

Your mind is fuzzy due to the lack of air, but the filthy and obscene noises Adrian makes are only adding insult to injury.

He's not only loud when he fucks, he's whiny.

A particularly deep thrust inside you makes him cry a pathetic and tortured “o-ohh fuuuuuuck” that stretches for long enough that his breath leaves a heated and moist print on the side of your neck.

Your eyes roll back and your hand pulls at his hair to try and get his attention."Adrian, s-slow down-"

Its been a few times yet its embarrassing how much his noises still affect you, and how much effort it takes to not come in the first few minutes of him being inside you.

"But i thought you liked it like this." He says with a petulant look, his voice tight with the effort to say it. "Fuck, I know you do. I can feel it, its spilling onto my pants. Hhhnnng-" He whimpers around his words, and then his head falls back on the seat to let out a strained and broken moan that surprisingly turns into a laugh when your body reacts to it. "See?Just like that!"

He's right, you do like it.

But you cant speak, you cant even look at him directly knowing how fucked out he probably looks with hair sticking to his forehead and veins popping from his neck.

You dont know how to tell him that everything about this, that everything about him overwhelms your senses so much its almost scary.

That he's so - "Good. Adrian, you're so-" You try and say, but its barely a squeak of a sound.

"Shit thats fucking hot!" He interrupts, not giving you a chance to finish your own sentence. "You sound so hot! I'm for s-sure gonna be thinking about this next time Im tugging one out."

The image alone of him doing exactlythat makes you let out a frustrated moan that he instantly reciprocates with a seemingly bashful chuckle. You dont believe it for a second though.

Because of course he has to continue, he has to tell you all the details you aren't asking for.

"I used to jack off right here after our meetings in HQ so i could have your voice fresh in my head, but this is so so much better than spilling into my hand. Oh fuck its so much better-" He babbles, like its an easy task. Like he's not struggling to keep up his pace with how much oxygen it takes to not be quiet.

And you just gape at him, your peak catching up with you so fast that its hard to absorb all the implications of what he is saying or how your body is going limp from use.

Theres only the glassy look in his eyes and the sweet and filthy noises he makes in response to every stuttered movement you make against him.

You realize now that you can act all frowned upon or roll your eyes at him in disdain as many times as you like in front of Peacemaker, Harcourt, Economos or Leota, but in private...

Adrians making you seize up inside, as much as you try to block out his voice and pathetic noises they alone will soon cause you to tighten around him in a vice grip.

That he will inevitably spill inside you with a loud, whiny and lewd rendition of your name. Just how he likes it.

So much for keeping things professional in the work place huh?

#straight to 'until the walls are white' folder #excuse me???#the talking and the whining?!!! ;#Omfgakabflsmwfkjs #i need him so bad i might scream and yell and cry #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #vigilante #adrian chase #adrian chase fanfic #adrian chase fanfiction #adrian chase fic #adrian chase smut #adrian chase imagine #adrian chase imagines

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ramona-thorns · 12 days

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i love how chappell roan dropped Good Luck, Babe written about one woman who

1.) used her for sex

2.) loved it when terms of endearment were used in reference to her but didn’t want to use them for the girl she was leading on

3.) would also kiss boys in bars while still leading her on and made tons of excuses about why she’d do it, stating that’s just the way she was

and there are some raging bisexual women in the world screaming IS THIS BIPHOBIA ABOUT ME?!

she literally just called out some girl she intimately knew that led her on and was probably unknowingly engaging in comphet considering she kept going back to chappell but not wanting to BE with her—and you wanna equate yourself to that girl??? that’s not biphobia, that’s you being a problem if you see women as your manic pixie dream girl rather than see them as a person/partner. plenty of bi women married/dating men bump this song and don’t feel attacked. if the boot is fitting on you though and it’s making you mad, you might wanna go talk to a therapist!

#THIS #chappell roan #good luck babe

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ramona-thorns · 14 days

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That video of joseph quinn adjusting lupita's dress did something to me–

#joseph quinn #lupita nyong'o

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ramona-thorns · 18 days

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TRIXIE AND KATYA SAVE THE WORLD episode 6. roller coasters, zoom funerals, and tongue scrapers

#this look lives in my head rent free #katya zamolodchikova #katya zamo

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ramona-thorns · 26 days

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NASA advertising "do you want to be an astronaut" to tumblr users surely means something. What have you found out there, NASA? What have you found that you believe tumblr users, specifically, are best equipped to handle?

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ramona-thorns · 1 month

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort.

Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door.

“Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it.

Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you.

Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

“Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

“Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

“So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

Interesting.

“No brains?”

Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

“Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.”

Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

Why you? What did he want with you?

You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

“What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you.

It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

“That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans.

While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals.

You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive.

“UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm.

With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

“Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering.

Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

“So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up.

Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

“Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

“Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

You’d made him cry.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate.

“MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall.

You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

“There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

“SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

“Are you laughing at me?”

He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

“Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers.

“Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

“You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you.

You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

“You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

“Uunngh.”

You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

“That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

“UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

“What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

“They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

He just blinked, almost owlishly.

Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

“The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

“Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact.

“Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

“You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

“You tryna knock me dead, too?”

When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound.

With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

“Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror.

“Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

“Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound.

“Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

“I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

“WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name.

“I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

“I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

“You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

“Me?! I didn’t do this!”

“Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

“The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

“Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

“Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

“Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

“Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

“I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

“She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

“Daddy…”

“Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!”

You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself.

“Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward.

Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

“She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

“No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.

You’d have a loving parent.

You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do.

Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it.

The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life.

Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

“I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

“Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

“We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

“Dang—anything else?”

“Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside.

Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

You were wrong.

The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous.

You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

“Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

“You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors.

You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance.

He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering.

Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore.

You found him.

Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

He understood the sentiment all too well.

Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead.

And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

I wish I was with you.

You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave.

Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple.

No sign of his uncle.

It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded.

Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct.

He knew where to go after.

Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all.

Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him.

He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests.

So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be.

The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you.

He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery.

FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze.

It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left.

Eddie heard a scoff.

“How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself.

Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around.

The fuck was she doing in here?

It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through.

Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings.

She was invading your privacy.

If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling.

He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either.

Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse.

If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip.

Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made.

Bitch.

Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day.

See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of. Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

“Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned.

He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

“Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

“Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure.

“Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

“I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her.

Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

Served the hag right.

With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream.

That one was for you.

Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision.

While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did.

You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive.

Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

“You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

Oh, god. Just play it cool.

“Just some tampons and some chips.”

Leave. Walk out. Save face.

“No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk.

You were going for it.

“Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

“I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve.

You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

“Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

“I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

“That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

“And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

“I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

“Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.”

Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

“You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

“And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off.

She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

“She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV.

You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life.

“Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed.

At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you.

You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

But it was yours.

When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs.

You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

“Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

“Uuungh?”

You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

“I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

“Unngh.” He grunted in thanks.

As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

“Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

“He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling.

“You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions.

“There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population.

“Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand.

“What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

“I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

“MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

“Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

Laura.

“SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

And for once, she scared you.

“Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

Stepmother from hell, indeed.

“Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured.

You took a small step back. She took one forward.

“I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick.

“Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

“ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction.

“Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

“Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

“Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life.

Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

“I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed.

“No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

“It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

THUNK.

Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red.

Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet.

You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

“Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

“Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs.

Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it.

After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it.

“Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you.

He shook his head.

“Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work.

Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head.

“Mm-mm.”

You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice.

He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even.

It felt…like you mattered to someone.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs.

“At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.”

He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way.

“Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

“Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand.

“What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb.

Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger.

“Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you.

Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle.

A lightning bolt.

Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

And then it hit you. Lightning.

“OH.”

Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

“But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it.

It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure.

You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual.

The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

“Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

“Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

No reaction.

“EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

“Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!”

You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad.

The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

Well, you’d already started.

“I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

#i now want a living dead Eddie in my closet #i love this fic so muchhhh #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #lisa frankenstein au #eddie munson series #freak like me

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ramona-thorns · 1 month

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Katya recording new music

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ramona-thorns · 2 months

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JOSEPH QUINN 96th Annual Academy Awards (March 10, 2024)

#jeff quinn is here everyone #oscars 2024 #joseph quinn #joe quinn

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ramona-thorns · 2 months

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LISA FRANKENSTEIN 2024, dir. Zelda Williams

#me core #lisa frankenstein

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next part

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.

Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”

“Wha’?”

“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.

While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.

Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.

The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.

Someone.

Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.

Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.

He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

NOW, 1989

“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.

When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.

You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.

So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

Your mother was murdered.

Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.

The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.

Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.

You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.

The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.

He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.

So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.

“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

It was a little odd, but you did.

When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.

You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.

“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”

Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.

“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.

“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”

You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.

“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”

Didn’t feel like it.

Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.

“And I can. Please, let me do this.”

You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.

You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.

Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”

You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, spill.”

Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”

This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.

“Steve Harrington.”

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.

“Does he flirt with you?”

“No.”

“See him flirt with any girls?”

“Nope.”

“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

“He’s on the spectrum?”

Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

It got quiet for a few moments.

”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.

She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

“Reefer Rick?”

“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

Munson.

You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

“H-He’s your favorite…?”

“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.

“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.

“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

Maybe a drink would calm you down.

You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.

“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

Oh, shit.

Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

”Funny seeing you here.”

You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.

“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

“Oh.”

He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

OH, THANK FUCK.

“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

“Hey, Carol.”

Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.

“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

“Oopsie.”

But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.

Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.

You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.

Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

“Wall.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

“Great Wall of China.”

Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.

Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.

“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

“Does that feel good?”

You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”

Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.

She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.

His right arm was out, palm up.

He was waiting for you.

You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

“Sissy. . .”

“Sissy…”

“SISSY!”

You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.

What the hell?

“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.

You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

“Oh my god…”

“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

“Ooh, your knees…”

You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.

“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.

“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.

“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.

You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

“THAT WE DO!”

You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

“Mm. White wine?”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

You shot him a glare.

“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.

You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

Then your eyes snapped open.

Oh, god. You were a loser.

After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.

“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes, we got a free soda!”

Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”

“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

“I bet you can.”

After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.

Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.

And it was coming from outside your front door.

You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.

You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

“Uuuhhhnng…”

This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”

You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.

You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

“Stop it!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Go away, I’m just a girl!”

The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.

On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.

You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.

Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”

He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

#i told yall #lisa frankenstein au fits so well with eddie munson omggggg #thank you for this #i needed this fix since i watched it in theaters #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson series #freak like me

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ramona-thorns · 2 months

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LISA FRANKENSTEIN 2024, dir. Zelda Williams

#and they say romance is dead #lisa frankenstein

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ramona-thorns · 2 months

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‼️ XXXmas One Shot‼️

— Detective Quinn x Birdie

— 11.1k Words

Summary: Sunshine x grumpy trope except make it Xmas ‼️ It’s a typical LA Christmas for Birdie. Complete with Bourbon and misery. Our favourite detective slut is determined to rid her of her Grinchy attitude ‼️

It started when Gus from circulation came strutting past your desk, clad in a cheap Santa hat, touting a small sprig of green with white berries above his head.

Waggling it in hopes to entice, with that pervy rubbery-lipped smile of his etched on his face.

His shirt tails all rumpled. Tie loosened. Clearly it had been a boozy liquid lunch hour on his watch.

You grimace. Blow a huge plume of smoke right his way. Brows set straight in a frown. Right down to the firm silver line of your glasses.

“Keep fucking walking sad sack.” You threaten. Eyes threatening poison. Tapping ash off the end of your cigarette and trying to just get your piece finished. Down to the wire as per.

“Lighten up. Take that sprig of holly out your ass. It’s Christmas.” He sneered back at you. Before drunkenly stumbling away.

You watched him then waving it above his head and coercing a smooch from the poor secretaries on the front desk. Holding more girls ransom to the horrible tradition.

As disgusting as the prospect is, of a lecherous man, with foul stale coffee breath leaning in for a smooch; it’s equally matched by one of the times of the year thats morphed into hell for you.

Christmas.

And it was just the beginning. Hadn’t even warmed up yet.

I’m the days that follow, twinkle lights start to crop up. Along the boulevards. Circled around palm trees on Franklin Avenue. Strung up in once dull shopfronts. Now even more dull just with festive lighting. Bulbs in chilli red and pine green. Paper snowflakes in silver and white tacked up to twirl in the glass. Godawful strands of tinsel start to snake their way in everywhere. Strangling window ledges and topping doorways.

You’re nearly trampled off the sidewalk on your way to the bus stop by women carrying huge shopping bags stuffed with shiny plaid paper wrapped gifts in plump reds and luxurious golds, and finished with huge ridiculous bows. Barely avoid getting run over by their boisterous children toddling around as they struggle after them to keep them contained. Too much joy for you to stomach.

Fake Santas with the Salvation Army donation buckets are suddenly dotted on every street corner. Ringing bells and being jolly. It makes you scorn into your $3 dollar coffee you snatch on your way into work. You still give them a chunk of change that’s been rattling in your coat pocket for a few days.

The piece de resistance is the tatty wreath your hygienically challenged landlord tacked on the double doors to your apartment building. Lacklustre strips of fake holly and some bright red baubles resting lifelessly on the saggy thing. It’s aptly appropriate really. Tries to be cheery but misses the mark. He’s too much of a tightwad to spring for a new one. He’s had it up since you moved in.

It’s the way the checkout girl at the store around the corner from you wished you a Merry Xmas as she rang up your groceries. Even through the wad of neon pink gum she was wetly chewing on as she said it. You smiled back and took your bag but you didn’t feel merry enough to return the sentiment. She had glittery reindeer antlers on. Alright for some.

You’d have to drag out the box - box, singular - from the back of your closet. You know your tiny silver tree is probably looking limp and sad by now. The twinkle lights are probably broken. Glitter faded or flaked away. You can’t say you want to decorate with any sort of joy or enthusiasm.

This whole season and the countdown to it doesn’t inspire any sort of festive spirit in you. Maybe it used to once.

You used to welcome it. Grow excited for its arrival like everyone else. Stuff your meagre few presents under the tree. Shiny silver paper with silky red ribbon that almost cost as much as the present.

She’d drag you to numerous parties in friends apartments, and bars all over the city, and drape Santa hats on you and tell you to grab some liquid cheer and perk up. You’d even scrape together your meagre household skills, dust off your gingham apron, and cook Turkey and potatoes and stuffing on Christmas day. Caramel cream pie too.

She used to love your pie. She ribbed the shit out of you. Said it was the one good thing you could make.

You’d wake up the next morning to her sat on your kitchen counter. Eating it cold out the pie plate with an American spirit burning down in the ashtray. in her ‘Frankie Says Relax’ nightshirt. Phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she gabbed to a friend, and picked at her orchid purple nail polish.

Your whole kitchen would be consumed with the scent of that cheap perfume you got her. The one she loves. The one that lives as a slowly decaying presence in your closet where some of her clothes were left.

That was your last happy Christmas together. The one that followed? It hurts too much. You run back over it regardless; the fraught Xmas you’d had.

Expected her home for some of Rudy’s finest pizza Christmas eve. You got ham and pineapple, her favourite. You were going to drink white wine and get on the couch and watch terrible movies and play board games.

You sat and watched it grow cold flicking through stations on TV. She never even bothered to show up.

A sleepless night staring at your popcorn ceiling. Not knowing where she’d gone. Ending up in scathing snarling row when she came home, half cut, two days later.

Speech slurred as she tried to stand upright on wobbling silver heels and couldn’t dare meet your gaze. Purple around one eye and nursing a fat lip. Blue glitter eyeshadow all smeared, Falling like raining stars and smudged streaked constellations on her jacket. Her white leather jacket pocket - that was suddenly stuffed with baggies of pills, powders, and a huge wad of cash.

She threw a fucking glass ashtray at you and told you to fuck off out her life. Stormed out to go crash with a friend. A week later a small gift appeared on your doorstep. A bottle of Dixie Creek and a real silver necklace draped around the neck.

It was as close to a sorry as you’d ever get out of her.

With her gone, it feels blunted. Now, you spend Xmas alone. You grew very good at being alone. It comes naturally.

Watching terrible movies, and sinking into some bourbon - or shaking yourself up a whiskey sour for a change. End up falling asleep on the couch. Ignoring the fact your tree has nothing underneath it. No gifts. Maybe one string of twinkle lights up on your bedroom window. Trying to ignore the gaping maw inside of you. The pit of tartarus. The one you fill with whisky, drunk from a glass held by clumsy shaky hands, and expect it to shut up.

You push past the doors and into your apartment. The place where misery starts to peck at your back as you walk along the mouldy halls in your cheap heels. You can smell cooking, mildew on musty wallpaper, and the barest hint of happiness. The couple in 10C arguing as usual. Sounds of their shouting slam up against the door. Deaf old timer in 3A with the radio cranked so loud, even you could feel holly jolly Christmas by Burl Ives, buzzing along the lino floor where you walked.

You come to your hallway, if not quite dead on your feet, then awful close to it. Not at all happy to see your neighbour was having a Xmas party opposite you. Chuck Berry and run, run Rudolph. And cheap cans of beer.

The horrors never cease.

You roll your eyes and grab your key from your purse. Winding through the people spilled out in the hallway. All holding glasses of eggnog or beer. Tinsel in silver or green wormed around their neck like tacky scarves.

Prick Rick is leaning against his doorway puffing on a slim joint. Neckline of his shirt undone to practically his nipples as he tried to sweet talk a cute blonde. His hair crisped to its usual ratty perfection. His sleazy apartment was dark save for multicoloured twinkle lights glowing inside.

As some people shifted away to go get another drink or move to chat, at last, you get a glimpse of your door.

Which was suddenly sporting an incredible wreath. Huge as a truck tire. Real green holly and pine and bright red berries. All tucked neatly into the nicest wreath you’re sure you’ve ever seen. A huge - frankly offensive - silky bow draping down the bottom. Threaded with a gold trim.

Expensive. Gaudy. Festive. Only one person could be to blame for that.

Made your apartment look like a Rockefeller lived here. Looked like it belonged more on the doorway at the Hilton or the Ritz. Not here in Whitley Heights. You’d say it would get stolen - except for the fact he’s practically broadcasted to every neighbour in this hallway that he’s a cop. And not to fuck with you if they know what’s good for them.

“What the fuck-“ You curse as your purse sloped down your shoulder, you tried not to let a piece of holly stab you in the eye as you fight with the stubborn lock.

“I think your hooker is inside.” Prick slurs behind you.

“Piss off, scumbag.” You bite as you shove the door open.

A hand is quick to yank the door open and jerk you inside before you could even draw a single breath. He’s pounced before you’re even in the door.

Lips are on yours. Instantly clasping you into a hot melting kiss that stuns. He’s all sugar and red wine to taste. Like kissing a juicy saccharine sugar plum.

He knocks sensation to your toes that fizzes and delights. Slips sparks into your veins.

The kiss is his usual brand. All kinds of filthy and plenty of tongue to steal your attention. Smothering you in the huge swathes of affection he carries. And never let’s run empty.

He pulls his lips off you for two damn seconds to give a hello.

“Get in here before I push you up against this door and eat you out.” He rasps. And he doesn’t care if this whole party of people hears your cries as he works his tongue in you.

How’s that for hello.

His hands are on your ass - drawn like magnets - he squeezes and crushed you, mashes you, into his chest as he toed the shuddering door closed. Crushing your armful of clunky groceries without care.

In typical Quinn style: can’t keep his hands to himself and his version of hello involved his tongue being buried in some part of you.

His mouth lunges to take yours again. To taste you as he used your combined weights to slam the door closed. Slamming out Prick in all his hair product, and Chuck Berry, and the stench of verdant weed.

You hum against his mouth and break for air. Lips parting and your head thumps back to the door. It’s only then you notice the huge tied sprout of mistletoe hanging above you.

When you manage to disentangle enough, you do notice what else is new; the wreath and the mistletoe was only the beginning.

This morning your tiny apartment was strictly sans any Christmas cheer at all. Now; it’s drowning in it. It’s Santa’s sparkly grotto.

There’s twinkle lit pine garlands tacked around all your doorways. Red silky bows tied in the centre. Tinsel and bows and glitter as far as the eye could see.

The air smells like nutmeg, ginger, and and the unmissable sweet tinge of fresh pine.

Jewel coloured piping bags and bowls of all sorts in various use, surround the cramped counter space either side of your tiny stove. Baking sheets filled with stamped dough. There’s sprinkles in red and green and spilled flour. Icing draped sticky to cool on Xmas shaped cookies. You see Santas and Rudolphs and wreaths.

He’s put twinkle lights and paper chains and snowflakes up to twirl in your dull kitchen windows. The whole thing looks capra-esque. A literal Tinseltown in your miserable neck of the woods in this run down place, that time forgot. Eartha Kitt serenades you with her purring sultry Santa Baby from the stereo in the living room.

He’s not exempt from festivity either.

He’s wearing your frilly blue gingham apron with one of his slutty silk shirts - in an arresting shade of ruby red - which is of course matched with the sainted gold chain that rests at his sternum. Flour dusted across his cheek. Mane golden and curled in all its usual gloriousness under a Santa hat. And you’re so used now to the fact that wherever he goes, he carries the cloud like scent of that expensive french cologne with him.

He’s pulling away to shoehorn the grocery bag off you, replacing it with a truly huge glass of red wine. He also links a scratchy piece of tinsel right around your neck. Pushed a silly Xmas headband with antlers and bells onto your head.

“Frances? What the actual fuhhmm—“

He spun away and practically bounces back across to you and shoved a warm cookie in your mouth. Icing sugar melts on your tongue. Burst of fiery ginger and brown sugar as you can but chew the thing he just force fed into your mouth. Crumbs spill down your chin. He won’t hear any protests.

“It’s Christmas Birdie. This place was looking a little light on joy so I stocked it up for you. There’s more cookies.”

He sucks the spilled sticky white icing off his fingertips and that sight of it absolutely bludgeons some fierce silky heat into your belly. Damn it.

When you can finally chew and swallow. He leans in and gives you another lippy kiss. That swollen petal pink lower lip pressing so nicely to you. Cages you against the door. Walks you back to it. Slots his hips to yours. Licks the fiery sweet ginger taste off your tongue.

Your glasses fall down your nose. Your cheeks heat. He pushes them back up. He loves your glasses. Says you look like a hot librarian with them on.

The heat coming off him in dizzying waves, carry’s notes of his cologne with it. You’re completely dazed by his eyes. All chocolate dark and heavy. Dozy with love of you. He links his sticky fingers through yours and loops you along.

“Welcome home. Good day?” He asks all dulcet sweet. Like he hasn’t been a phenomenal Xmas pest. Like the festive whirlwind he is, blown through your place like the Tasmanian devil armed with tinsel, and filled it fit to burst with ornaments.

“My day is looking substantially more glittery than it started out as.” You comment. Tone dry.

He is kinda warming to it. Kinda loves it actually. That determined stroke of grumpiness - grizzlyness - and negativity about you. The way you run hard-headed and bolshy, straight down the line, is refreshing. You don’t play around. Candid and your heart is stained like red ink on your shirt sleeve.

To him it speaks of someone whose had any positives stripped off them. You don’t dare hope and think happy, because it was robbed from you so cruelly.

He has some idea. Only some of why that might be. Of why you would keep a baseball bat behind your door which has so many chain locks on it. Why you have boxes in your closet and clothes hung up you never touch. Of why you try and help those girls on the street corners so passionately. Why there’s a silver necklace Sat innocuously in a bedside drawer. One you can never put on. He won’t pry. He’ll let you come to him when you’re ready with it.

Those caramel eyes, fanned by those long as sin lashes, stun you like they always do. Stroking his thumb over your chin, fingers cradling the hinge of your jaw in the way he always does when he’s desperate to take a kiss. He slips behind you.

He dives and nuzzles a kiss against your neck. Breathing in the scent of your perfume and soap all mingled as one.

He coaxes the coat down and off your arms. A lazy smile centre stage on his lips. Holds your wine glass for you as you release your arms. Gets you to kick off your heel into the corner.

The floor feels refreshingly cool on your panty hose clad feet. He thinks the bags under your eyes are too dark for his liking. Throws your coat in the vague direction your stand.

“I’m not even in the door and you’re stripping me of clothes.” You grumble.

“I work fast. You know that.” He smugs. Whispers dirtily in your ear in that way he does that makes your limbs shiver. All heat and lust. Bolt biting into your blood.

“Missed you.” He mumbles to your skin. Leaning in to smother you with a smooch to the pulsing vein in your neck. Where your hair trapped the ripe scent of your soap and perfume.

He does the same thing with your pillow in bed when you’ve gotten up before him. He rolls over and breathes it in. Makes his cock perk up against the smooth sheets. He can’t get enough. He’s never had anyone linger around long enough to have that before. In the immortal words of Sinatra; Oh, Look at him now.

“Come and see your presents under the tree. Santas been busy. You must be on the nice list.” He all but purrs in your ear, another ass pinch, as his hands find your hips and squeezes yet again. He coaxed you forwards. His hips flush to your ass as you walk.

“I bought stuff for spaghetti by the way.” You say, motioning to the grocery bag he ripped off you, and unceremoniously dumped on the side, as he steps you past the kitchen and into your living room.

“Too bad. I ordered Vietnamese. From Banana Tree.” He grins. The place you love on june street. The one always lit up in front with a fierce neon yellow sign of a palm tree. Benches inside and laminated menus, and it’s always rammed.

“Frances. They don’t deliver here.”

“They do if you tip them obscenely and flirt with the guy on the phone.” He flirts.

“Oh god.”

Of course. He gets his way by flirt or force.

He’s steering you towards the living room. You audibly gasp when you round the doorframe.

How he’s rammed a large real life tree into your not large living room you’ll never know. There’s a huge gold star on top of it. It’s strung with lights, and strands of long silver tinsel and so many ornaments. It makes the piffling silver thing you usually stand on the side table look like a scorched twig. It’s resplendent in red and gold and looks like a damn hallmark ad.

What makes your eyes bug out your skull is the obscene amount of wrapped presents under said tree. A mountain of them. Crowded around so much you can’t even see the faded old carpet. Perfectly wrapped in red paper with huge great golden bows on top of each one. There’s too many to count. You recognise a certain shade of blue and silver ribbon thats iconic to a Tiffany box. There’s atleast twenty of them under there. In all shapes and sizes.

The man had literally trimmed your tree with Tiffany’s.

“Don’t tell me these are all mine?” You ask. Suddenly feeling a huge ugly red boil of guilt in your gut with the rather light couple of items you’ve stashed away under your bed for him. It’s measly in comparison to this tsunami of presents and cheer.

“Each and every one.” He pats your ass one last time, plucked a kiss to your neck, before turning back to the kitchen. Humming loudly along to Brenda Lee. Singing at the top of his frantic lungs.

“I’m gonna go shower.” You call through. Before taking back a huge gulp of your wine and heading through to the bathroom.

Even your bedroom had not been exempt from his Xmas meddling. He’s changed the bedsheets into a vivid silk red. Maraschino Cherry. High thread count for sure. There’s lights around your headboard. Garlands and streamers around the door and yet more twinkle lights draped over your ancient vanity table.

An arc of multicoloured lights burst around your old as shit mirror. Around the window too. Shining berry-round bursts of light across your slatted blinds, stroking some cheer over the gloomy view of old palm trees that scratch, scrape, and sway at your windows.

An odd feeling simmers down low when you see that he has dragged out your sickly Xmas tree and practically strangled the little thing in tinsel. A nice neat silver star on top of it. It’s tiny really but it does sit nicely on your dresser. You let sleeping dogs lie.

You strip out of your work clothes. Clad to shed your corporate layers. Stand the wine on the dresser. Chuck the tinsel and antlers aside. Piled on the side of the bed. Pad naked to the bath.

Toes getting cold, you blast the shower up to full and climb in. Scrub your hair to suds under the meagre spray and within minutes the bathroom is muggy and full of steam.

You nearly yelp when the curtain is whipped across, cold air sneaks in up your calves and ass, and suddenly a stark naked Quinn is clambering in behind you.

Leaves his golden medallion swinging around his neck. Cock perking up between his legs. The skin you jumped out of when he scared you, landed somewhere in San Fernando.

“Naked without me? Birdie? Fucking rude. Scooch over.”

“You’re such a baby” You explain with levity. You fling some bubbles at him that splat across his chest. He climbs in, undeterred.

He’s so frantic you can’t even be out of sight and he’s ricocheting into withdrawal pains. But you’ll admit his clinging to you is a nice change from loneliness. He’s all cologne and heat at your back. Left a trail of designer clothes through your apartment. Doubtless. Gucci silk decorating your shabby carpet. And he couldn’t care less.

“Yeah. But I’m your baby, Birdie.”

Because he really is a baby. Emotionally undernourished. Replaced all forms of love with shallow no-strings sex as a teenager and never looked back. Clinging to every little vice that’s good. He blames the lack of love or any sort of nurturing on his frigid-formal and awfully grand childhood.

His scorching past that came after in his riotous twenties, packed with all his too many lovers and too many love-bites, lines of Coke, broken glass, nosebleeds, hangovers that throbbed like thunder, pills and joints. Cocaine fuelled bar brawls and waking up with swelling raw fists limned in blood.

He’s told you all about it. How he had merrily slouched around all LA doing shit job after shit job because anywhere was better than where he came from. Living for the day to day. Shuttered into a house in the valley cutting porno tapes. Shaking cocktails for tourists at Whiskey A Go-Go. Bussing tables at a greasy Thai place in Burbank. All of it was better than the hell hole he sprung from the day he turned 18.

His hands find your hips again. Pulling you snug to his groin as the shower spray sticks his hair dark. Dripping down his neck in perfect Raphael curls. You can’t help but smile as he takes your shower gel and lathers his hands in way too much. Takes joy in slathering them all over you, and making bubbles everywhere. Paying special attention to your tits. He’s obsessed with your tits. But your ass has got to be his favourite thing on this planet.

You also can’t fail to notice how his dick is prodding into your hip. His lips settle into the crook of your shoulder. Kissing and nibbling. His fingers, hot and slippery, delve between your legs after he’s finished draping soap and bubbles all over your belly. Curling his fingertips through your bush.

He sneaks down even further to find your plump little clit. Makes his mouth water to want it all puffy and sensitive and captured in his mouth later on.

His fingers toy with you. Sipping in and pushing to find all those sweet spots he loves. He wants to finger fuck you into incomprehensible pieces until that tension you carry from work melts into those red as red bed sheets be bought.

He pushes them right into the heart of you. Two at once. Enough to make you gasp and your knees quake. Your thighs clamp around his hand and you have to steady yourself with a hand out to steady on the blue tiles. Wet hair sticking back to his shoulder.

He’s so greedy. He slowly pumped his way inside you to wake you up this morning. Woke you up with his tongue rolling on your clit. Then when you were dripping he was holding the headboard as he railed you into the pillows. His hips slamming your ass as a wake up call. Here and now, hours after he let you get out of bed on shaky legs as your alarm clock, and he still needs more.

You fully believe he may be addicted. You’re starting to depend on that a bit too much. Enjoying it way too much. You don’t want this to end.

“I might not let you out of bed til new years, Birdie. Damn this pussy feels so good.” He purrs in your ear. Wiggling his fingers into you.

“Frances-“ You moan.

“I want you on that bed tonight birdie. Those brand new silk sheets. I wanna get you all over them. Soak them for me. I want to open you up and watch every time this tasty little clit is gonna throb for me when I wrap my lips around it. I’ll lash my tongue against it til it’s all red and sensitive and it’s making you squirm. Wanna watch the way your pretty cunt is gonna pulse when I push my dick riiiiggghht-“

“Frances-“ You cut him off shrilly. “Why can I smell burning?” You ask.

His face pulls from horny to shocked. Devious smile shrinks. “Shit. My cookies.” He exclaims as he tumbled out the shower almost taking the curtain off the rails with him.

You snort laughter watching your sudsed up lover - with a sizeable hard on - practically streaking through your apartment. His bare ass bouncing and back and shoulders gleaming, hair dripping puddles, as he whipped fast around the bathroom doorway to go wrestle his ruined Xmas cookies out the oven.

Alright, so Christmas can take a hike in this sad little hell hole as far as you’re concerned. But you do like his effort with twinkle lights. And you’re willing to bet that Quinn won’t let you suffer a lonely wretched holiday anymore. No more moping.

You hear him crashing and clattering around the tiny kitchen making such a huge racket.

He’s reappeared against the doorway by the time you’re out and finished. Giving you those dangerous sex eyes that lets you know he’s gonna pounce. And soon.

“Couch.” He orders. He will be needing you horizontal to quell the still raging hard on he’s got going on. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

“I’ll say.” You comment, teasing, as you scrape your damp hair off your face. Reaching for your wine glass.

You join him there and he puts on some festive movie you don’t get to see much of. Too busy having him above you. In no time at all your gown is entirely parted and pushed off to the side of the couch.

He threw it on - and you hope to god tied it up - to go and answer the door and get your takeout. That’s shoved to the side too. He had more important things to be doing with his mouth.

He’s alternating his mouth between sucking on your tits and Smooshing you into the cushions and kissing you senseless till your lips feel fat and tingling. He’s planted his knees and is thrusting and fucking you so good and deep.

Drowns you in touch. Sucks the soul right out of you with his smooches. Pushes the air out of you with. Slam after slam of his thick cock into your pussy as he pounds you so well, you think you’ll black out. He’s gonna fuck you blind on your ratty old couch. It’s creaking and whining. Scraping the floor with every body bowing thrust.

“Why don’t you warm to Xmas? I mean. No twinkle lights anywhere in the vicinity.” He asks. Pulling off toying with your nipples, he’d left them shiny with evidence of his tongue.

And really your eyes are so dark and deep and you’re so turned on it almost hurts to speak and take attention away from him. He rocks shallowly into you as he speaks. It’s not good enough. You need that biting pain of almost too much, when he goes hell for leather.

You’re nearly annoyed with the fact he’s breaking a stunning kiss to ask you that.

“There’s a reason for that.” You explain. Pulling him in at the back of his neck to your mouth again. Nails scraping his nape. Nibbling on his plump lip and trying to keep him focused on thrusting himself between your legs.

You grip your nails into his bouncing asscheek. Huffing muggy breath - all wet heat - against his neck. Aftertaste of cologne and his sweat on your tongue. Breath transcending to shivers as you feel the edge of your orgasm starting to break.

“That is-?” He asks. Voice drawn through a pant. He shifts up. Gathering your thighs around him and angling you so he can grind deeper. He hits that spot in you that makes your legs shake.

You’re ready to sob with it.

“You really want to talk about this right now?” You ask. Your eyes bright and glassy with need, and your voice sailing through a high whine. The way it tips all high before you cum. He can tell.

“I’m curious.” He tells you as he leans right down and nuzzles you into a kiss. All icing sugar sweet and you can taste the wine on his tongue as he tangled it with yours. Stole your words and suffocated you with it.

“You mean you’re gonna fuck it out of me- oh god-“ Youthump your head back to the arm of the couch. Nails biting red crescents into his ass as you clutch hard and your orgasm snaps and pulls and bursts deep within in you. He feels the slick of it coat either side of his cock where you’re stretched around him.

It makes him smug.

“Hey if the shoe fits.” He decides. You gasp for breath as he ducks to suck your neck and pinch your clit to make you buck.

The scrape of his body against yours. The smack of his body to you. It’s intoxicating. This cheap seedy fucking that limned you both in sweat. How he often left you boneless and throbbing raw on completely damp dark sheets. Swollen and puffy. He’s broken you for anyone else.

“Tell me. Tell me Birdieee.” He urges. Manipulating you through your pleasure to pluck a confession off you.

“If you don’t tell me. I’ve not choice to push your knees up to your tits and fuck you again. And if you hold out on me even after I’ve made you cry and gush like that. Then I’ll be forced to slip down your body and tongue my cum out of your throbbing pussy, and I won’t give up.”

You open your eyes. “Annoying sex pest.”

He grins when he sees you trying to glare at him. The pinched narrow corners. It’s softened by the hazy look in your eyes. The way you’re entirely slick with sweat and breathless.

His stamina was honestly ridiculous. He’s hard as a diamond and he doesn’t even look anywhere near close yet. He pulls out and sticks his body to yours. Rubbing sweat and loving the feel of your wetness smeared all over his balls.

“I just-“ You peel off as you huff for breath. Cracking open your steel plate armour to give him one small slither of truth. It won’t hurt much. You hope.

“I guess I just don’t like that I never have anyone to celebrate with.” You edge out. Your teeth want to snap down around the little nugget of truth you’re baring. It feels like exposing nerves. You brave through it.

You avert your gaze from his where he’s holding himself above you. Those brown eyes look so expressive and patient, it chips at you. Jabs a chunk off you like chipping off a porcelain shard. You feel it lodge in your ribs. Catch breath. Stabs.

“My friends all have partners and families. I have no one. It can be a really lonely time of year. So I scorn. And I bitch. And I avoid the godawful work party, all those lechers and their and mistletoe. And instead, I come home and drink my body weight in bourbon, and get all misty eyed watching hammy movies on TV.” You tell him openly. Bare faced and no lies between you.

“No seeing the twinkle lights around the palm trees. No going to get candy cane hot chocolate. No one to go ice skating with.” You let out. “All those traditional stupid Xmas things I don’t get to do as a sad single party of one.”

His voice takes on a completely soft register you didn’t know existed. All husk and warm honey. It’s scary how picky he pins your truth - bullseye centre. Plunged into red right away.

“You didn’t always spend the holidays alone…” He says. A leading question. He’s cleverer and more cunning than he looks.

You sigh. Shake your head. Shedding, for one moment, your hard earned years of barbed wire and plate armour designed to keep others out. For now it’s all you can give. Lock the rest back in and seal it tight.

Heart throbbing loud in your chest as you lay on this couch. Sprawled out half on it, entirely sweaty and naked. And suddenly this feels all very earnestly tender. You reach up and run a fingertip over the bouncing curls that spring in his eyes. The sweat beading down his forehead.

You wouldn’t put it past him to have cranked the heat up in here in anticipation of this moment. To get you naked anywhere and everywhere he can.

You love that he doesn’t prod any more into your silence. He lingers on the fringes.

“Well.” He announces with that clownish cheeky grin returning back to his face. “That’s gonna change this year.” He decides with a plotting look stroked across his features.

“Is it now?” You ask him. You’re dubiously pessimistic.

He leans down. Giving you a look from under those thick espresso dark lashes as he bats them at you and leans down to kiss your nipples again.

“I have plans, Birdie. Big big plans.” He smirks. “I’m gonna turn that Grinch attitude of yours around.”

“Well. Do it soon.” You grump. “I believe I’m due a visit from three ghosts at midnight Christmas eve.” You joke dryly.

“Then are you out the next morning to go steal a goose off a crippled child?” He asks with levity. That feral curl of his smile makes yours rise. You can’t help it.

“I don’t do Christmas joy. Why should others be allowed.” You repeat in a joking manner.

“Against your religion?” He asks with a buoyed brow.

“Yes. My religion is strictly against all forms of joy.” You tell him. Your smile quirks at one corner that’s how he knows he’s got you.

“I’ll take that challenge. Just you wait and fucking see.” He accepts.

“Now come on. There’s new sheets on that bed and I need to Birdie-fy them immediately.” He says as he sticks his hands around you to scoop you closer.

He wasn’t fucking kidding.

You should learn by now that the man who drives a fire truck red Porsche always too fast, and has Versace silk shirts in every shade of pink there is, doesn’t have the capability of embellishing his truths.

He’s taken you to a Santa Village in Arrowhead. It was worth the insane car ride to get there. The village was perfect. Complete with fake snow tacked on the roof, and a sleigh ride.

Took you for three servings of candy cane hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies, in a tiny boxy place of an old fashioned candy shop on Margate street. All tinkling piano music and posh striped awnings.

Took you to see old timey Victorian carollers with their lanterns, cloaks and bonnets in the Plaza by the music centre. And bought you an Irish coffee to keep you warm as you strolled and looked at the twinkle lights together. Your pinky grazing his as you walked along, hands linked.

You’d gone to an open air movie theatre, showing a triple feature of Xmas movies. He loaded up a hamper with peppermint bark and milk duds, red vines, and two cokes - dirtied with a hip flask of fancy bourbon. Snuggled on a blanket in the dark with twinkle lights aglow overhead.

He really was chucking festive spirit at you by the armful. And it seems he wasn’t done yet.

You’d come home tonight to your winter wonderland apartment. Dark save for the red neon slashes that come with your blinds drawn in your bedroom, splashed with pink from your lamp in the corner, and now studded with round berry bursts of red, blue and green from the twinkle lights that seemingly inhabit every surface.

You find a large box, tied with ribbon, perched on your bed with a tempting little note scrawled in haste on pink paper ‘open me, birdie.’ Surrounded by big squashy drawn love hearts.

“What in the fresh slutty hell is this, Frances.” You mutter to yourself.

Your mind runs through the succinct possibilities. Lingerie. Maybe a sex toy moulding of his dick - he’s been yammering on about that one for a while. Kept mentioning how he wanted nothing more than to double penetrate you with two versions of himself. One silicone. One real.

You kick your heels off onto the carpet. Standing there bare footed in your work clothes. Grasping and pulling on one end of the smooth red satin bow tied around the white box.

You open it, and bat your way through layers of perfume scented tissue paper, coming to its contents.

Inside is a pair of tall black stiletto boots. White fur peeps out the top. Buttery leather. Little black bows on the front. You don’t need to look at the label to know they’re expensive as hell. Designer winter boots.

There’s a soft black trench coat. A Tiffany tennis necklace. A long black jumper dress that has got to be cashmere. A pair of fur lined mittens and a huge fluffy white scarf. You note they matched the fur trim on the boots.

When you unzip one of the boots, another note falls out. Flutters to your feet. You read what this one says. It gives an address and time. Santa Monica, 5th Street. Midnight.

“Wear the boots, Birdie.” Followed by more little hearts.

Intrigued, you admit, you do as he asked. You put on your red lipstick and some makeup and fancy yourself up a bit for this mystery evening.

You take a cab to the address. Keep the little love note folded in your coat pocket like a touchstone. You wore everything in the box. But screw taking the bus. These heeled boots were a work of art. You didn’t want to wreck them by walking miles to bus stops.

You pay the driver who barely grunts at you, and get out. Clutching your coat around you. Tight. Keeping your designer necklace hidden if you know what was good for you. You’re not one to go around shouting about your flashy jewels or you’ll be mugged.

Scarf fluttering and twitching in the wind like something living. Take your first few steps in these new boots. Round the corner off the road, towards a desolate stretch of parking lot. It’s quiet save for the click of your heels, wind rustling the tatty palm trees that line the lot. Trash blustering around your ankles. Night punctuated by distant dog barks and the roar of cars and sirens that soared up from some neighbourhood far beyond. Past Douglas Park.

The orange dozy spill of streetlights doesn’t much reach here. A few more blocks over and you’d be able to hear the din of the pier. The screams from rides and chirpy arcade music. Always heaving with people. The air faintly sugared with cotton candy and the meaty savoury smell of hot dogs, all mixed with wet dirt and salty sandy loam from the sea spray. Sun baked shores.

You wait, slightly wary in the shadows by the chain link fence. Taking a peek at your watch letting you see that midnight was creeping close.

Your patience is rewarded when that hot rod red Porsche you’re so familiar with, blazes onto the tarmac where you’re waiting at two minutes to midnight.

You can hear the thump of music blasting from within already - Pet Shop Boys today. Opportunities. The bass shakes your teeth even from here. Lord knows how he isn’t deaf yet. The distant blare of music fused with the roar of that engine as he soars into a space. Parks over three of them.

You wince until the headlights and music cuts. You catch sight of Frances and his massive dark eyes and heady grin as he spots you and his whole expression lights up like the 4th of July. He swings himself out the car. Eyes swimming up and down you like he’s a hungry jackal. He shines with affection like some bright fuming star.

“You look delicious, Birdie. Exactly as I planned.” He grins. Finishing taking a drag on a Sobranie cigarette. You know the silky smooth taste will be all over his tongue when it shoves in your mouth for a mandatory hello kiss.

He doesn’t look too bad himself. He never looks shoddy. Leather jacket, shape that’s straight out of the seventies. Long and black and down to his hips. Those bell bottom jeans and some dark brown cowboy boots. A couple of gold chains on his neck and a hunter green and mint patterned silk shirt. For once it’s not unbuttoned to his sternum. And his jacket is done up. Hiding his two gold chains though you can still catch the peek of them. His hands are half covered in black fingerless gloves.

He flicks the cigarette away and that glorious white smile peeks through as he slams the door and makes his way across to you. All flirt and playfulness writ into each quirky step.

“Living dangerously you know. Wearing Tiffany jewels in my neighbourhood.” You explain with one sassy buoyed brow. Hitching your purse strap up your shoulder.

You wouldn’t be you, if you didn’t sass him.

“But they do look stunning on you. And you deserve more sparkly things. Can’t wait to watch that necklace bounce when you ride me later.” He grins.

He wanders real close. He can never really stand for any sort of distance between you. He slinks up to you and captures you in a kiss. His free hand slips behind the nape of your neck. His fingers warm in those wool gloves. The other loops around your lower back.

Breathes you in as he kisses you. Ruins your nice lipstick a little.

You smile at him earnestly. Smearing your thumb along his lower lip to get the red smudges off him. He never cared about that either. Said he liked it actually. Loves your lipstick marks and hickies. Teeth shaped bruises on his shoulders where you try and keep quiet. Such a dumb boy.

You look to the buildings around you, presiding over the lot. None of them look very open. Or festive. No twinkle lights. No snowflakes.

“I think whatever your plan was, it closed down about four hours ago, babe.” You explain. Flattening your fingertips to the lapel of his jacket. Feeling the buttery cold leather. The gold solid chain on his neck. Bleeding warmth and notes of his cologne. His hand stays linked to the small of your back.

He fishes a little silver key out his jacket pocket and holds it up to your eyeline. It glimmers silver like fish scales in the dark. His smile is melting. Old movie star pretty as he always is. No matter how scattered and frantic. That smile cuts through you like a razor.

“Not closed for us.” He winks. A clever purr to his voice.

Is anything is LA closed to this man? Would anything ever dare deny him?

That blinding grin that could have anyone obeying. Like he’s some golden haired quarterback or a prince.

He’s not.

You like him all the more for it.

His hand looped around around your neck slides for your hand and he coaxed it into his. He spins you around. Your boots click on the tarmac as you follow blindly after him as he pulls you across the lot to the closest building.

He huddled you into a doorway. A double door that’s locked and secured with a chain and padlock. He slips the tiny key in the lock and twists it so easily.

You lean back on your heels and try and peel up at the building to see any signs or indication of what it is.

No such luck. The lock clicks open and he pulls the chains apart, leaving to clatter and hang off the handle, and the doors push inwards.

He guides you inside. All you know so far is that it’s freezing. It smells like sharp sour lemon cleaning fluid. And you can’t hear anything but the echo of your steps. Rapping up to the ceiling and then coming back down all clunky, but softer.

“Alright, what dastardly scheme are you up too now, Quinn?” You ask. “If it involves nudity. I’m out. It’s freezing in here.” You warn.

He shushes you and leads you through darkness. Past creaking swing doors, down halls, through a storage room, apparently, a rabbit warren and you’ve long since lost your bearings.

It doesn’t become clear until you’re walked into a room that’s a lot colder than is normal. He plants you ahead of him in your boots as you come to a halt. You almost flinch when beside you he puts two fingers into his mouth and lets put a sharp shrill of a whistle.

Your gaze goes upwards, this massive room suddenly pours up with light. When your eyes adjust you see a large stadium like room. A barricade of a hip height balustrade ringing the centre. Huge Christmas trees are around the rink. Covered in white tinsel and silver baubles.

Above you on hooks high in the ceiling are lines of white stars and snowflake lights. Twinkle lights gather to the centre of the room. Like a wondrous circus tent littered with stars and snow.

An ice rink.

Your mouth gapes, stuck on a smile. You twist back to find him smirking right at you. Stars living dead centre in those eyes.

“How’s this Birdie? Like it?” He urges.

He can see literal stars and twinkle lights beaming in your eyes. “Love it.” You say softly.

He squeezes your hand and pulls you along. You wobble in heels on the ridged floor that’s still sheened wet. You come to the split of the door leading onto the ice. Resting on the low bench are two pairs of white skates. Mysteriously both your sizes.

He waves his hand in a circle in the air. Breath coming in a wisp out his movie star smile. Gesturing up to the booth that overlooks the whole rink.

A belly laugh bursts out of you as a sudden outpouring of Wham crackles into being through the speakers. Last Christmas thumps into being. Keeping you both company. You throw your head back and laugh.

“You and George Michael. You’re obsessed.” You comment. Voice drawn through amusement.

“C’mon. The guy is a fucking silver voiced sex god.” He points out with no shame.

“Is there someone up in the control booth?” You wonder aloud. Pointing upwards as you slip your new mittens on.

“Yeah, that’s Bob. Great guy. Gave me an awesome deal on this place for the night. I just have to conveniently lose a parking ticket or two for him.” He chatters. Trilling away like tweetie pie.

You roll your eyes. You’ll put that aside for now.

“Now. How’s this for your goddamn Christmas miracle?” He beams like a lunatic. Peacocking in front of you. As he walks backwards and looks you dead in the eyes to see if his secret pleased you.

“Christmas miracle not so conspicuously called Frances Quinn?” You ask. Eyeing him as you step out your fancy boots, wobbling as you stand on one leg to lace your skates.

Eyes brightened and excited as he tied his skates and very expertly manoeuvred himself onto the ice. Smooth as silk. You watch him move like water. Hands loose at his side. He skated like a pro. You sure as hell weren’t expecting that.

You clutch your hands either side of the door onto the sheet of ice. “Please don’t think I’m any good at this.” You warn. Ankles always wobbling a little as you adjust.

He makes a face.

Glided back over to where you’re starting tenuous steps out onto the ice. He stops with a graceful twist of his ankle and lurches in a spray of ice to a skilled stop. Holding out his hands for you to grab.

You take them and wobble out onto the ice like a baby fawn. Getting used to the footwear. How slippery this was. And how you’re not going to be able to do this with any decree of decorum. Body lurching every time you think you’re threatened to tip.

Your knees buckle a little and you yelp as you try to catch yourself. He reels himself closer.

“C’mon birdie. Glide a little. Think of them as roller blades.” He encourages. Moving his usual million miles a minute.

“I’m not good on blades or wheels.” You snark back. Smiling as he expertly weaves backwards. Bringing you with him further forwards. Twinkle lights dazzle overhead. “I’m barely coherent on dry land in heels.” You grumble.

“Nows not the time for unpleasantness.” He grins. Voice all sugary.

You grumble. It’s somewhat softened by a smile that doesn’t seem to leave your mouth.

He brings you to the middle of the rink. Slinks in behind you and holds your hips. Gets you making bigger strides. Gliding from foot to foot. Strides getting smoother as you go along.

“There you go, Birdie.” He grins. Aligning his hips with yours. Flush to your ass. Hands on your waist. You can definitely feel the outline of him in his goddamn jeans.

He makes a small ‘hmmm’ noise as he nuzzles at your hair. “Reminds me of something very familiar.” He flirts. You know he means several other occasions when he has you on all fours with his hands ringing your waist.

One hand slips for your belly. Presses tight. Keeping you linked close. Your belly swoops all slippery hot and stupid with that cologne and the nearness of him.

“That’s it-“ He husks.

“I’m skating here, Frances. And it’s way too cold in here to have sex so shelve that pervy idea, right now.” You warn.

He gets beside you. Hand on your elbow. Letting you. Your other arm wobbling out as you - shakily - keep your balance.

“You ready for me to let go?” He chirps after you start gaining some actual speed and haven’t knocked yourself flat on your ass yet.

“Don’t you dare.” You bite. He’s your anchor. God knows what will happen if he lets go.

It makes him cackle when you claw onto his arm like a feral cat. He spins around and skates backwards. Keeping his hand tethered in yours.

“God-“ you scoff. Frowning. “How are you so good?” You gripe.

“I spent a couple of semesters abroad in Switzerland. Fancy boarding school. Been skiing and skating since I was in the third grade.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.

“Unfair advantage over us mortals.” Your knees buckle but you manage to style it out.

“You’re doing great, babe…” He encourages. The music blasting around you switches to perky Bing Crosby number.

Frances slowly withdraws his hand out your mittened grasp. Watching as you skate along without him as your balancing pillar. Laughing as you manage - stumble free.

You do end up falling flat on your ass at several points. You do even end up grazing your knee at once point. Skimming it to blood as you fall awkwardly, taking him with you. But you laugh so much it hurts your cheeks, tears burn trails down your cold-red cheeks. He’s never heard you express so much joy.

He catch him smiling at you when he thinks you’re not looking. You reel him in by one of those necklaces for a sultry kiss for a moment. He tries to deepen it. You skate away laughing but don’t make it far before he scoops his arms on your waist again. Getting you off balance.

You spin around and dance and try and keep up with him. You shake your hips and look like idiots but there’s no denying it’s fun. It’s exactly what you needed.

He hooks you in for a kiss. Leaves two sloppy gross kisses on each of your cold cheeks. Standing and holding you so close.

“Told you I was gonna change your mind, Birdie. I always win.” He waggles a brow and shoots you a flirty porn star worthy wink.

“Don’t think I’ll stop me being a Grinch, Cindy Lou.” You admit.

“Yeah but I win. I made you laugh.” He points out.

You can’t really argue with that now. Laughter traced on your lips. You kiss him again under twinkle lights. Dammit.

“Mm. Not in front of Bob.” He scalds all playful. Tapping your ass before gliding away.

“Look who’s being a prude.” You call after him. He sticks his tongue out at you.

“I’ll remember that.” He points a fingerless gloved finger at you. Filing away a form of revenge for later.

He takes you to a perfectly greasy diner. One that’s miraculously still open by the time you’ve finished bruising yourself to bits on the ice.

Really, as soon as you pull into the lot you know it’ll be terrible.

The sign out front is flickering. Lost two of its letters. Waitresses wander around listlessly, uncaring, in polyester buttercup yellow dresses with their coffee pots. Diner The floor is greasy and tacky, and the lights too draining and fluorescent.

Sunny yellow vinyl booths and cracked floors. Retro and cheap. It’s a whole overwhelming aura of despair that stinks of onion rings and Marlboros, and the rips on the booth seats are hastily mended with duct tape. There’s huge trucks in the lot and truckers are hunched over their meals and not making eye contact.

You slip into a booth. Grab a sticky menu and both have waffles and ice cream for dinner. The coffee tastes burnt and terrible - watery.

You don’t care. Nothing could dampen your mood.

He dumps sugar and creamer into his cup and you’re sat opposite holding his hands. Listening to Boston through a shitty static stereo the chef has in the kitchen. Blaring into the room past the shouts and the smell of greasy frying bacon.

There’s been an attempt to Christmas up the place. There’s green tinsel tacked in uneven loops above the counter. Over the smudged specials menu. Dim twinkle lights do nothing whatsoever to coax joy into the lifeless fogged up windows. Blurs the outside highway to reds and green and the dark smudge of 2am.

Joy has skipped this place altogether, you think.

He weaves in and out of all forms of life. No essence of snobbery about him. Even though he lives in a fancy neighbourhood in an apartment that cost three figures a month. He’s somehow at ease with all walks of life. Everyone from the lowliest janitor, to drag queens, to the city mayor. You feel like you’ve seen him in all settings and nothing seems scares him. Nothing puts him out his comfort zone.

“How is your leg?” He asks.

“It’s hanging in there. The band aid is helping.” You smile into a sip of your awful coffee.

After your incident on the ice of scraping your knee. He sat you in the Porsche passenger seat and propped your foot on his bent knee as he knelt and applied a band aid - a bright pink Princess one - to your skimmed skin. Kissed it after he was done.

Gave you those big puppy eyes. Told you he was taking for waffles, ice cream and maple syrup. Exactly the kind of late night meal you needed at 2am.

“Any more festive surprises?” You ask, curious.

“Mm, I’m kinda tapped out right now. Birdie.” He smiles.

You nod. Sitting back in your seat. Crossing your legs. Smiling.

He looks at you dubiously through those long curling lashes. You peek past his head and see the dingy hallway that leads to the restrooms.

“I might have some sort of idea how we can really round this night off.” You explain.

A smile making its slow way across your cheeks. Slow and thick like warm honey. Twice as pretty to look at. When you flirt with him you’re dazzling. Your smile is red like cherries, and he’s hooked.

He tilts his head at you. His whole expression a giant question mark. Cradling his coffee cup and making sure he was reading the sultryness as intended.

You tilt your head to the restroom sign. He follows your gesture. Flipping back to you. His eyes raking over your genuine smile and the heat and ill intentioned filth coming from your eyes is deep, dark delicious.

He swears it made his dick perk up in about three damn seconds flat. You’re flirting.

“You game, Quinn?” You ask. This time you lead; you let him follow

He watches you smoothly slip out your seat and walk away in those $500 boots that look like sin on your legs. You sashay your hips a little as you make a beeline for the restroom.

He trips over his own feel to follow you. Leaves a hundred on the table and doesn’t even care a hour change.

Has a feeling the waffles are going to be staunchly ignored when they arrive at your table. Ice cream melting into a puddle with the syrup and turning the food to soggy stodge.

He catches the bathroom door that yo he just slipped in, and the rest is pure handsy, passionate chaos.

You’re on him before he can even draw breath. Hand fisted in his clothes and then his hair. Your kiss hurts- it’s brimming with need and and want for attention. Stealing every bit of him like you could swallow his heart with your tongue and still ask for more.

Your tongue curls around his and twined and honestly he feels like he could burst out his goddamn pants right about now.

He has just enough brainpower to snap the lock on the door after himself.

The kiss intensified. Drags those lush lips and sharp teeth across your throat. One hand slips your up sweater dress and cups your pussy - you could almost cry his name with how good it feels. His fingers seek for damp cotton of your panties and he always finds it slick for him.

You slide your hand to his waist. Urgently groping for his fly. Popping the button on those jeans and grabbing for that fat dick you love so much. Cupping his shaft in your hand makes you bite his lip. He likes that.

You daren’t undress. There’s no time and really this bathroom is entirely disgusting, and you’re not ready to waste another second getting to skin.

He shucks his jeans down way past his ass. Hauls you in his arms. Your back meets the probably filthy-graffiti tiled wall between the hand dryer, and the ‘employees must wash their hands’ sign.

“Fuck me, Frances.” You beg in a grin against his mouth. Heat fogs his skin. Your sweet coffee breath tinged with sugar - cause really the coffee here was way too sweet. He thinks that natural sweetness is all you. He loved drawing it out of you.

He cages you to it. Tore your lace panties to one side, rolled his hips forwards, all fluid like water, and nudged the head of his cock into you. Stopping to bite your lips onto another fiery kiss. Sweet little pips of pain to accompany his fucking. Bliss.

You both groan when he slams himself deep in one stroke, you groan like heaven just cracked open and poured over you both.

You wrap your arms around him. Fist his hair. Drag him to you by the ass with your thigh curled around his back, as he pumps that enormous cock in and out of you. His head catching on the entrance of your cunt, fiercely shoving himself inside again and again.

You’d never get over his unique brand of fucking. All too much and the sweet knife edge of pain all at once. Smothering you with his mouth and absolutely demolishing you on his dick. On brand for him at all times. He really does fuck you stupid.

You catch the corner of your reflection in the grimy mirror.

His leather back with your elbow bent to fist a hand in his golden brown curls. Moaning his name and completely fucked-dumb. Expression all slack and moaning so loud he can’t help but smile and laugh into your neck. Slamming on the hand dryer button to cover atleast some of the noise.

You’re unstoppable. Head grazing tiles, catching on the blunt edge of the ceramic with every thrust. You can’t stop the moans and whines coming out your mouth. In time with the sloppy suck and squelch of your pussy and the slap of skin, echoing around this dirty bathroom.

“Birdie. Never heard you this loud.” He smugs. Smiling and panting into your mouth. Sucking you into a kiss that turns vicious with teeth when he rams faster.

“Shut up-“ You whine. Voice all high tucked up in the back of your throat. Biting your lip to keep quiet. He takes over when you get too loud again.

“Gonna fill up this tasty pussy. Eat you for dessert when we get home.” He grins.

Mouth ducking for your neck. Leaving scrapes and bruises fitting the shape of his teeth. Turns you to bruises and gasps under his touch.

He rides you until it almost hurts. You’re one raw nerve: a puddle of a human being. Exposed and shaking. You almost split your head on the wall, and you’re being so loud he bites right your lip to keep you quiet. You share the penny metal taste of it.

You’re barely coherent by the time you cum.

One orgasm rolls onto two. Bursting like a furious wave dashing on the rocks. Breaking open and spilling more and more. You’re wet and slippery right down your thighs. Drips rolling down and he absolutely jackhammers deep and splits you open even more. Leaves you raw and bare.

You sag into the wall. Still clutching him close. He’s all smug and filthy smiles with the way your nails left raw marks in his ass. Loves the way you grab onto his ass cheek when you lose yourself to bliss.

“Fuck-“ He rests his forehead to yours. Drowning you in bourbon gaze, after his cock spits a blooming warmth of a huge load inside you.

“Happy Christmas?” You moan. Drawn through ragged breath. Sweat on the back of your neck. Roar of the dryer making the room dry and humid.

“Happy Christmas, Birdie.” He smiles back. Slipping you into an easy kiss. One that’s indulgent and slow. Soft and creamy thick.

“Get the fuck outta here.” He mumbled as he tucked that marvellous dick away and zipped himself up. Let you stand on shaking fawn legs, again.

“Let’s.” You answer.

Loping your hand into his and opening the door as you try to fix your hair. And he doesn’t try and alter his appearance one bit. Lipstick smears and flushed cheeks. And you’re definitely wearing a bite mark on your throat. Tugging your sweater down as you emerge from the bathroom.

You pauses suddenly at the door. So much so you almost fall back with his hand clamped in yours.

He tips his head up and gazes above the door. Halfway out.

You follow his gaze and see a sprig of mistletoe. It’s fluttering in the breeze from the open door. Scant on white berries but there it is. Tied with wire and hung over the door of this dismal place.

“C’mon. Just one.” He slings his hand to your lower back. “For luck.”

You go where he leads you. Accept a pouty smooth kiss from those lipstick chafed lips of his. It’s unbearably sweet. You cause an obstruction in the doorway as he lingers and presses you deeper. Hand slung around your neck. Tasting you and tipping your tongue to his.

“That’s all the festive joy you’re getting till next year.” You smart at him. Kissing the tip of his nose.

“I still won.” He decides. Arm around your shoulder. Steering you to the car.

“Don’t you always, Frances.” You ask. Patting his leather lapel.

You come out into a balmy night. Arms around each other. Highway rushing beyond. Horns blaring, sirens racing. Dismal lot stroked in sickly yellow neon. Makes every puddle look greasy and butter yellow. So full of noise and heat, this seedy city.

“I won the day I met you, Birdie.” He kisses the crown of your hair.

T A G S ‼️ (I’m redoing my tags list - some usernames are old and some have changed , some have gone or not available anymore so please comment or message me if you want to make the list - or subscribe to receive my notice)

#took me a month before reading this and i just wanna say #holy fuck #i can't believe i'm inlove with det quinn again #this is so hot and sappy and sweet #detective quinn #birdie x Quinn #LA #80’s #detective quinn x reader #detective quinn x you #detective quinn fanfic #detective quinn fic #detective quinn fanfiction #detective quinn series #tainted love #detective quinn imagine #detective quinn imagines #late christmas gift

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ramona-thorns · 2 months

Text

Conviction

Eddie Munson x Reader (Angst)

| Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: Life takes an unexpected turn when a one time fling with your best friend leads to an unplanned pregnancy. Will years of friendship be enough to build a solid marriage off of...or are you destined for heartbreak due to a wandering eye like the town rumor mill predicts?

Rating: Explicit 18+

Author Note: Afab Reader, no pronouns used. Angst with a happy ending.

CW: Town gossip; bullying; unplanned pregnancy (no details); marriage; mentions of cheating; mentions of alcohol use; smut (p in v, fingering, kissing, dirty talk); consensual role play of a non-con situation.

Word Count: 8,332

Eddie Munson Taglist: @eddie-swhore

con·vic·tion - noun: a firmly held belief or opinion.

If you were to ask the people in Hawkins, life for you and Eddie Munson turned out exactly how they expected.

Eddie was branded an outcast while he was a child thanks to his dad. Edward Munson Sr had long been known in Hawkins as a hard-working criminal. Your car was stolen? The cops always checked out Munson’s place first. While no one blamed Eddie for his father’s mistakes, no one really wanted their kids to be around the son of a no-good common criminal either. It honestly surprised no one when Ed was finally put away for a long time due to car theft, which led to his parental rights being transferred to Wayne.

But despite Eddie going into his uncle’s care, the unfair reputation he’d gained during childhood followed along after him. He wasn’t a bad kid, by any means, nor did he get in much trouble. But once the town thinks of someone a certain way, it’s hard for them to break free of that. And, by this point, he’d taken a liking to heavy metal and playing the guitar, which further cemented his outcast status in their minds. Then his interest in fantasy led him to D&D, which led to the rumors of Satan worshiping. He evolved from being seen as just a mere outcast into a full-blown freak by the time he hit high school.

You, on the other hand, managed to fly under the towns radar for quite some time. While the two of you met the year before middle school and became fast friends, people only began to notice how your close friendship was during sophomore year. That’s when a spotlight finally found its way over to you. The rumor mill went absolutely crazy. Even though you weren’t dating Eddie, and this was a known fact, that didn’t really matter to anyone. You got labeled as his and the bullying began almost immediately.

After a while, Eddie tried to save you by severing the friendship, and made a big production of it in the cafeteria, much to your horror. But the damage had already been done. The teasing only got worse when people thought he’d grown tired of you. You weren’t even good enough for the freak, they said. It ended up being a miserable two months for both of you before you finally reconciled your friendship. Fortunately, the whole thing brought you two even closer together afterwards.

After that, the town knew exactly what was going to happen to you two. They predicted Eddie would have you knocked up before senior year and that you’d drop out of school. They seemed split on what would happen after that though. Some said Eddie would run off right away and leave you a single mom. Others said he would stay but would cheat and run off on you later, leaving you a single mom. They were quite surprised when you graduated high school without a baby in tow.

Since people in town didn’t expect Eddie to amount to anything, it surprised no one when he had to repeat his senior year twice. They felt vindicated in their beliefs when it was rumored Eddie was dealing drugs. The murder charges were a bit of a surprise, but nothing actually changed in the way the town thought of him once he was absolved of those. Eddie was still an outcast and a freak, just not one that was wanted for murder.

But that Spring Break led to everything changing between the two of you.

Once his name was in the clear and he had graduated, Eddie’s new group of friends combined with his old ones to throw him a party to celebrate. Everyone was able to cut loose and relax at Steve Harrington’s huge house, so a fun time was had by all. Sometime during the night, feeling both happy and a bit on the horny side, you made a drunken pass at Eddie. His response was favorable, which led to a romp in the back of his van.

It was an impulsive thing, nothing that had been planned or talked about or even thought about beforehand. Neither of you had really spoke about it afterwards, which you took as an unspoken agreement. It was a onetime thing, a moment of physical connection fueled by alcohol and a much-needed reminder that you both made it out of everything alive.

Three weeks later, a little white stick turned blue.

Once the shock wore off after a few days, Eddie became determined to do the right thing. He asked you to marry him. Not knowing what else to do, but knowing he was a good man and you could do much worse, you said yes.

That first eight months of your relationship was a whirlwind. Between planning and executing a small courthouse wedding, getting ready for the baby, and the pregnancy itself, you two didn’t get the opportunity to breathe much less get to enjoy each other’s company and feel each other out as a couple.

Once the baby was born, a baby boy you two named Eddie Wayne, life only got crazier.

Now that the expenses for a baby were added into the budget, money got tight with there only being one income in the house. Childcare was too expensive to justify you working, so Eddie picked up as much extra work as he could, working even longer hours at the garage where he was a mechanic. It was the only way to keep up with bills, but this meant he was away from home even more, sometimes not getting home until well after you and Eddie Wayne were already asleep.

And that was how it quietly went for almost two years. You kept up with everything in the house and the baby, and Eddie brought home the paycheck. It was a routine you both fell into, barely seeing and talking to each other except in passing, even on his rare days off. While you missed your best friend and the friendship you had before, you thought this was just how life went for new parents.

But then the people in town started to notice how often Eddie wasn’t at the house. People saw his van parked up at the garage until all hours. People noticed how you two were rarely seen together anymore.

And so, the rumor mill started up again.

Your relationship was on the rocks, they said. You two had grown apart, they said. You both were too young, they said. It was only a matter of time before this happened, they said.

You did your best to ignore it, like you always did.

But as the months went on though, you noticed the random looks you normally got from strangers became increasingly sympathetic looking. You noticed people whispering around you more. Then, oddly, people actually began approaching you to speak with you. It wasn’t idle chitchat, like you do when you bump into someone, but instead were asking you specific questions about how you were and how life was going. They seemed to be checking in on you with genuine concern, though that was a bit baffling since no one had bothered to care about you before now. You kept the interactions polite but couldn’t help wonder what their ulterior motive was.

It wasn’t long before you finally heard the big rumor that was prompting such a response from people.

Eddie was cheating on you.

They said that’s really why he was up at the garage so late, said it was the only place he could get away with it since you were always home. They said he actually had several girlfriends on the side, and never had to be with the same one twice in one week. And his poor wife, they said. Stuck at home with her head in the sand, blissfully ignorant to her husband’s nightly activities.

It angered you at first. Not what they were saying, but why they were saying it. It struck you as petty and juvenile. You couldn’t help but wonder if they had anything better to do, if their lives were really so dull that they had to focus on yours instead. Despite the way you two ended up together, you doubted Eddie would actually cheat on you. Eddie Munson was many things, but a cheat in any capacity had never been among them. The town was always wrong about him before, and they were definitely wrong about this.

But as the weeks went on, the rumors persisted and you heard them more, it began to gnaw at you. And, once the shred of doubt was planted in your mind, it steadily grew into suspicion and paranoia. You really didn’t want to believe it, but now you had a little voice in your head asking you, what if? It’s not like you were up at the garage to really know what was going on. And why would they be saying it so much if it wasn’t true, if someone hadn’t seen something for sure? The more time that passed, the more it drove you crazy and the more the very idea began to hurt.

You began to really pay attention and notice things after that. Whenever you tried to engage Eddie in conversation, his responses were always short and to the point. He didn’t talk about his day and didn’t really ask about yours except for things relating to Eddie Wayne. While there may have been distance between you two, Eddie never stopped doting on his son.

And the distance was clear now that you really thought about it. There wasn’t even that much affection between you two. He barely touched you and sex was a rarity. Often weeks would pass before one of you would initiate it, and, even then, it seemed halfhearted and tired. It felt more like a routine rather than something either of you really wanted to do. Even the kiss he gave you before leaving every morning was brief and chaste, given without hardly a glance as he did it.

One thing piled up on top of the other in your brain until one afternoon when the gnawing paranoia finally bit down and made you snap to attention. It wasn’t anything big or out of the ordinary that caused it. It was a Saturday afternoon and Eddie called you to let you know he’d be staying at work well past closing. He didn’t give specifics, just that he needed to get some things finished and that you shouldn’t wait up for him.

This kind of thing happened all the time, but you decided you couldn’t take the suspicion any longer. It felt more like you were more roommates than spouses by this point, and it was eating away at you. You had to find out if the rumors were true.

You knew getting into the garage to surprise him wouldn’t be hard. A long time ago, Eddie had proven himself trustworthy enough for the owner to give him his own key to the place, as well as a spare to keep at home. While Eddie always had his key with him, you knew where the spare was since you’ve had to take it up there to Eddie a couple times when he accidentally locked his keys inside the building. With that in hand, you’d have no problem getting in after closing without having to give Eddie a heads up.

But, at the same time, your gut was telling you to be cautious and think this through carefully. A large part of you was still convinced your husband wouldn’t betray you like that. He had been your best friend for years and had never tried to deliberately hurt you before. You didn’t want to just barge in and interrupt your husband at his job with accusations flying when all you had to go on was the town gossip. You wanted to have an actual excuse for going up there if this all turned out to be nothing.

Since Eddie Wayne was a little over 18 months old at this point, Uncle Wayne had been offering to keep him overnight sometime so you and Eddie could have an evening alone together. He was overjoyed when you called to finally take him up on that offer and he picked up his grandson for a sleepover shortly afterwards.

Once your son was off with his grandpa, you got a quick dinner made. It wasn’t anything fancy, just spaghetti with a small splurge of meatballs, but it was something cheap and easy that you and Eddie both loved. You made two lunch containers of it, then stored the rest of the leftovers away in the fridge. You packed up both lunch containers, some silverware, and napkins into a paper sack, and then headed up to the garage where Eddie worked.

On your way there, the nerves started building. You were nauseous with them by the time you pulled into the parking lot. You identified Eddie’s van right away, but as you got out of your car, you realized there was no way to tell if he was alone before you went inside. The parking lot was half full of vehicles, and you had no way of knowing which ones were there to be worked on, or if any of them belonged to a late-night visitor.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to prepare yourself for anything as best you could and let yourself into the front door.

There was no bell overhead to announce your presence as you walked inside, so your arrival was thankfully quiet. It wouldn’t have really mattered had there been a bell though, you could hear music drifting into the reception area from an open door behind the counter that led to the garage area proper. You could hear a song from Megadeth’s latest album drifting into the room.

Following the sound of the music, you stepped through the door out into the garage. You couldn’t see much since most of the bays had a vehicle in it and it was dark The only light you could see was coming from the far end of the building, near the back wall by the office.

You carefully made your way through the semi dark garage, being careful not to trip on any stray hoses or tools. As you got closer to the light and music, you still couldn’t see anything thanks to a few stacks of tires and a large, upright toolbox. But once you stepped around those though, you got a full, unobstructed view of the very last vehicle bay.

And what you saw made you stop in your tracks.

There was a Jeep was parked in that last bay, with its hood up and a light clamped onto it. Eddie was bent over under the hood at an awkward angle, trying not to get in his own light and stretched out as if trying to reach something at the very back. It was really hot here at the back of the garage, so Eddie had the top half of his coveralls down around his waist. He’d also shed the wife beater he normally wore under the coveralls, leaving him completely shirtless. His skin had a heavy sheen of sweat on it, and he was flushed from being under the hot work light. He’d gotten grease and dirt on his back from being under the Jeep, but rather than make him look dirty, the grime seemed to contour and enhance the lean muscle lines of his back.

Your jaw dropped a little, eyes widening.

Eddie stood up then and turned towards a wheeled cart he had next to him at the front of the Jeep, scowling at the wrench he was holding. Oblivious to the fact he was being watched, he started rooting through the various sized sockets on the cart, his brow furrowed slightly as he compared the sizes to the one he had on the wrench originally. The tip of his tongue was slightly poking out from one corner of his mouth, which is how you could tell when Eddie was really concentrating.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took him in from the front.

His hair was pulled back in a chaotic mess of a bun, his black bandana rolled up and wrapped around his forehead to keep sweat out of his eyes. Drops of sweat trailed down Eddie’s chest and stomach and your eyes couldn’t help but follow one as it rolled down the center of his abdomen. The top half of his coveralls were weighing down the bottom half, making them sag a bit in the front. This pulled them down just enough to display the front of his hips, the trim V cut of his lower abdomen on full display and perfectly framing the start of a dark happy trail that disappeared down into his front of pants.

In all of the chaos and stress of life, the turmoil of being new parents and newlyweds simultaneously, and all of the major change’s life had thrown at you two in such a short amount of time…

You had forgotten exactly how fucking gorgeous your husband is.

All you could do was stand there and gawk at him. The reason for your visit not entirely forgotten, but, for the moment, at the very back of your mind. It wouldn’t hurt to keep letting him work so you could admire the view for a little longer.

Eddie finally gave up trying to find the socket he was looking for on the cart and turned towards the upright toolbox. Halfway to it, he finally looked up to see you standing next to it. He screamed in surprise, dropping the wrench and socket he was holding as he jumped backwards. This in turn scared the hell out of you, making you scream and jump in surprise yourself.

Thankfully, you did not drop the food.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, wide eyed and breathing heavy after the jump scare you just gave each other.

And then, quite suddenly and unexpected, the distance you had been feeling between you two disappeared.

You both burst into laughing fits at exactly the same moment. It was that deep, soul cleansing laughter that’s sometimes needed just as much as a good cry. Eddie nearly doubled over, body shaking as he tried to get control of it. You felt your stress and anxiety melt away as tears sprang from your eyes.

As your tension and worry eased, a forgotten memory flashed through your mind from your senior year, which had been Eddie’s first. It was right after Hellfire let out and, since you didn’t have a car at the time, you had hurried to get home before it started raining. Unfortunately, after a brief trip to the restroom, you got outside only to discover it was pouring and everyone, but Eddie had already left. When you went back inside to ask him for a ride, you scared the hell out of each other then laughed about it, much like this.

Presently, Eddie scooped up the wrench he dropped, then went back to the cart to turn off his music. Then he turned to you.

“Jesus Christ, Princess!” he said, his voice filled with humor, and then he dramatically started clutching at his chest. “You could’ve given me a heart attack!”

“I’m so sorry, babe,” you said, giggling at his theatrics as you wiped tears from your eyes. “I wasn’t trying to kill you, I swear.”

His eyes looked down near your feet, then behind you, brow slightly furrowing in confusion.

“Where’s our little man?” he asked, and you realized he was looking for Eddie Wayne’s car seat or stroller.

“With his grandpa for the night,” you smiled at Eddie, then danced a little in place. “I’ve got the whole evening to myself.”

“Yeah?” he smiled at you softly as he finally made his way over to the toolbox, resuming his search for the correct sized socket. “Then what’s a beautiful girl like you doing messing around in a filthy place like this?”

Even now after all these years of knowing Eddie, whenever he was relaxed enough to fall into his old flirtatious demeanor with you, it still made your heart race just as much as it did back in school.

You briefly held up the paper bag you were holding and gave it just enough of a shake to make the silverware inside rattle around.

“I was just stopping by with some food for my amazing husband so we could have dinner together,” you explained, then a playful smile came to your face. “But then when I saw you, I couldn’t help but get distracted and forget my manners.”

You don’t know why you chose that wording in particular. It just popped into your head and seemed like a fun thing to say in light of how he just caught you staring at him like some love-struck teenager.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on you though. Here you were, down at your husband’s work for the sole purpose of seeing if he was cheating on you, but now here you were flirting with him as if he were just some random hot guy you were thirsting after rather than your actual husband.

While this wasn’t like any of the scenarios you had pictured in your head while on the drive over, you weren’t complaining. Scaring each other and the laughter that followed had put you in a relaxed, easygoing state. It was the perfect mood to put you in the mindset to flirt a little heavy handedly with Eddie.

His head lifted a little so he could look up at you, one brow raised in curiosity. He took you in for a moment, as if trying to figure out what your game here was. But then a playful glimmer came to his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a while.

He stood up straight, dropping the wrench he was holding into the open drawer of the toolbox with a clatter.

“Can’t say I was expecting anyone to come by tonight,” he said, dusting his hands off as he looked you over with an intense gaze that made your cheeks flush. “But you’re more than welcome to wait around in the office, see if he turns up. I’ll get washed up, then come keep you company.”

With a wink, Eddie began to head for the sink at in the corner of the garage.

You couldn’t help but blush slightly, then made your way into the office.

The small room was cramped and served as the office and break room. It contained a ratty couch against one wall with a coffee table in front of it, a table against the opposite wall that held a microwave and coffee maker, a desk near the window at the back of the room, and a full-sized refrigerator in the corner. There wasn’t much on the desk aside from extra office supplies but considering what Eddie has said about the owner rarely coming in, that wasn’t surprising.

Forgetting about the flirty banter since you thought that was over with for the night, you started to get dinner laid out for the two of you. You knew it would take Eddie awhile to get his hands and arms scrubbed clean like it always did, and that would give you plenty of time to get everything ready. After warming up the food and finding two sodas in the fridge, you arranged everything on the coffee table so that you two could sit on the couch together while you ate.

Right as you finished setting out the silverware, you heard the office door click shut and the lock twist into place. Smiling, you stood up and turned, your mouth opening in preparation to tease him about how long it always takes him to clean up. Before any words could leave your mouth though, Eddie’s lips crashed into yours in a deep, hungry kiss.

It felt like he was trying to devour you whole, his tongue sliding into your mouth to taste you before you had the chance to react. You gasped in surprise as his arms wrapped around you and he pulled you tightly to him. Once the surprise wore off though, your response was just as eager, lips moving with his to make the kiss even more intense. Your arms went around his neck, and you pulled him in closer. You softly bit his tongue and Eddie groaned into your mouth, his hips pushing forward against yours. Already you could feel him getting hard in his coveralls.

Since he responded to your choice of words so well, you decided to keep the little game going. You slid your hand up from the back of his neck into his hair and grasped a handful of it. Gently tugging, you used it to pull his head back away from you. He groaned as his lips left yours, letting his head move easily along with the pull.

“I told you I’m a married woman,” you said softly, lips inches from his. “What would my husband think if he were to walk through that door right now?”

It seemed like Eddie was enjoying the game now as much as you were. A tremble went through his body, and one hand slid down from your back to your ass, taking it in a firm hold. He pulled your hips even more firmly against his. Your grip loosened in his hair, and he tilted his head down to look into your eyes.

“Door’s locked up tight, Princess,” he said, his voice low and husky, with a slightly threatening tone woven in. “And no one’s getting through. It’s just you and me now.”

Holding onto you so you wouldn’t trip, Eddie started to walk you backwards. You gave no resistance, letting him lead you until you came to a stop against the edge of the desk. Your bodies were jostled a bit at the impact, your legs inadvertently opening into a wider stance. Eddie claimed the newly empty space by quickly stepping forward to stand between your legs. The firm press of his body against yours made you start to teeter backwards, but his arms squeezed your body tightly to his own, keeping you upright so didn’t fall back onto the desk quite yet.

“Please,” you whimpered, playing up the role of a helpless damsel by letting your head fall back, which only made Eddie bury his face in your neck. “My heart belongs only to him!”

The way you two were standing against the desk put him just at the right angle to grind himself against your entrance. Even through your jeans and his bulky coveralls, you could now feel exactly how much Eddie was liking this little role play with you. His cock was close to rock hard. The feeling of him pressed against you made you bite your lip, and you found yourself suddenly have to swallow a moan as he rolled his hips into yours with purpose. He had caused the seam of your jeans to bear down on your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

Your legs jerked a little on either side of Eddie as he did it again, knees quivering as little bursts of electricity traveled through your body from the contact. He was quick to respond, stooping down quickly to pick you up by the backs of your thighs and set you up on the very edge of the desk.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his voice rumbly and low as the tip of his tongue flicked out over the skin on the side of your neck as if he were tasting you. “If it’s only your heart that belongs to him, then your body is all mine for the taking.”

Eddie grazed his teeth on your neck, making you gasp and grip your fingers into his hair again. Falling further into the role, you slipped your other hand between your bodies to rest your palm flat against his chest in a playful attempt to push him away. At this point, Eddie had a firm grip on you and was steadily rocking his hips into yours, grinding his hardness into you over your clothes.

You tried again to push him away again, this time adding just a little bit more force into it. As you did that, your fingers tightened down again in his hair, attempting to pull his head away from you like before.

This time, Eddie wasn’t having it.

He pulled away from you of his own accord, but only just enough that he could grab ahold of your wrists, one in each hand. Keeping a tight hold on you, he then threw you backwards onto the desk, holding your hands above your head as he leaned down over you. You cried out in surprise as you landed. With your ass now hanging halfway off the edge of the desk, the sudden movement of your body caused your legs to lift as your body rocked backwards. You took advantage of this by hooking them around Eddie’s hips, trapping him against you as much as you were trapped against him. He grinned down at you, and you bit your lip to keep from grinning back.

After shifting your wrists so he could hold them in one hand, Eddie ran the tips of fingers all the way down your arm until he reached your chest. He softly squeezed one of your tits, playing with it for a moment, before continuing further down between your bodies, not stopping until he reached the front of your pants. Keeping eye contact with you, he slowly started working the buttons of your jeans open one handed.

“That’s it now, be a good girl and just lay back for me,” he cooed down at you, the tone of his voice almost sinful the way it turned you on. “Lay back and I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.”

As the last button on your jeans came open, you felt his hand slide into the opening of the denim, fingers caressing the fabric of your underwear.

You let your eyes drift open more, looking up at him and finally taking in his full expression. Eddie’s face was a mask of lust, his dilated eyes intent as he gazed down at you.

You could tell he was close to letting go. That fact alone was enough to make you even more excited. Your sex life with Eddie had never really been that wild, if you were being honest. There hadn’t been too many times that he had really let go of himself while being intimate with you. The first time in his van, the first time after giving birth once you’d healed, and a couple of random times after Eddie had gone out for a few drinks with the guys. You enjoyed the hell out of it every single time and only wished it happened more often.

This was definitely an opportunity you couldn’t pass up.

Jutting your chin out, you lifted your head up in a prideful way as you playfully glared into his eyes.

“Do what you will to me,” you said with a defiant tone. “But the only name I’ll be screaming tonight is Eddie’s.”

The grin that spread across Eddie’s face at that made your heart nearly stop.

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, then leaned down so his lips were just an inch from yours. “I’m fully counting on that.”

You weren’t given the chance to reply.

Eddie brought his lips down on yours, the kiss every bit as deep and intense as before. There was no pause this time before you were returning it, your mouth eagerly opening for his. You captured his bottom lip in your teeth, not biting hard enough to draw blood but more to make sure you had his full attention.

But you didn’t have to worry about that. As your teeth were sinking into Eddie’s lip, two of his fingers were slipping past your underwear to pull them aside. His grunt at the feeling of your bite was met by a soft moan from you as he ran his fingers through your folds and began teasing your entrance.

“Always so wet for me,” he muttered against your lips, sounding more like he was talking to himself.

Any reply to you could have given would’ve been lost on your tongue as Eddie slid his middle finger into you. It met no resistance, your wetness easily letting him slide in up to the third knuckle. Since you were already so worked up, he didn’t have to build up to it before starting to finger you at a steady pace. Your eyes closed as you moaned, head tilting back to give him access once again to your neck. He eagerly took advantage of this, his lips coming down to start kissing and sucking on the exposed skin. You could tell just from the pressure that he was deliberately marking you up.

Then, as he licked across the front of your throat to start making his way to the other side of your neck, he stopped the motions of his hand for just a second in order to sink a second finger into you.

You gasped, moaning loudly as your legs tightened around him to hold yourself in that position. He moved his fingers at the same steady pace, his lips sucking at this side of your neck now to leave marks that would match the ones now on the other side.

Being with Eddie as infrequently as you were made it was easy to forget just how good in bed he was. Even the halfhearted and tired sex that was the normal with him was far better than anyone else you’d been with. It wasn’t until this very moment as he curled his fingers inside you that you realized just how pent up you’d been. Getting yourself off for the last few weeks hadn’t cut it as much as you’d thought.

Thanks to the slow pace he had to keep due to the confines of your jeans, the heel of his hand was rubbing against your clit with every inward thrust of his fingers. It didn’t take long before your orgasm built, and you were about to crest its edge.

Right when your inner walls started to tighten around his fingers, Eddie ripped his hand out of your jeans and pulled himself completely away from you. You gasped, clenching around nothing, and aching from the denied orgasm.

“E-Eddie, please,” you gasped, near tears as your body lay trembling on the desk.

“M’sorry, I need you,” he panted, taking ahold of the waist band of your jeans. “Need to feel you clenching around me. Been way too long.”

Eddie quickly pulled your pants and underwear down your legs at the same time. Your shoes slipped off easily when he pulled them off, and the entire bundle was quickly discarded to the office floor. He stepped forward to stand between your legs again, his warm hands caressing your now bare thighs.

A soft sigh left your lips as he touched you, then you watched as he took one hand away to start working himself free of the coveralls. Eddie ended up struggling with them for a moment, having to really work to get one more button undone before he was finally able to push them down past his ass. You leaned up a bit on your forearms, watching as his boxers went next and his hard cock sprang free to lay along your slit.

You couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling, still sensitive from being so close to orgasm. He gave two slow rolls of his hips, dragging the length of his cock across your clit and electing a high-pitched cry from you. Eddie grasped the base of his cock then and tapped the leaking tip on your clit, making you jump slightly, before he slowly began dragging the head through your wet folds. You whimpered, your hips arching up off the desk towards him. He pushed you back down with one hand while he lined himself up with the other. With a slow, firm movement of his hips, Eddie’s hard length began to slide into your cunt.

A loud cry of pleasure left you as your head thumped back on the desk. Since he took his time, you could feel every inch of him. He paused halfway, shifting his stance, and lifting one of your legs higher around his torso before pushing in the rest of the way. You both groaned deeply at the feeling of him bottoming out. It had indeed been too long, your body had to adjust to him again. Luckily, it only took a moment, and as soon as Eddie felt you begin to relax, he began to move.

He started out with slow, but deep, thrusts, dragging his cock through your throbbing heat. You moaned, panting as you clutched at the opposite edge of the desk just above your head. Forcing yourself to keep your eyes open, you watched him as he stared open mouthed at where your bodies met, transfixed by the sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he moaned suddenly, a shudder going through his body as he spoke. “S-so fucking hot. H-How’d I get so lucky?”

Eddie paused briefly to shift his stance and to move your leg up higher, over his shoulder even. Gripping your hips with both hands, he began thrusting with renewed purpose. This new angle had his cock hitting even deeper than before. You gasped as the head rubbed against your most sensitive places, including that one rough, spongy area that always made your toes curl.

“Fuck, God, Eddie, right there!” you screamed, already at the edge again. “I-I’m gonna cum!”

Not stopping this time, Eddie’s thrusting became faster, more frantic. One hand moved from your hip to slide between you, and he started rubbing circles around your clit with his thumb. You moaned a string of curses, feeling yourself starting to clench around his cock.

“J-Jesus, that’s it,” Eddie panted, leaning over so he had one hand resting flat on the desk next to your head, the other rubbing your clit faster. “Fuck! Cum for me, squeeze my cock with that tight cunt of yours.”

That was all it took to send you careening over the edge. You threw your head back and screamed as your orgasm washed over you, your cunt clamping down around him just as he wanted. Eddie wasn’t far behind, his thrusting growing erratic before he was cussing and groaning your name. With how sensitive you were, you swore you could feel his cock pulsing, then spurting as he came, painting your insides with his full load.

Eddie tried to fuck you both through your orgasms, but he had gotten too sensitive. It really had been too long. After a soft gasp that sounded close to a yelp, his motions stilled. Still buried deep inside you, his body trembled just as much as yours did as you both came down from your highs.

Once he had caught his breath, he moved to gently lower your leg from his shoulder to around his waist but stayed inside you. Leaning over, he bent down to you, one hand softly cupping the side of your face as he kissed you. The kiss was warm, tender; a loving contrast to the primal fucking that just occurred. He kissed you a few more times before sliding out of you and helping you up.

You both were giggling as you got dressed, grinning like idiots at each other and blushing. It was as if you were kids again and had just gotten away with doing something very bad. Which, technically, you did, you supposed. After all, having sex on the boss’s desk probably wasn’t looked highly upon, no matter the circumstances.

With appetites worked up, you both finally dug into dinner, with Eddie dramatically moaning in pleasure at the first few bites before you fell into an easy conversation. Eddie asked what you and Eddie Wayne got up to that day. You told him all about everything your son did, then he surprised you by asking specifically how your day was. He surprised you again when you asked Eddie about his day, and he actually started talking about it. That was a first. You had to ask a few questions here and there when he used a term you didn’t understand, but it was all pretty interesting.

Suddenly, in the middle of a story, Eddie broke himself off and smiled sheepishly at you.

“Sorry, Princess,” he said, looking like he was afraid you might be annoyed. “I know you don’t understand most of this. That’s why I try not to talk much about work.”

You blinked a few times in surprise, then shook your head.

“No, Eddie,” you said, looking at him warmly. “I love hearing about your day. If I don’t get something, I’ll ask about it if I’m curious enough.”

Relief came over Eddie’s features and he leaned over to give you a soft kiss.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence then as you ate. But that gave your brain the opportunity to go back to the original reason for your visit. Once it was back at the forefront of your mind, it began to gnaw at you once again, even in your post sex bliss.

Knowing this wouldn’t go away on its own, you decided it was time to just address it directly. The town could say what they wanted and didn’t need to know your business, but the air needed to be clear between the two of you, at least.

“So, I’ve been hearing a new rumor about you around town,” you said, keeping the tone of your voice playful, just like any other time you’ve filled him in on the latest gossip about yourselves. “And it’s a really juicy one this time, too.”

“Yeah?” he said, quirking a brow at you as he chewed a bite of food. “Do tell.”

You felt your nerves come up but didn’t let it show. Instead, you looked around conspiratorially and leaned closer to Eddie. Playing along, Eddie leaned closer to you too, tilting his ear towards you to listen. You cupped his ear with one hand, as if trying to keep a secret

“Word around the campfire,” you whispered, pausing for dramatic effect. “Is that you’re fucking around on me.”

Eddie snort laughed so hard he ended up choking on his own spit. As he lapsed into a coughing fit and you pounded him on the back, you couldn’t help but feel relieved already just based on his reaction.

“Those old bats, I swear,” he finally said, gasping for air as he wiped the tears from coughing off his cheeks. “I don’t have the energy to see you nearly as much as I’d like, much less the time to work in a side piece.” He paused to take a bite and continued on as he chewed. “When do they think I have the time? When I’m able to sleep? No thanks. I like what little sleep I do get.”

It was so casual the way Eddie spoke, not even thinking about what he was saying. There was no filter behind those words, nothing but the straight, stream of conscious Thoughts by Eddie. And so, it hit you straight in the heart, making it skip around a few times.

“That’s a very good point,” you said, unable to stop yourself from chuckling at yourself for even entertaining the idea seriously.

Eddie chuckled, then looked over at you with a grin.

“They say the same thing about you, you know,” he said, then took another bite as he watched for your reaction.

Now it was your turn to choke, though you choked on your food, and Eddie pounded you on the back until you got through it.

“For real?” you asked once the coughing fit was over. “When did those start?”

“Not too long after the wedding,” he replied, grabbing your soda to hand it to you. “Apparently, you’ve been fucking anyone they see come around the house, including the mailman, since day one.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. That was a new one on you. It certainly explained some of the flat glares and head shakes you’d occasionally gotten since you two got married. You never paid much attention to them when it happened, thinking it was about something stupid.

As it turns out, you were right.

“As if I’d really cheat on the guy I’ve been crushing on since the sixth grade,” you scoffed, then took a drink of your soda. “There would be no sense in it. Besides that, pretty much like you said, when would I have the ti-“

“Wait, what?”

You looked over at Eddie to find him staring at you with a shocked expression and his fork halfway to his mouth.

“What?” you asked, not sure what he was asking about.

Eddie tossed the fork into his bowl, set it on the table and turned to you.

“We’ve been married for,” he said, then stopped to think for a moment. “Just over two years now and this is the first I’m hearing about you having a crush on me?”

You blinked at him in surprise, your eyebrows going up.

“I didn’t figure it mattered once we were married,” you said, shrugging. “We’re together now, so I didn’t think it needed to be said.”

The expression of shock on Eddie’s face would’ve been funny had you not known it was completely genuine.

“Princess, that would’ve been really helpful to know a long time ago,” he said, the tone of his voice incredulous and slightly shaky. “I’ve spent these past two years worried about if I really made you happy. I honestly keep wondering if you really want to be with me, or if you only agreed to marrying me because you didn’t want the stigma of being a single mom on top of being the town freak’s whore.”

There was no trace of cruelty in his voice since Eddie wasn’t calling you that name to be mean. That was something people started calling you near the end of junior year. By senior year, it had stuck, and you got called it every day until graduation. Some of the old bullies still liked to shout it at you when they saw you out. It was part of the reason why you didn’t like to leave the house most days unless you absolutely had to for errands.

“Admittedly, that thought did cross my mind,” you said, then sat your own bowl on the table to turn to him. “But I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t really want to marry you, baby or no. If you were the type of man that would’ve made me miserable, I’d still be at my parents’ house.”

The smile that came to Eddie’s face then could’ve lit up the entire garage. One of his hands came up to softly stroke the side of your face as he gazed at you fondly.

“And I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I didn’t truly want to,” he said. “Baby or no.”

You moved one hand to rest it on his leg, giving it a soft squeeze, as he leaned in to kiss you.

As the kiss gradually started to ramp up from loving to more intense, Eddie pulled away slightly, looking at you with a worried expression.

“Does this mean I can touch you more?” he asked, sounding unsure of himself suddenly as he started to ramble. “I thought you didn’t really want me to, so I never do, but, god, it’s all I’ve wanted to do since ninth grade, and I want to so much it drives me fucking crazy sometimes.”

Your cheeks blushed a bright pink at Eddie’s admission. It was a good feeling knowing he desired you as much as you did him, and your heart soared knowing he felt as deeply for you too. This hadn’t been a marriage of convenience for either of you, after all.

Taking his face in both of your hands, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, pulling back at the end to gaze into his eyes.

“Baby, you’ve always been able touch me,” you said softly. “Whenever you want and in whatever way you want.”

A grin spread across Eddie’s face, the glint you saw out in the garage coming back to his eyes. His hands found their way up to your shoulders and he pushed you onto your back on the couch. Climbing on top of you less than a second later, he laid himself between your legs, his lips finding their way to yours once again.

Like always, the town rumors about Eddie had turned out to be nothing more than falsehoods thanks to bored rumor mongering. There was absolutely nothing wrong with your marriage apart from the fact neither of you had properly communicating your needs and desires. And that was something both of you recognized now. The two of you made a vow to each other that very night, right there on his boss’s couch, promising to be more open with your feelings and thoughts.

And, as it turns out, you were given the opportunity to put those newfound communication skills to the test soon enough. When you left the garage that night, you left with more than just hearts in your eyes and very sore legs.

Just over three weeks later, another little white stick turned blue.

Oh, how the rumor mill had a field day with that one.

#had to reblog this again bc holy shit #one of my favorite eddie fics #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #mechanic!eddie #mechanic!eddie munson

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ramona-thorns · 2 months

Text

A Nest of Vipers Ch6. (Cormac McLaggen x Original Female Character - Slytherin)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings / Tags: A little bit of smut, pure blood supremacy, tragic romance

Summary: Slughorn's party is tonight and it's time for Una to choose between the Vipers and Cormac McLaggen.

A/N: Una gets worse every chapter I swear to GOD.

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Chapter 6: Slughorn's Party

Una entered the dimly lit common room arm in arm with Meredith and Sabine, their entrance causing a sudden silence among the four Slytherin boys in dress robes.

“Wow, Sabine, you look… wow,” said the usually aloof Theodore Nott, causing Blaise to give him a haughty look.

“Put your eyes back in, Nott,” said Blaise, rolling his eyes.

“Now you know how I feel,” grumbled Graham. “Having one of your friends go out with your sister.”

It was the night of Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party, and both Una and Blaise had their own agendas for the evening. They were attending as friends, united by separate pursuits of the heart.

“Una and I are going as friends,” Blaise reminded him. “Better that than fraternising with the enemy.”

“The enemy,” snorted Graham but Una knew Blaise was overcompensating, that he’d slink away and find Ginny Weasley as quickly as he could.

“Well, I think you make a lovely couple,” smiled Sabine, showing off her perfect row of white teeth as she greeted Blaise with a kiss on each cheek before taking Theodore’s extended arm.

“I dunno, it’s all a bit incest-y for me,” said Graham with a sour look on his face. “You’re going with my sister, your sister’s going with Nott. We’re a hop, skip and a jump away from getting married off to our cousins.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not my cousin,” said Albie Selwyn, taking Meredith’s hand and kissing it. Una wrinkled her nose. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet and in her opinion, that was much too early for public displays of affection.

“Just Sabine’s ex,” muttered Graham to Una who covered a laugh by opening her bag and checking her lip gloss in her little black mirror.

This was exactly how Sabine liked it. Having power over Meredith and Una by persuading them to go to Slughorn’s party with people she thought she had influence over. Albie Selwyn was a perfect match for Meredith - he wasn’t good enough for Sabine so of course Meredith was permitted to have her sloppy seconds.

And Blaise, well, Sabine didn’t know her brother as well as she thought she did. Una had found an unlikely friend in Blaise after her confrontation with Myrtle in the girl’s bathroom. He was alone in the common room when she had returned and she’d confided in him. He was the only person who could understand how she was feeling. Although by Blaise’s account, his and Ginny’s secret was progressing much more discreetly, and successfully, than her’s and Cormac’s. But Blaise didn’t have the same jealous streak as Una and Cormac. In fact, he didn’t even seem to care that Ginny would be there with her boyfriend, Dean Thomas.

Una took Blaise’s arm and the seven of them ascended the stairs, the salty seaweed-tinged air of the Slytherin common room turning to Christmas pine and firewood as they entered the Entrance Hall.

Cormac McLaggen and Hermione Granger were standing beside Ginny Weasley, Dean Tomas and Katie Bell as the latter awaited the arrival of her date. When Graham saw Katie he practically bounded over, taking her hand and making her do a little spin to show off her dress. It was so sickeningly cute that the other Slytherins rolled their eyes at each other but it made Una’s throat knot in jealousy. Why must her own pursuits be so complicated when Graham could so openly and unashamedly go with Katie?

When Katie stopped her spinning she looked giddy. Graham took her arm and led her towards the direction of the corridor where Slughorn’s office was. Just as Katie and Graham passed between Una and Cormac’s line of sight, they locked eyes.

It was irritating how handsome he looked tonight. Una supposed he must come from money like her, with his perfectly tailored black dress robes. Of course, she knew he was well-connected - he had to have been to receive an invite to Slug Club, but his robes made the other revellers milling around the Entrance Hall look scruffy in comparison.

Cormac’s curly hair, usually messed up from running his hands through it or playing Quidditch, was elegantly textured. There was a single curl over his forehead that could have been a paid actor. She finally understood what Cormac meant when he said he ‘wanted to make a mess of her’. Una wanted to twist her fingers through those curls and make fun of him for trying so hard, to push that stupid curl out of his face while he was on his knees with his mouth between her legs.

Una snapped out of it when Hermione slinked her arm through Cormac’s and he broke his eye contact. Hermione’s usually frizzy hair was also slicked back, except hers was twisted into an elegant bun. She supposed Cormac and Hermione were well-suited. And as things weren’t working out well between Una and Cormac, maybe he and Hermione would have a flock of wild-haired children one day. She watched as they followed Katie and Graham in the direction of the party.

“You know, you look beautiful,” murmured Blaise as the group of Slytherins followed suit, Una and Blaise lagging behind the others. “Speaking platonically, of course. McLaggen is an idiot.”

“Thanks, Blaise,” she smiled.

She almost felt guilty about confiding her woes with Cormac McLaggen to him. Especially when even though he didn’t know it, Blaise’s blossoming relationship with Ginny Weasley would be playing right into her plans to get back at the people who had hurt her brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Try as he might, Cormac McLaggen was having a difficult time getting rid of Hermione Granger. He should have expected this, of course. He knew how he looked when he made an effort and the effect it could have on girls. It just wasn’t having the desired effect on the right girl. And it really wasn’t fair to poor Hermione to lead her on like this.

What was worse was that he thought he might be able to get to the bar by himself. Be seen there alone - then maybe Una would come over and they could discuss tactics. Arrange to meet later, or better yet, sneak away before either Hermione or Blaise noticed they were gone. But Hermione just wanted to accompany him to the bar. Wherever he went she followed. It was like she wanted to be seen with him in every corner of the room.

“And then, I suppose, my eighteenth best save was when I was playing for the Wimbourne Wasps under-14s,” he said and he was actually starting to bore himself now. “Their seeker was Cassius Burke. Or maybe it was Gideon Blackwood. No, wait - it was Cassius Burke. And it was a kick away from the left hoop.”

“You know, this is really fascinating, Cormac,” said Hermione loudly as a few other Gryffindors passed by.

“It - it is?” he asked. Una would have told him to shut his fat mouth and stop talking about himself long ago. Then he’d have wiped the beautiful sneer from her face by letting her know his preferred way of being shut up.

The thought made him miss her.

He looked over to where she was still standing with Blaise, Sabine and her date. Blaise rested a hand on the exposed skin of Una’s backless emerald green dress just below where her straight, shiny hair danced across her spine and he said something that made her throw her head back and laugh. Una’s other friend, the red-headed one, Meredith, was some way away looking uncomfortable as her drunk date pressed his mouth to her ear, half kissing her, half whispering something and accidentally spilling some of his drink down the front of her dress.

It inspired Cormac to try a different tack. He remembered how Hermione recoiled at Slughorn’s dinner party back in October when he’d suggestively sucked on his fingers while looking at her from across the table.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he asked, leaning down to whisper to Hermione and purposefully slurring his words. It was perfect, seeing as he couldn’t think of a tactful way to ask her to leave him alone without offending her.

“I - excuse me?”

“Come on, you just said I was fascinating. Let me show you something really impressive,” he said, putting a hand on her waist.

“I don’t think so, Cormac,” she blustered. “Excuse me, I need to go to the ladies.”

Cormac watched as she turned on her heels and ran off. In the opposite direction of the bathroom and towards the tent-like furnishings where Harry Potter was standing with Luna Lovegood from the D.A. in her spangled silver dress robes.

Well, that was easy, thought Cormac before spotting Katie Bell and Graham Montague over at a secluded table. He didn’t want to be a third-wheel on their date but he didn’t really know anyone else here except Una.

“Remember the time Potter practically swallowed the snitch?” laughed Katie as Graham almost choked on his drink.

“Mind if I join you?” asked Cormac and Katie nodded enthusiastically to the chair opposite them.

“Graham, this is Cormac McLaggen,” said Katie. “I’m not sure if Una has told you about him.”

Cormac stuck out his hand and Graham put down his drink to shake it before Cormac took his seat. “Er, no, she hasn’t,” said Graham with uncertainty. “Are you friends with her then?”

It wasn’t a surprise that Una hadn’t mentioned him to her brother, after all, they were keeping things between them a secret. Although he had sort of hoped that maybe she’d have confided in Graham, especially since he himself was here with a Gryffindor.

Cormac chose his next words carefully, mindful of Katie’s suspicious look. “Hardly. Well, I mean, we sit next to each other in Transfiguration,” he said casually. “But she talks about you.”

“All complaints, I assume?”

Cormac laughed. Una had told him all about how Graham was their parents' golden child. According to Una, the fact she was Head Girl paled in comparison to their darling, Quidditch Captain son.

“Well, she’s so sick of me meddling in her love life, I’m not surprised.”

Cormac covered his momentary pause by taking a sip of his drink. Maybe Graham knew more than he was letting on.

“I asked her not to come here tonight with Blaise because he’s my best mate,” explained Graham.

“Oh?” So that explained Una’s sudden change of heart.

“Yeah, well, she wasn’t having it so I’ve backed off now. Especially after the last time my parents tried to force her to go out with someone and she blew -” Graham stopped himself abruptly and shook his head. “I mean she wasn’t happy.” He laughed unconvincingly.

“What happened?” asked Cormac, his curiosity piqued by Graham’s sudden change in tone.

“Where is she anyway?” asked Graham, ignoring Cormac’s question and looking over his shoulder. “I haven’t seen her and that slimy git Blaise in a while.”

Cormac turned around in his chair. None of the Vipers or their dates were anywhere to be seen.

“Slimy git? I thought you said he was your best mate?” laughed Katie.

“Yeah, well, it’s different when he’s got his hands all over my sister,” Graham grumbled.

Cormac turned back around to see Katie observing him. He shook his head warningly. Katie had been suspicious of his relationship with Una for a few weeks now but the last thing he was going to do was confess his feelings in front of her brother. Katie just smirked as if his head shake had confirmed everything.

Graham turned the subject back to Quidditch and while Cormac had more questions than ever, he was relieved to not have to word his answers so carefully now they were no longer talking about Una.

“And remember when your mates got detention for dressing up as dementors during one of our games?” chuckled Katie.

“Oh god, yeah. That was Draco’s idea. He… hang on. Speak of the devil,” said Graham, his brows furrowed in confusion as he looked past Cormac into the middle of the room.

Cormac turned in his seat and watched the Hogwarts caretaker, Argus Filch, dragging in a pale boy with a pointed face into the middle of the room by his ear.

“Alright, I wasn’t invited!” Draco spat angrily. “I was trying to gatecrash. Happy?” And Cormac was surprised when he looked furiously over in the direction of the table that he was currently sitting at.

“That’s alright Argus, that’s alright,” boomed Slughorn. “It’s not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once we’ll forget any punishment. You may stay, Draco.”

“Oh no,” groaned Graham.

“What’s wrong?” asked Katie. “I thought he was your friend too?”

“He was trying to convince me not to come tonight so I could help him with a job - I mean, a project. I think that’s why he was trying to sneak in.”

Cormac remained fixed on the commotion as Draco thanked Slughorn for his generosity and couldn’t help but notice that Draco looked a little ill.

“A project? The day before we go home for the holidays?” asked Katie. Cormac wondered if that was why Draco looked so worse for wear. Maybe he had a deadline he was going to miss?

“Well, I’ve not had much time to work on it. I’ve been preoccupied with something else,” said Graham and Cormac turned back around in his chair just in time to see him wiggling his eyebrows at Katie. “Doesn’t matter anyway - look, Snape’s not having it.”

Sure enough, Draco was being dragged back out of the room at the exact same moment Una was coming back in. Alone.

Cormac raised a hand in acknowledgement and Una halted on the spot, pursing her lips when she saw he was sitting with Graham and Katie.

“Una!” called Graham and her eyes darted everywhere except their table as if looking for an escape route before reluctantly continuing towards them, her high-heeled stilettos clicking on the dance floor ominously as she did.

Cormac stood up and pulled out the seat next to him and she sat down wordlessly, dumping her clutch bag on the table. “Well, I’ve just had to rescue Meredith from Selwyn. Blaise and I had to put them to bed. Separately. And now I’ve got no idea where anyone else is.”

“You’ll just have to put up with our much worse company then,” said Cormac.

Una huffed a derisive laugh and looked directly at Cormac. “I’ll say.”

Her icy glare was full of annoyance and Cormac was sure he’d soon find out that he was somehow responsible for her mood. But even though she looked irritated at him, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She always looked beautiful. He still got a little flustered now that he was actually allowing himself to look at her in her school uniform but he was unprepared for seeing her dressed to the nines like this. He was glad of the commotion caused by Katie and Graham fawning over each other in the Entrance Hall earlier this evening - it meant that nobody noticed that he had stopped mid-sentence when Una had appeared, arm in arm with Blaise wearing that satin green dress that pooled on the floor like it was molten.

“Ouch, harsh, Una,” chuckled Graham. “Cormac was just telling us you’re in Transfiguration together.”

“And come to think of it, that’s just about as much time in Cormac McLaggen’s presence as I can stand sober. Excuse me.” Una tossed her hair over her shoulder before getting up and walking over to the bar.

Cormac hesitated as he looked from Una’s abandoned bag to her figure cutting through the crown, a backless silhouette of grace and indignation.

“Just go,” said Katie in exasperation.

Cormac didn’t bother explaining himself. He grabbed Una’s bag and followed her towards the bar.

“So much for hardly knowing each other,” said Graham, raising an eyebrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Una, what’s up?” asked Cormac, leaning on the edge of the bar at the back of Slughorn’s office as Una caught the barman’s eye with practised ease.

“What’ll it be?” asked the young barman absently, dressed in a white tailcoat and cleaning the bar with a towel. He had a pimply face - he couldn’t have been much older than Una or Cormac, she thought.

“A shot of firewhiskey please,” said Una.

“Make that two,” added Cormac.

“No can do,” said the barman. “Boss said no shots.”

“Oh.” Una pouted and twisted the end of her hair. “Not even just one tiny shot?” she asked, her voice dripping in saccharine sweetness that was anything but innocent.

The barman shook his head as if strengthening his own resolve by denying her request.

Una giggled. “I suppose that makes sense. Who knows what would happen if the students all lost our inhibitions.” She moved her shoulder discreetly so that her strap fell down her arm.

The barman blinked a few times as his cheeks turned pink. “Well… maybe one. Just don’t tell anyone, alright?”

He poured a shot and Una downed it before placing the glass back on the bar. “Gosh, that’s gone right to my head.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Could I trouble you for a glass of champagne, please?”

“Two!” Cormac called after him, a hint of irritation in his voice after being plainly ignored by the barman. “And you can stop trying to make me jealous because it isn’t working,” he added to Una.

“I’m doing no such thing,” said Una. “And besides, you’re one to talk. The way you had your hands all over Granger.”

“I was just trying to get rid of her.”

Una snorted derisively. “By doing your best impression of the giant squid?”

“I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“Cormac, it’s time you learned that I see everything and I hear everything,” hissed Una, her voice filled with venom. “So don’t expect me to be grateful when you tell Hermione to doll herself up for you so you can spend the evening getting handsy with her.”

“Fuck, Una. It wasn’t like that -”

“Oh yeah? That’s not what Moaning Myrtle overheard in the bathroom. She told me all about how you asked Hermione to wear something sexy tonight. I mean, what the fuck, Cormac? You think I wouldn’t find out? Oh - thank you.” Her expression softened momentarily as she thanked the barman for the drinks with a forced smile.

She tried to walk away from the bar but Cormac caught her wrist discreetly.

“Let go of me. You can’t just manhandle me any time an argument isn’t going your way,” she snapped.

“And you can’t just storm off every time you’re about to show the tiniest bit of vulnerability,�� said Cormac sternly, his tight grip encircling her wrist bones and pulling her close.

“That’s not what this is, I -”

“I know what you’re like, Una, I can tell you’ve been stewing over this all day. And I’ll be damned if I let you leave for the Christmas holidays without us sorting this out.”

“It’s not for you to let me do anything.”

“It is when it involves me so shut up for a second and listen.”

Una’s nostrils flared as she stared up at him furiously. That stupid, pretty little curl on his head. It tempted her fingers with a desire to yank it out. “Go on then, try and talk your way out of it.”

“Not here,” said Cormac, increasingly aware of the fact that their whispered conversation was likely to be overheard. “Behind that curtain,” he suggested, nodding to the heavy tent-like draping covering the stone walls of Slughorn’s magically expanded office.

“Are you going to let go of me or should I expect an escort?”

Cormac loosened his grip and handed Una her purse. She snatched it from him and followed him to the secluded edge of the room. Cormac checked the coast was clear of onlookers and held open the hanging to let Una walk through.

“I did ask Hermione to dress up,” said Cormac, his voice tinged with embarrassment and regret. “But that was before I knew you and Blaise were going tonight as friends. I was jealous. And I was trying to make you jealous too.”

“Well, it worked. Are you happy?” Una’s words were sharp but her voice wavered - a tiny chink of vulnerability in her armour that she so wished she could hide.

“Obviously not, Unes. I told you before that I’m terrible at playing games. And this attempt has backfired. Spectacularly.”

Una paused, taken aback by his candour. She was adept at weaving intricate plans. It was like playing wizard’s chess to her, while Cormac... he was more like a player of exploding snap - unguarded and impulsive. And maybe, she thought, what he deserved was someone who wasn’t a game player. Someone honest. Someone who didn’t care about being strategic.

He might not have her cunning, but there was a simplicity, a sweetness in his earnestness. A typical Gryffindor, wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Maybe you should find Hermione again -” started Una softly but Cormac interrupted her with an exasperated groan.

“Una, come on. We’ve just been over this -”

“No, I’m serious, Cormac. I’m not just saying it to start another argument. Aren’t relationships supposed to be fun? Easy? The two of you looked good together.”

Una was starting to think she should have just let her parents betroth her to someone as planned rather than putting up such a fight. It would have avoided this current mess with Cormac if she had. It would have meant that she’d never have made a mess back then either, a mess that strained her relationship with her parents beyond repair.

“I am having fun. And it could be easy if you just stopped caring about what the Vipers think.” Cormac cupped her face with both hands and she could feel her worries melting away, even if only for a moment.

She sighed heavily. “Cormac, please don’t make me choose between you and them.”

Cormac leaned in closer, his green eyes locking onto hers with a sincerity that made her heart flutter. “I’m not asking you to choose, Una. They are. But if you’re really thinking of ending this...” He leaned in, his warm breath fanning against her skin. “I can’t let you go without one last kiss.”

And then he kissed her. Kissed her as if she were the only thing in the world he ever wanted. And Una kissed him back, the sweet champagne on his lips tainted by the smoky, briny firewhiskey on hers.

This was all it took. A kiss was enough to turn her to putty in his hands.

She succumbed to her intrusive thoughts.

“Fuck what they think. I’ll have my parents buy me new friends if it means you’ll fuck me again,” panted Una in Cormac’s ear as he kissed her neck.

He groaned. “You’re so fucked up for that.”

“And you’re fucked up for wanting me.”

She grabbed the front of his dress robes and pulled him urgently so he pressed her between him and the stone wall. Fuck, she loved feeling his body between her legs. It seemed to block out all the external problems complicating things. It was just she and him.

Cormac’s hands pulled up her floor-length satin dress.

“Fuck, not here, Cormac,” she said as his hand cupped her lacy underwear. But her cunt was throbbing underneath his touch. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him to touch her.

“But you’re so wet for me,” he whispered, slipping his hand into her underwear and tracing two fingers along her slit. “I can’t let you back out there all worked up. What if that barman gets ideas?”

“You said that wasn’t working - flirting with the guy behind the bar to - to make you jealous,” she whimpered.

“I’m not jealous. I’m furious. And I’m about to teach you a lesson,” he told her with an arrogant sort of appraising look.

Suddenly, the curtains behind them rustled and Una and Cormac broke apart. Panic jolted through her as Una yanked down the front of her dress and hastily wrenched the fallen strap back up her shoulder.

“Mister McLaggen,” said a low voice from behind them.

Shit. Cormac spun around and when Una laid eyes on the person who’d interrupted them, they widened in horror.

“Miss… Montague?” Professor Snape’s voice had a tone of surprise as eyes darted between them.

Fuck. Una’s stomach dropped as her Head of House eyed them suspiciously.

“I trust, Miss Montague, that you are of sound mind and have not been confunded?”

“Yea, sir,” said Una sheepishly. “I mean, I haven’t been confunded.” Although for a split second, she briefly considered lying and saying she was confunded. Let Cormac take the fall.

“Detention. Both of you. After the holidays.”

“Sir, please, I can’t be seen in detention,” said Una. It was a risk arguing with Snape, even though he was her favourite teacher and Head of House. But she had to at least plead her case. She knew it would look bad for him too if the student he’d put forward for Head Girl was in detention.

Snape paused, looking at their dishevelled, embarrassed appearances, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll do both detentions,” said Cormac. “It was my fault -”

“Your chivalry is very touching, Mister McLaggen, however…” said Snape, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I am the one who will decide a suitable punishment.” Una held her breath waiting for the verdict. “You will both receive detention. Separately. Miss Montague, you are permitted to use the excuse that you are doing remedial Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“Remedial Defence…” whispered Una, horror-struck. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her lungs. She couldn’t think of anything more mortifying. That is until Snape held open the curtain.

“Now, I expect you to return to your dormitories. Immediately.”

Una was temporarily rendered speechless. If she and Cormac were to emerge from behind a curtain and frogmarched through the party by Snape… “Sir, I can’t -”

“Miss Montague, I have been exceptionally lenient with you - do not test my patience.”

Resigned, Una muttered a quiet “Yes, sir,” and reluctantly followed Snape and Cormac. The party was thinning out, which only made their conspicuous exit feel like a spotlight. She fought the urge to hide her face, instead lifting her chin with feigned confidence.

“Nice one, McLaggen,” congratulated Marcus Belby, sticking out his fist as they passed. Cormac at least had the decency to ignore him. Or perhaps he knew reciprocating would land him another few weeks of detention.

Una saw Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger huddled together near the doorway as she continued to follow Snape and Cormac.

“I told you he was vile,” said Hermione quietly.

“Yeah, well I didn’t think he’d sink that low,” said Ginny.

Una slowed her pace, just enough to let Snape and Cormac exit the room ahead of her. This was her chance. Her chance to set off her plan for revenge and provoke Ginny Weasley into attacking her.

“Sorry about your boyfriend…” Una lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper so that only Ginny and Hermione could hear. Then she said a word that she’d never said before. “...Mudblood.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped in shock but Ginny’s eyes narrowed furiously.

“How dare you!” exclaimed Ginny, drawing her wand. A jet of purple light flew towards Una - she made to duck but twisted her ankle in her high stilettos and fell as the bat bogey hex flew over her head and hit Marcus Belby directly in the face, causing pandemonium as everyone dodged the effects of the spell.

“Goodness gracious” exclaimed Slughorn, flapping his arms in panic.

Snape whirled back into the room, quickly followed by Cormac to find Una on the floor, Ginny standing over her with her wand raised and Hermione tugging on Ginny’s arm trying to pull her back. With a lazy flick of his wand, Snape disarmed Ginny and caught her wand in the air with his other hand.

“Sir, I tried to warn you,” said Una, tears welling in her eyes as Cormac helped her to her feet. “She’s jealous, Cormac, and she got her friend to attack me.”

“That is not what happened!” protested Ginny. “She called Hermione a -”

“Oh, spare me the thrilling details of your personal lives,” said Snape, rolling his eyes and handing Ginny her wand back. “Weasley, detention. Granger, ten points from Gryffindor. You two - follow me.”

“Yes, sir,” sniffed Una as she looked down and rubbed her elbow where she had fallen and grazed it. As Cormac and Snape left the room she turned back and looked at Ginny and Hermione, giving them the tiniest smirk as she left.

This was all working out perfectly.

#oh una is evil #i like herrrrr #cormac mclaggen #cormac mclaggen x original female character #cormac mclaggen x you #cormac mclaggen x reader #cormac mclaggen fanfiction #cormac mclaggen fanfic #cormac mclaggen fic #cormac mclaggen series #cormac mclaggen imagine #cormac mclaggen imagines #a nest of vipers #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic

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ramona-thorns · 2 months

Text

Finders Keepers Ch 17. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: SMUT, PIV, a little bit rough but, like, in a romantic way, author once again refusing to acknowledge she has a hand covering mouth during sex kink

Summary: At Seafarer's Beacon you feel stuck in limbo. McLaggen is determined to do something to give you purpose again.

A/N: I'm sorry I teased a little subby moment with McLaggen at the end of the last chapter but this chapter took so many rewrites because it turns out I don't have a dominant bone in my body so you'll need to pretend it happened off-screen. Anyway...

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir, @lolitstiana, @evabellasworld, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @xyzstar, (let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

Chapter 17: Purpose

You spot a tiny white spatter on the t-shirt you’re wearing as you finish brushing your teeth before bed in the bathroom. It’s clean. Or at least was until your spearmint toothpaste marked it. Freshly laundered so it doesn’t smell like him in the way you’d prefer. The shoulders are too broad. The seams hang loosely around your arms. But the old Gryffindor Qudditch training top fits you like you’re wearing a piece of his soul.

“I’ve got toothpaste on your top,” you remark absently to McLaggen next door in the bedroom.

It’s not like you’ve said something profound but when McLaggen doesn’t reply it sticks out like a splinter. You often bat snippets of unremarkable things to each other, like two beaters at bludger practice. If he finds something useful from a book from his uncle’s collection, he just reads it aloud and says “I should remember that,” instead of writing it down. As if imprinting the words on you means he’ll commit it to memory.

But when he doesn’t fire something back, you open the bathroom door. He’s sitting shirtless in his plaid pyjama bottoms. Even though it’s the coldest Christmas Eve that you ever remember experiencing, your bedroom at the top of the lighthouse is warm. Heat from the hearth in the kitchen on the bottom floor rises the whole way through Seafarers Beacon, making everything feel warm and cosy. You tilt your head, waiting for him to lower the copy of this morning’s Daily Prophet but he doesn’t notice you standing in the doorway - he’s holding it so high that it’s covering his face.

“Are you still reading that?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

You glance at the white, frosty landscape outside the window as you wander over and climb into bed beside him, reading over his shoulder. The development he’s reading about isn’t significant - a short paragraph assuring the wizarding community that repairs to Azkaban are ongoing - but there’s a tiny quote from his dad that he read out to you this morning. And he’s been reading and re-reading all day, ever since his eyes first landed on it on the kitchen table while the rest of you were talking and buttering toast.

“I’m sorry you can’t see your mum and dad tomorrow.”

It’s not that you’ve been having an unpleasant time at Seafarer’s Beacon. But Christmas here has felt like a strained effort to replicate Christmas at home, or even, to some extent, Christmas at Hogwarts. Marietta has spent the past few days decorating the kitchen at the bottom landing of the lighthouse. Paper snowflakes whirl around the empty space in the middle of the empty space between the staircase spiralling around the outer walls and up the seven floors.

“It’s fine,” McLaggen says and clears his throat. “I’m okay.”

“It’s not fine.” You rest your hand on his arm and he lets the Daily Prophet fall to his lap, still staring at the small paragraph with his dad’s words. “I wish I could see my mum and dad too - it’s okay for us to be sad about it.”

He nods. “I know - I miss them. Especially after reading about Dad today. But this time of year makes me… I - I dunno. It’s complicated. I still haven’t really forgiven him for handing you over.”

“Cormac -” you hesitate. “- your dad… he did what he had to do. I forgive him for choosing to save you and your family over me - someone who’s practically a stranger. I mean, if I was in his position…?”

He presses his palms hard into his eyes. Usually so bright and green, tonight they’re bloodshot. “You’d really make a choice like that?”

“All I know is that right now, I’d do whatever it takes to keep us safe.”

“All of us,” he affirms, sitting up properly.

“Well… yes -” You say slowly. “But if it comes to it, what I meant was you and I.”

“Don’t talk like that. We’re all in this together.”

“Cormac, you had to choose between me and Eddie when you had to get one of us out of Azkaban -”

“That was different.”

“Every single time we’re faced with a difficult decision it’s different. It was different for you. Different for your dad. We’re in the middle of a war and that’s how war is.”

McLaggen tosses the newspaper aside. “I just wish we could do something. Something to win the war. I feel useless stuck in here.”

“I don’t think there is.”

Because you’ve already racked your brains. You and McLaggen have had this conversation several times already.

Both breakouts from Azkaban have rendered you almost completely isolated from the outside world. Now that Marietta and McLaggen are both assumed kidnapped, your insider knowledge of the Ministry has been shut off. With Krum and Davies here, you’ve got no idea what’s happening internationally. The only real source of information you have that isn’t Ministry propaganda is Potterwatch, and aside from reporting deaths and other swathes of bad news, they don’t seem to have much more information than you do holed up here.

“What about the snatchers they mentioned on Potterwatch? Couldn’t we go after them?” he asks.

“And what are we supposed to do with them? We can’t hand them in to the aurors. It’s not like they’re doing anything illegally - this is all Ministry sanctioned,” you remind him.

“I was more thinking along the lines of teaching them a lesson.”

“What? Like, kill them?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Nah just scare them - rough them up a little.”

“Cormac, we’re not gonna start dealing out vigilante justice. And especially not when half of us are Undesirables. It could go seriously wrong.” You tilt your head, feeling slightly worried that being so cooped up, being away from his parents and the rest of the outside world is making him want to behave recklessly. “And you’re supposed to be kidnapped, remember? If you’re seen outside again people will get suspicious. All we can do is wait,” you say softly, touching your lips against his bare shoulder. “Wait here and stay safe.”

He shakes his head. “We should be training. Like when Potter was in charge of Dumbledore’s Army. Duelling. Practising defensive spells. If we’re prepared then maybe, just maybe, none of us will have to make a difficult choice about who to save.”

You nod and rest your head on your white down pillow, looking at him as you lie on your side. “Let’s start the day after tomorrow. First thing on Boxing Day.”

“Yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow as if he was worried you’d think it was another bad idea.

“Yeah, it’ll give us something useful to do - I’m kind of sick of doing nothing.” You sigh. “Being here has made me realise how slowly time passes without Quidditch… I wish there was enough room to fly properly.”

Cormac rests his head on the pillow too, lying on his back and looking up at the curved, coral ceiling thoughtfully. His brow is slightly furrowed in concentration.

“I could try to work out how to extend the perimeter of the Fidelius Charm?”

“You can do that?” You blink. Your heart soars at the idea that you might be able to feel the wind in your hair again.

“I mean, it definitely won’t be easy but - yeah, I think so. I’ll get it sorted if it’d make you happy. Who knows how long this war will last? You might as well have someplace to fly.”

God, he’s so sweet.

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to. Instead you curl into the crook of his arm and you both drift off. You, wrapped in his arms as your dreams take you to the sky once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Training breathes new life into Seafarer’s Beacon. Everyone is invigorated by the opportunity to do something that isn’t just lounging around, existing. You’re Dumbledore’s Army, after all. You’re part of the resistance.

McLaggen and Eddie spend days working out how to do an extremely complex piece of magic to extend the perimeter of the Fideleus charm so you have space to fly. You think you could cry when you get onto your broom and fly properly for the first time since your mission to Azkaban.

Marietta gets to work transfiguring a scarecrow into a working duelling dummy and creating so many duplicates you feel like you’re facing a small army when you step into the garden one spring afternoon.

Cho scours the Daily Prophet - her curious intellect and keen eye for detail help her read between the lines to make sense of what’s really happening. She sends coded letters with her theories to Lee Jordan so he can confirm them with his contacts and inform Potterwatch listeners. You all huddle around the radio every other night and you squeeze her hand when Lee’s reporting follows her leads.

Katie and Leanne find that there’s more than just fiction in McLaggen’s uncle’s old bookcase and find an extensive collection of defensive spells and healing potions that can be used in combat. They forage herbs in the lighthouse’s magical garden and order rarer potion ingredients by owl post.

You, Krum and Davies, put everyone through flying drills until even Marietta is confident on a broom. Everyone practises casting curses while flying - it’s much harder to keep balance than it looks. When Krum finds out just how talented a Seeker Cho is, you can practically see little hearts forming in his eyes. When you toss an apple her way one day in the kitchen and she catches it one-handed without even looking, you think Krum might propose to her then and there.

Even as the months slip by, the Ministry is taking your threat about breaking into Azkaban again seriously. There have been no more Muggleborns sent to prison. And you tell yourself that as long as you’re here, and the Ministry knows you’ll retaliate, you’re doing something to help win this war.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“See anything?” asks McLaggen, one late May evening as the two of you finish clearing up the garden after duelling practice. You can hear the others in the kitchen having final cups of tea before bed except for Cho who had to run upstairs to wash her hair after you sent such a powerful disarming spell your way that she’d ended up flat on her back in the rather muddy vegetable patch.

“I think something might have cracked a window pane on the greenhouse?” You suggest as you wave your wand over a heavily battered and burned duelling dummy. “Reparo!”

“On it,” says McLaggen, wandering over to assess the damage. “...I can’t see anything” He calls from behind the greenhouse.

“I definitely heard something smash,” you say, frowning at a slightly squashed courgette in the vegetable patch and making a mental note to cast a protective charm over them next time you’re practising in the garden. “I hope it’s not one of the lighthouse windows.”

You follow the garden path around past the greenhouse to find McLaggen standing at the other side of Seafarer’s Beacon, pointing his wand at a window. Beautiful, warm light cascades across his handsome face. It’s late evening but the sun still hasn’t set.

“Found it. It was a window. Easily fixed though,” he says, lowering his wand and turning to face you. “You’re getting much better at duelling by the way. That last one with Cho was pretty evenly matched.”

“I’m just glad I’m not the worst anymore. I think I’m better than Marietta now. Maybe Eddie too - on a good day.”

“Not everything has to be a competition,” laughs McLaggen before kissing the top of your head and pulling you into his chest.

“That’s easy for you to say when you’re winning. You’re the best at duelling,” you grumble, although you’re not jealous. The thought is a comforting one, you think as you close your eyes and inhale his dark, spicy scent.

“No, I think Krum is probably the best,” says McLaggen thoughtfully.

You look up at him. “Y’know when I first met you, I don’t think you’d ever have admitted someone was better than you at something,” you tease.

He chuckles softly. The garden hums with the sounds of nature as McLaggen holds you to his chest and stares out at the amber sky as the sun sets over the sea, interrupted only by the distant echo of laughter from the kitchen from inside - the unmistakable noises of the others joking together before they retire to bed.

“Thank you for doing all this,” you tell him. Just being on a broom has - ironically - grounded you. It’s made everything feel alright again. And now that you’re spending every day outside in the fresh air and every night insight surrounded by your new found family, the shadows of Azkaban have long left your face.

“It wasn’t just me. Eddie helped with the Fidelius Charm -”

“Not just the Fidelius Charm. For giving us all purpose again. And somewhere safe to stay.”

“It’s my Uncle’s house -”

"You know -" you cut across him, " - when you volunteered to apparate home with Mary Cattermole, I was furious with you because I was scared." Your eyes meet his green ones, finding the warmth and strength that’s become so familiar. "But I should have expected it from you. You always go way beyond what any ordinary person would do in that sort of situation. And I mean, for goodness sake, who else out there can say their boyfriend got them out of Azkaban?"

McLaggen exhales in an embarrassed sort of way and turns his head back from the window. “It’s not - I mean when you say it like that it sounds much more impressive than it is. I’m just doing what anyone else would do. ”

"Most people would save their own skin.” You put your hand directly above his heart, feeling it beating through his chest. "That fact we’re all still alive isn’t because of this lighthouse. It's because of who you are,” you tell him fiercely.

You look up at him, bathed in the warm light from the sun against the backdrop of the whitewashed lighthouse. He looks down at you with an oddly reminiscent look on his face.

“You’re more like yourself again.”

You nod. The past few months have made you feel like you’re the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain again. You love getting to fly with Cho and Davies again. It’s just like old times. But you never dreamed you’d be flying with Viktor Krum, never mind have him actually take direction from you when you yell mid-air about flying formations for combat.

Cormac curls a finger under your chin and kisses you. You link your arms around his neck, pulling yourself close to him. Everything slots together perfectly. Well, almost perfectly - you need to stand on your tiptoes but to you, that just makes him more perfect. Like he’s your missing piece of a puzzle.

He parts his lips and your tongue finds his. Your fingers become entwined in Cormac’s messy curls as you press your hips into his. The world outside the Fidelius Charm might be chaotic, fraught with fear and devastation and death but in this pretty, seaside garden where the evening light warms your back as you kiss Cormac, you have the sanctuary of each other.

Cormac’s large hands roam the curve of your waist under your t-shirt and you feel callouses on his palms and fingertips from so much flying and duelling. And you know he believes if you all train enough none of you will ever fall in the war. He trains so hard because he thinks that if he does when the time comes, he can protect everyone. Save everyone.

And you hope beyond hope that you’ll never need to put your training to use. But you’ve been listening to Potterwatch every night. The tone has been subtly shifting since your giggled huddling and listening back before Christmas. You know things are getting worse out there. Something in the air tells you that you’re going to have to act - and soon.

But not right now.

Right now all you want to think about is each other.

“You know, you don’t have to be so selfless all the time,” you say, unfastening Cormac’s belt and getting to your knees on the grass in front of him. Fuck, he looks even taller like this.

He wastes no time helping you and pulls his cock out from his boxers. You blink up at him, taking a shuddering breath when you see him - already thick and hard and ready for you. Even after all this time together, your stomach flips when you’re reminded that his cock is just as beautiful as he is. You take him in your hands and place tiny kisses along the underside of his length.

“You can let me do things too,” you whisper, his tip just brushing your lips as you breathe the words. Cormac leans his head back against the curved exterior wall.

You can’t take your eyes off him as you slowly wrap your lips around his head and circle it with your warm, hot tongue. The light makes every hair visible on the small strip of skin on his lower abdomen, shining and golden. The tiny freckles on his arms are getting darker now the early summer sun has been cascading down on you while you’ve been training in the garden.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he tells you, threading his hands through your hair. He’s messing it up but the ache between your legs is pulsing too pleasantly for you to care. It would almost be distracting if you weren’t so preoccupied with sucking and swirling your tongue around him. “My pretty girl.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes as he swallows thickly and leans his head back. His adam’s apple is visible as he swallows back a steadying breath. Just seeing him enjoying the feel of your hot, wet mouth makes you moan around him. The vibrations make his eyes snap back towards you just in time for him to watch you swallow his entire length down your throat. His grip tightens in your hair when he bottoms out and lets out a groan.

You don’t hold back. You press your head down as much as you can, blocking your own airways and feeling saliva dripping down your chin as his cock fills your mouth up. Cormac gently pulls back, letting you briefly take a gulp of air but the way you eagerly take him again makes him pant harder, his shoulders rising and falling with his breathing as you work your mouth.

“Fuck, let me fuck you.” You detach from him with a gasp and shake your head, blinking back tears. His grip tightens. “I don’t want to cum. Not yet.”

“Be selfish for once. Finish here. Please,” you say through laboured pants as you jerk him off in your hand and present your tongue. You go to take him in your mouth again but he grabs your upper arm.

“I am being selfish.” Cormac hoists you to your feet. Before you know it, you’re being spun around and pressed up against the wall. You feel the bumpy whitewash paint under your palms when he whispers in your ear from behind. “You think I want to fuck you as a favour to you or something?”

His hands unbutton your jeans and he pulls them and your underwear down over your ass. You’re able to turn your head just enough to see him casting his eyes over your body with that appraising smirk that makes you fold every fucking time you see it. It’s been over a year and a half since that stupidly gorgeous dimpled smile made you feel butterflies in a way you hadn’t expected. Just that look is still enough to make you feel like you’ve been knocked off your broom.

And to him, the way you look right this second - dishevelled and pouting because you’re not getting your own way - is equally captivating. Everyone thinks you’re the loud, domineering one in the relationship and that it’s him who goes along with whatever you say. But Cormac doesn’t care what they think because he knows the truth of it. Even when you take the reins, climbing on top of him or setting the pace, all it takes is a single whispered word from him, or his hand gently guiding you at your lower back that keeps your dynamic exactly how he likes it.

And here you are once again, as malleable as if he’s used a softening charm on you.

Before you realise what’s happening Cormac’s tongue sucks your earlobe as he presses your body between his and the wall. You open your mouth to argue but instead take a sharp inhale when he slaps your ass, followed quickly by his hands groping and massaging all over your body - going from squeezing your backside to groping your tits and back again like he doesn’t have enough hands to touch you everywhere he wants to at once.

“I - I wanted to make you cum with my mouth,” you complain as he pushes your bra up to pinch your nipple between two fingers but you don’t protest any further - you’re too turned on to care. From how flush he’s pressed against you, you can feel his hard cock pressed up against your backside, wet with your saliva and his precum.

You’d think after a hard day of training, Cormac would be exhausted - that he’d have no testosterone left in his body. But you know from experience over the past few months that this isn’t the case. You’re not sure whether it’s seeing you fight that turns him on or if his ego is slightly bruised from having Krum as fierce duelling competition - either way, he comes to bed most evenings murmuring sweet things in your ear and slipping his Gryffindor training tshirt off our your body before you’ve barely had a chance to wear it.

This evening is only different because he can’t wait until you’re back in your bedroom to have you. He kisses your neck and draws the tips of his fingers along your slit, dragging your wetness over your clit.

“I couldn’t let that happen. Not when all I can think about is how wet this cunt is for me,”

You let out a low, shaky breath. Fuck, you love it when he gets in this mood. He’s so filthy. Talking to you like how you sort of expected he would when you first met him. Before you found out how sweet and soft he is.

Usually.

Fuck.

Your legs twitch involuntarily when Cormac drags the pad of his middle finger across your clit and dips it through your sopping-wet folds. You can’t move much but you can’t stop your hips from grinding with his fingers, chasing the feeling of him toying with you.

“Yes. Ah fuck - yes,” you squeal as he draws the words from you with his touch.

“Shh, shh, shh…” He soothes, tutting gently. He pulls his wet fingers back over your clit, swirling in circles around the throbbing clutch of nerves. “The others are through the wall. You need to be quiet.”

As if testing you, his wet strokes over your clit pick up pace - his calloused fingers feel so deliciously wet and rough all at once. You whine pathetically.

“Can’t you - oh, god, can’t you cast a sound-dampening charm?” you whimper, your fingers searching for something to grip. Your palms just claw helplessly against the surface of the exterior wall as his chest presses into your back.

“I don’t think so. I think you need to show me you can be good.”

You squirm but there’s nowhere you can move while you’re pressed between him and the wall. “I will. I’ll do whatever you say,” you pant. The pads of Cormac’s fingers continue pressing circles the pressure building inside you as your walls clamp around nothing. You need him - you need his fingers, his cock - fuck, anything inside you. “Just fuck me. Please, Cormac.”

You know the drill. You know he loves hearing his name. Having you beg for his cock. And you’re running out of time - your twitching and convulsing is picking up pace. “Q-q-quick, please, I want to cum on your cock.”

Cormac’s hands leave your body so he can take his cock and tease you between your folds. You feel the tip of his cock at your entrance and whine. Fuck, you need to cum. You bring your hand between your legs to start rubbing yourself in his absence but he moves your hand out of the way.

“Keep your hands where they were.”

You place your palms flat against the wall, splaying your fingers, and feel your knees buckle when Cormac sheathes himself into you with one forceful roll of his hips.

He curls one arm around your chest and the other slips down your body to play with your clit as he jerks his hips up, each thrust sends his hips smacking against your skin.

The burning ache in your pelvis crackles and fizzes inside you while Cormac fucks you. Your hands scrabble against the wall and you feel chalky, white paint crumbling under your fingernails as the walls of your cunt spasm, grateful for Cormac’s long, thick cock to grip onto.

“Fuckfuckfuck-” The curse tumbles from your lips. You’re so boxed in that your cheek presses against the rough surface of the wall. All you can do is close your eyes and fucking take the way that Cormac is brutally slamming himself into your tight heat while his hand dances perfect, rhythmic circles over your clit.

You seize up and cry out and the arm that Cormac had wrapped around your chest claps over your mouth, pulling your head back and dampening your wailing. “Let it all out for me - quietly,” he growls in your ear.

There’s a drop like when you descend in the air on your broom too quickly - your body reacting after your brain. Your core plummets and everything implodes as you sob against his palm, melting into his touch.

“Good - that’s it, baby,” he says, more softly this time as your orgasm, blinding hot, makes your cunt convulse and clamp around him.

You cum so hard that you think your legs give way - you can’t tell because his strong body pushing yours against the wall keeps you upright. Tingles spasm from your core right down the backs of your thighs.

Cormac groans too. He moves his hand from your mouth so he can push his hips against your ass and shove his twitching cock as far as it can go inside you. When you whisper his name shakily and tell him you love him, he’s done for. Warmth floods your insides as he cums, filling you up as he grunts into the column of your throat against your racing pulse.

Even as you’re pressed up against the wall with his cum leaking out of you, you feel like he belongs here with you. Not in the lighthouse - or against the lighthouse - necessarily. Just here. Inside you. With nothing but the sounds of your heaving breathing and waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance to interrupt you.

Eventually, his mouth breaks into a smile against your skin and his laugh tickles your neck.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“We’ve got a perfectly good bed upstairs and we’re still sneaking around like we used to do under the Quidditch stands at school.”

He pulls out of you carefully and offers you his t-shirt to clean up the mess. You decide it’d be less conspicuous to wash your jeans and underwear in the laundry tomorrow morning than for McLaggen to return back inside suddenly missing a t-shirt.

“We never did that under the Quidditch stands,” you say, turning around and leaning your back against the wall so you can button up your jeans. “We’d have been expelled if we were caught.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Madam Hooch would have been totally fine if she caught us just doing hand stuff,” he grins.

“Well, we were stupid back then,” you laugh.

“It was fun though. I kind of miss those Quidditch stands.”

“Even when we’re old and married and I’m winning the Quidditch World Cup. I’ll want to meet you under the stands afterwards to celebrate.”

“Yeah, right. If I wait for Scotland to win the Quidditch World Cup for our next fumble under the stands, I’ll die without ever doing it again.”

“You really think I won’t go out of my way to win the Quidditch World Cup just to prove you wrong?”

“Anyone else? No. But you? I’m counting on it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you quietly come back inside the back door to the empty kitchen, you insist on making a cup of tea for yourself and a cup of coffee for McLaggen while he goes upstairs - you insisted that he needs to let you do something for him for once. That beautiful post-sex warmth nestles into your chest and makes between your legs ache pleasantly. Nothing can go wrong when you feel like this. You boil the kettle and set to finding yours and McLaggen’s favourite mugs in the cupboard when a yell from upstairs makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Cho?!” It’s McLaggen’s voice. The urgency in his voice makes the hair stand up on the back of your arms.

You run to the bottom of the spiral staircase and skid to a halt, looking up at all the seven floors winding above you. You crane your neck upwards to see McLaggen on the topmost floor looking over the bannister - a small, gold something glints in his hand. A galleon?

“Cormac? Did you see?” Katie’s head appears diagonally across from McLaggen on the floor below. She looks down at you standing in the middle of the kitchen and then up to McLaggen at the top of the lighthouse.

“Whazgoin’on?” yawns Davies, coming out of his bedroom opposite Katie’s. “Are the others back from Puddlemere?”

“Not yet. But they’re about to be.” Leanne pads out onto the landing directly above you in her pyjamas, closely examining a galleon in the palm of her hand. “Merlin’s pants…”

“Mine just came through too!” Marietta too appears outside her bedroom door, followed by a bleary-eyed Carmichael. She looks up at Katie, Davies and McLaggen.

“Guys, this is it,” says Cho leaning over the bannister across from McLaggen. Krum curiously joins her, looking equally as puzzled as you are.

“Can someone please explain what is going on!?” you bellow from the bottom of the staircase as if calling everyone to attention in Quidditch practice.

“It’s our coins from when we were in the D.A. The old D.A., I mean,” says Marietta. “It’s what we used to find out when the next meetings were.”

“And? What do they say?”

“It’s Neville Longbottom. He says they’re getting ready to fight at Hogwarts and that we’ve to join them,” says Cho.

“Fight?” Your stomach drops. “Fight who? Why?”

“Only one way to find out,” McLaggen replies as you look up at him in disbelief.

He nods at you reassuringly and you take a deep breath. This is what you’ve been preparing for after all, right? It’s not just pretend. You’re simultaneously more and less prepared than when you broke into Azkaban. You’re much better in combat now but god, you need a plan. More details. Something you can control.

You nod. “Alright. Well, we’ll get some rest and meet up first thing tomorrow with Wood and the others so we can come up with -”

“No,” says McLaggen. “Now. They’re fighting now. We need to leave. Right now.”

You look up at him. Absurdly, all you can think now is that you really need to change your jeans.

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