#Julie Fortis
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The Chemist chapter 9
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Chapter 9
She decided to wake Daniel up. Once Batman came around—which he probably would in about fifteen minutes or so—the conversation was not going to be very genteel. She wanted a chance to explain—and apologize— before the shrieking and the death threats started.
The fact that she didn’t flee is giving “99 cents short of a dollar”. Kevin all but told her that she’d been set up, and it was also something that she acknowledged too.
WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU STAY?!
“Now will you tell me what happened to your face? Did you have an accident?”
Again with the concern. “No. My injures are related to that new information I mentioned.” She wasn’t sure how to break it to him.
Sudden indignation. His shoulders tensed. “Somebody did that to you— on purpose? For hurting me?”
Holy fucking shit dude. The lady tortured you. I don’t care what she said during her apology, SHE FUCKING TORTURED YOU.
I’m all in favour of nice guys. After reading an endless string of billionaire romances, it’s nice that somebody doesn’t take one look at Julie and say “Hey baby, I’m going to sexually assault you. And you’re going to like it because I’m hot. And also rich.”
But holy fucking shit. Daniel is going around and he’s flat out stupid about how nice he is.
Alex suppressed a sigh, upset with herself for not worrying more about the file’s gaps in information, for not taking the time to find a faraway library where she could have safely searched all Daniel’s family connections.
It’s this, but also the fact that she got the files, and then grabbed Daniel two days later. Like you literally never thought to look into literally ANY of this?
“I would say I was smarter, but I made some pretty huge mistakes in my security here. I think I was just luckier this time.”
No fucking shit. She had such huge, gaping holes that I could have waltzed into her little set-up. Me, an unathletic civilian with no training whatsoever.
Was it safe to go back to her most recent home, the place she’d been living when Carston had contacted her? It would certainly be easiest. There was food there, and no one would have to see her face for as long as it took to look normal again. She didn’t think she’d compromised the house…
But then what? How much of her nest egg had she blown through for this stupid trap? How long would she be able to keep going on what she had?
Man, forget the house, forget the job, forget the money. The department tried to set you up… AGAIN.
Exactly how long is it going to take for it to sink in that the department wants her dead?
Girl, you willingly walked into an obvious set-up with that… What number did she use again? Oh right… THREE GODDAMNED PERCENT THAT IT WASN’T A TRAP.
“But I think your brother can probably fill you in on the details. I imagine he’s better at hiding than I am.”
Bitch, I’m fucking better at hiding than you are. AND YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE SPY HERE.
“Are you kidding me? That psychopath tortured you.”
“Not for very long. And she only did it because—”
“Are you defending that—”
Finally, some goddamned common sense!
“You’re the one who pulled Danny into this—”
She literally told him that the mystery agency she works for handed her a file on Daniel and all but told her “Take care of this.”
“So what does it matter? I died. Danny shouldn’t be a target anymore.”
The fact that you are here should have been a huge tip that it isn’t true.
“You’re a problem for the CIA. I’m a problem for my department. At the top, the people involved in both our former workplaces are pretty tight. So they offer me a deal: ‘Do a job for us, and we’ll call off the hunt.’ They must have had it worked out pretty solidly before they contacted me. Fixed the files, got ready to feed me the crisis story I can’t turn my back on.”
Again, 100% of this could have been avoided if Julie hadn’t been so stupid and in a rush. If she’d spent literally any amount of time researching, she would have realised that it was actually a trap.
There was a sudden earsplitting noise—an explosive fragmenting of wood. And then the enraged snarling got a lot closer.
Chapter 9 summary: Julie wakes up from her little catnap, and wakes Daniel up. She then apologises to him for having KIDNAPPED AND TORTURED HIM. He’s like “Ah, what’s a little torture?” The entire thing is maddening; Julie has no idea why he’s so goddamned nice, but tries to chalk it up to the drug she initially injected him with. (I’m not convinced.)
Daniel is more upset when Julie reveals that Kevin is still alive. The two of them talk for several pages about stuff that I literally can’t remember, even moments after finishing the chapter. When Kevin wakes up, Daniel chews his brother out for having lied to him about his job (he wasn’t a drug dealer), where he was (not in prison lol), and then having faked his own death. Again, Daniel is way more upset about Kevin than the goddamned TORTURE.
Julie then points out that obviously Kevin did a botched job of faking his own death. That’s what led to this situation. That both agencies got together and decided that no matter what happened in this situation, that one of their problems would be taken care of. She offers to write to her agency to tell them that she killed Kevin. That way, Kevin and Daniel can go back to whatever they were doing before all of this.
At the end of the chapter, the dog breaks out from the room Julie locked him in.
#The Chemist#chapter 09#Julie Fortis#Daniel Beach#Kevin Beach#headdesking#i'm done goodbye#bookblr#book review
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Eighteen-Forties Friday career day: who doesn't want to be un journaliste?
The Victoria & Albert Museum credits this picture to "after Paul Gavarni, Pauguet, and other artists," from a series of prints depicting characters and the costumes of different professions. Gavarni was known for gladly collaborating with other artists who wanted to work with him, although I'm not sure if he was involved with this particular piece. It appears to be signed "Lavieille" and "C. Lami" for the artist and engraver.
Even more mysterious: does the check pattern on those 1840s pants go all the way down?!
#Eighteen-Forties Friday#1840s#un journaliste#paul gavarni#maybe#fashion#trousers#tights??#victorian#july monarchy#whatever#1840
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I was surprised to see I hadn't posted any of my doodles for Gloomy Ruins Everything on here!? Here they are fresh from 2020.
The lyrics here are all from Bryan Scary and the Evil Arrows (and one doodle with "Islands" by Oingo Boingo). The last one is redrawn from a meme i think..?
#posting because the author followed me !!!???!??!??!??!!!!!! hi mr greer and welcome to tumblr ::-)#gloomy ruins everything#fortis arbor's art#traditional#fanart#image described#i like how i drew gloomy in july he is so cute and round. ^^__^^#here r the specific songs in order of appearance:#last living doll (bryan scary); islands (oingo boingo); lady brain; the wits are going down the drain; dance with me louis.
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the last book grandma ever read was agatha christie's "murder on the orient express," which was also the first book my mother remembers getting from her as a gift and not a hand-me-down from her siblings.
one of her favorite 'isms' was 'all things in moderation,' but she also had a plaque in the kitchen when my aunts were growing up that read "you have to kiss a lot of horny toads before you find a prince" and another tchotchke that featured a cherub swinging on a length of twine that said "when you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and HANG ON." like every nonna on earth before her, she ushered us to dinner with a "mangia" - which was also what it said on her favorite apron.
the last picture taken of her was her first picture with her great-granddaughter ellie, who's two months old and named after her. it was the first and only time they met.
#talked to mom for the first time since#i guess she was going to get the mail (she was ALWAYS going to get the mail even when there was no mail. bc dementia)#and everyone always figured that was her best way to get a little exercise#but she fell on the sidewalk. broke an arm and had a lot of injuries to her face . and probably chest? i dont know#but she just. it happened on tuesday and forty-eight hours later she was dead#and this is the first time i realized how bad pappy's dementia is because apparently. he keeps forgetting it happened#and assumes she's coming back to the house. calling hours and wake are monday funeral's tuesday#and my aunt still wants to celebrate pappy's birthday (wednesday) and a couple other birthdays on saturday#because she figures we'll all need a celebration#but i have no idea how we're gonna do ALL that and not lose our minds/get sick/something#still. we Always celebrate pappy and colleen and emmett's birthdays that week#just like we celebrate the december birthdays the day after christmas. which was grandma's#and we celebrate the july birthdays the week of mine because there's like six birthdays then#so . here we fuckin go i guess
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Random thought.
As we were finalizing plans for my youngest child and only (bio) daughter’s 5th birthday on Thursday, my husband pointed out something amazing.
I’ve managed to go five whole years without getting pregnant…those who have followed me for years know how huge an accomplishment that is for me lol. The longest stretch that will become permanent.
#baby factory officially closed#relieved that ship has finally sailed#the start of my foxy forties in July is gonna be lit#one of my random thoughts
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Shitty quick Sansmaeda art
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currently watching an almost 9 hour video by some guy explaining the entire term which is basically +100 years of argentinian history. if i don’t pass this exam i will be joining all these dead dudes i’m learning about <3
#i’ve already watched six hours ☠️☠️ two hours forty five minutes to go!#it’s next friday so i have time but it’s too much info + i have another final that day girlies idk if i’ll make it this time 😍#god i just wanna do Nothing for 3 weeks i can’t wait till july 22nd at like 2 pm when i’ll finally be Free no matter how i did on my exams#well that’s a lie cause i really don’t wanna know what i’ll do if i don’t pass ��#effie’s journal
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truly there was something in the water for me in july skvjnksfjvnsfb
#i wrote more in july than i have ANY OTHER MONTH this year by a factor of like. five thousand words or smth#fucking FORTY ONE thou in a month. what the fuck is wiwth stranger things in my skull huh???#also broke 200k for the year this month which feels CRAZY bc that was what i wrote in ALL of 2021 and i wrote it in seven months skfjvnksfjv#me in january: ok so i wrote 200k words in 2021 i feel like 250k is a good goal to aim for this year and try to up my word count a little mo#me right now looking at my 213k total annual wc with five more months to go: uhhhh ??
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sorry listened to The Amazing Devil and thought about Fergus/Nathaniel
#it's good when they're young men and it's the one sided thing in my head#it's REALLY GOOD when it's reciprocal and they're pushing forty and both have other duties but also the world For Him#anyway feeling good. feeling normal.#think i've seen the back of the annual july depressive episode and summer will be over soon#and then it's back to leaves turning and longer nights and trying to decide which jacket to wear to work
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Copaganda does three main things.
First, it narrows our understanding of safety. Police get us to focus on crimes committed by the poorest, most vulnerable people in our society and not on bigger threats to our safety caused by people with wealth and power.
For example, wage theft by employers dwarfs all other property crime combined — from burglaries, to retail theft, to robberies — costing some $50 billion every year. Tax evasion steals about $1 trillion each year. There are hundreds of thousands of Clean Water Act violations each year, causing cancer, kidney failure, rotting teeth, and damage to the nervous system. Over 100,000 people in the United States die every year from air pollution, five times the number of all homicides.
But through the stories cops feed reporters, the public is encouraged to measure a city’s safety by whether it saw an annual increase or decrease of three homicides or fourteen robberies — rather than by how many people died from lack of access to health care, how many children suffered lead poisoning, how many families were rendered homeless by illegal eviction or foreclosure, or how many thousands of illegal assaults police committed.
The second function of copaganda is to manufacture crises or “crime surges.” For example, if you watch the news, you’ve probably been bombarded with stories about the rise of retail theft. Yet the actual data shows there has been no significant increase. Instead, corporate retailers, police, and PR firms fabricated talking points and fed them to the media. The same is true of what the FBI categorizes as “violent crime.” All told, major “index crimes” tracked by the FBI are at nearly forty-year lows.
The third and most pernicious function of copaganda is to manipulate our understanding of what solutions actually work to make us safer. A primary goal of copaganda is to convince the public to spend even more money on police and prisons. If safety is defined by street crime, and street crime is dangerously high, then funding the carceral state leaps out to many people as a natural solution.
The evidence shows otherwise.
— Alec Karakatsanis, “Police Departments Spend Vast Sums of Money Creating “Copaganda”” | Jacobin, July 2022
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The Chemist chapter 8
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Chapter 8
The pictures that were Daniel but at the same time weren’t.
The holes in the file on Daniel’s history, the missing photos.
Time, dates, birth dates —the easiest small changes to make if you wanted to hide something.
Daniel’s strange reluctance to believe what he was seeing when he looked at the spy images.
His struggles with loyalty.
Those long, long fingers.
“Other Daniel,” she whispered.
Is this book seriously trotting out the “evil identical twin” trope? JFC stop.
She nodded to the photographs scattered on the floor. He seemed to notice them for the first time. He leaned over to examine one, then bent down to grab it. Then the one underneath, and the next. He crumpled t
hem in his fist.
“Where did you get these?” “Compliments of a small department working for the American government—entirely off the books. I used to be in their employ. They asked me to freelance.”
His face contorted in outrage. “This is highly classified!”
“You wouldn’t believe my clearance level.”
And what? He thought that somebody grabbed Daniel, took him to a farmhouse dozens of miles outside of the city, and started torturing him… FOR FUNSIES?!
“Well, since you already know the details, I guess it’s not a huge breach of policy for me to tell you that I shut down the de la Fuentes situation six months ago. De la Fuentes’s death is not common knowledge. What’s left of the cartel is keeping this quiet so they don’t appear vulnerable to the competition.”
Naturally, the mysterious government agency that couldn’t be bothered to find out that Kevin Beach is still alive, also can’t be bothered to find out that the terrorist HASN’T BEEN ALIVE FOR HALF A YEAR.
First things first. She reset the screen saver on her computer to come on after fifteen minutes of inactivity.
I love how she knocks Kevin out, and the first thing she does is the most inane activity imaginable.
Explaining things? Pfft! Not in this book!
Back to Other Daniel. The Batsuit was a chore to remove.
The stupidest thing about this is that as soon as Julie saw him, she identified him as Kevin Beach, Daniel’s supposed-to-be-dead identical twin brother.
SO WHY THE FUCKITY FUCK IS SHE STILL CALLING HIM “OTHER DANIEL” AND “BATMAN”?!
There would be repercussions to deal with. She needed time to rest and heal —time no one was going to give her.
Chapter 8 summary: Julie tells the mystery man (she will not stop calling him “Batman” because he’s dressed in all black; I refuse to stoop to her level of stupidity) that she’s sedated Daniel. The mystery man then ties Julie to a chair, and takes the gas mask off. Julie is surprised that it’s Daniel’s identical twin brother… the one who’s supposed to be dead.
He then finds the photos of him talking to the Mexican drug lord who’s supposed to be in charge of this terrorist attack. Julie spills everything, about the attempts on her life, about being asked to step in to deal with “Daniel”. She guesses from the gun Kevin has that he’s CIA, but that if not even her agency knew Kevin was still alive, that he’s working off the books with this one. Kevin is more angry that somebody tortured his brother than the fact that somebody’s clearly setting both Julie and Kevin up (and using Daniel as bait).
Julie then… somehow or another, gases both Kevin and his giant dog. Julie holds her breath, and despite the fact that her hands are zip-tied behind her back, she manages to put the gas mask on. She frees herself before she locks the dog into a room, and parks the car in front of the door to prevent it from getting out. After that, she checks Daniel’s body all over more closely for a tracking device, and finds one “nestled against his femoral artery”. She figures that it sent out an alert when she started torturing Daniel, which is why Kevin swooped in to save the day.
She then resets her broken nose. And will not shut up about the mysterious chemical concoction she made that she nicknamed “survive”. It’s kept intentionally vague, but the only thing I can think about is that it’s mainly to hide how dumb the entire thing is. She then passes out on the cot.
#The Chemist#chapter 08#Julie Fortis#Daniel Beach#Kevin Beach#why would you write this?#what is this bullshit?#shitty government is shitty#headdesking
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A circa 1840 print by Paul Gavarni (Paris Musées) dated 1839-1841, showing two Parisian students in their less than ideal quarters. The caption reads, "Orestes and Pylades would gladly have died for each other, but they would be at odds if they had only had a basin and a water jug."
It's another wonderful look at early/mid 19th century men's underwear, and the long shirt of the man washing his face is reminiscent of this (undated, 19th century) extant garment in the collection of the Musée de la Chemiserie et de l’Elégance Masculine:
I have been trying to date this particular shirt. The relatively plain front and lack of frills makes me think it's not very early 19th century—but Phillis Cunnington and C. Willett Cunnington's book The History of Underclothes has extant shirts that look like this from c. 1795-1800 and 1813. They quote the Beau Monde magazine in 1806 and 1807 promoting shirts without frills. (But some men clearly were wearing shirt frills, if you have ever seen a portrait of a Napoleonic/War of 1812 era officer).
The Story of Men's Underwear by Shaun Cole has some more clues dating this shirt, namely that "after 1850 the bottom of the shirt was curved rather than square cut."
So is this an 1840s shirt? It does look like the student's shirt in the Gavarni cartoon above, and here another Gavarni dated 1840-1841 (also Paris Musées):
(I THINK they just went swimming? The caption is about how they have to hurry up for the dinner bell or their aunt is going to be annoyed).
Finally, the Musée de la Chemiserie is located in an 1860 shirt factory, could this be one of their own creations, despite the straight cut bottom? It's a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. While it seems like all 19th century men's shirts are pretty large, compared with their 21st century descendants, they did become more tailored and fitted over time:
Men’s shirts had traditionally been made from a series of rectangles and squares, which resulted in a voluminous garment. By the mid-nineteenth century, a desire for closer fitting garments led to the development of patterns that allowed shirt makers, tailors and the home sewer to produce well fitting garments. In 1845 a scale pattern was featured in the Journal des Demoiselles with complex written instructions that ended with the statement ‘If you succeed, be proud! Because ‘a shirt without a fault is worthy of no less than a long poem’.” By the 1850s, tailors were applying their pattern drafting systems to shirts and tailors and other producers strove to introduce developments that made their shirts closer fitting and more comfortable. Patterns for shirts were included in magazines aimed at men such as Devere’s Gentleman’s Monthly Magazine of Fashion and The West-End Gazette of Gentlemen’s Fashions, as well as trade journals such as The Tailor and Cutter. In 1871, London shirt-maker Brown, Davies & Co. registered a design for “The Figurative Shirt”, which buttoned all the way down the front, removing “the old and objectionable way of putting on the shirt by putting it over the head”
— Shaun Cole, The Story of Men's Underwear
#1840s#fashion history#dress history#men's fashion#paul gavarni#historical men's fashion#shirts#victorian#july monarchy#fashion#undergarments#19th century#shaun cole#phillis cunnington#cecil willett cunnington#extant#Eighteen-Forties Friday
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various edmond drawings
#the count of monte cristo#tcomc#le comte de monte cristo#fortis arbor's art#traditional#ibisPaint x#fanart#image described#i like the scene where he smiles to julie. hi julie ::-]#i like the little shape i put under his eye but it does make me think of clowns or perhaps the joker lol.#i dont have what the first image is based on but if YOU dear viewer have it. plz send it to me ::-]
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happy birthday julie!
#last pic is from her stint in lettice & lovage! an absolutely daunting prospect#um julie in forty carats? julie in forty carats 😚#julie harris
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https://www.reddit.com/r/kpopfap/comments/1agagbq/iu/
IU being an expensive hooker
Expensive Night
(IU X Male Reader)
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
You shout as you walk through your living room. Your parent's living room to be exact.
It felt like an awesome idea half an hour ago. And it felt like a dream twenty minutes ago. But now it feels like you are committing a great sin.
Your parents are out for a dinner date. It's their anniversary today. The 25th. You helped your dad with the surprise for a week now. He wanted to take your mother out to the place they first met. Their school, which you are going to currently. He got the key for the roof from the janitor yesterday and will surprise your mom with a romantic picnic, overlooking almost half of the city.
Your father didn't tell you what he planned for afterwards, but he let you know that they are gonna stay out late.
Which now means that you are home alone at 9 pm on a Thursday night. Not necessarily unusual. You finished your homework, starting to prepare for your finals. School today was like any other day.
Except for one thing. One of the guys bragged about having sex with the hottest girl in school. You still highly doubt that he told the truth. But you can't help being envious. You never had sex before, despite being eighteen for a while now.
Your parents always told you, that it's not about the act itself, but about the person you are with. You always agreed to some degree, but you still feel like you are missing out. And there is no guarantee you are ever gonna find that woman. Right?
Which now leads us to your actions from thirty minutes ago. You never considered doing it. You were never really into porn and you definitely never even had the urge to pay to watch something like that. But for some reason, that spam mail you got, lured you in.
Because of the woman's picture. You usually delete these kind of mails as soon as you see them, not wanting to catch a virus. But when you saw her picture, you couldn't resist.
Not only because she looks like a goddess. Like the most beautiful woman you've probably ever seen. But because she is Julie's mother.
Who's Julie? The hottest girl at school. The girl your classmate allegedly slept with.
You were surprised to see her in that email. You were even more surprised, when you found out that this wasn't a normal dating site. It was an ad for an app. An app where you can hire a prostitute. To pay a woman to have sex with you.
Never in your life did you think about doing this. It didn't even cross your mind once. But here you are. Thirty minutes later, staring at your phone.
"See you in forty minutes, baby 😘"
You check the time. She is gonna be here in like 8 minutes.
Suddenly, you become incredibly nervous. Since you asked her to come over, you were worried about your parents finding out. But now, you realize that this is actually happening. What are you supposed to do? You already took a shower. Maybe prepare flowers? But that's stupid, you aren't trying to date her.
You get back to your room, starting to clean it properly. She might already know who you are. The two of you didn't interact with each other for the last two years. You only caught a glimpse of her occasionally at events and stuff. But she is still Julie's mother. And older than you. You don't want her to think you are some inexperienced child.
When the doorbell rings, you feel the butterflies in your stomach going crazy. This is really gonna happen.
You slowly walk over to the front door. Taking a deep breath, you finally open it.
You are stunned by the older woman, who is standing in front of you. She might be your mom's age, but she looks better than any of the girls at school. Probably even better than her own daughter.
"Hello, handsome."
Jieun gives you a heartwarming smile. Her white dress looks incredible on her. You can't help but glance at her shoulders and then her thighs shortly after. The excitement of feeling her skin on yours makes your body heat up. You can feel your erection starting to grow.
"Do you want me to come in? You can keep staring once I'm inside."
Her melodic laugh makes your cheeks flush. You wanted to look like you've done this before, damn it.
"S-Sure."
You close the door behind her, after she walked past you. The scent of lilac lingers in your nose.
"Have a seat please."
You are not really sure how to proceed. Do you offer her something to drink? Do you discuss her pay? You are still surprised she doesn't seem to recognize you. It's probably for the better anyway. You already feel bad for paying your classmate's mother for having sex with you.
You are slightly curious to why Ms. Lee is doing this, but your thoughts get distracted by her sitting down.
Her long, creamy legs almost make you reach out to touch her. The smile playing on her lips makes you want to kiss her.
"Do you want to discuss everything for a minute, before we start?"
Jieun shakes her head, a mischievous smile on her lips.
"Sure. Would you like something to drink?"
"I'm sure I'm going to drink something very delicious later."
Once you realize what she means, you have to sit down, not wanting to expose how hard she is making you.
"You are still pretty young though. Do you have enough money?"
You take the bundle of bills out of your pocket. It's everything you got for your last birthday, plus some of your earlier savings. A lot, but definitely worth it.
You feel a little awkward throughout this transaction, but Jieun seems to really be a professional.
Once you are done, Jieun takes your hand.
"I guess your bedroom is this way?"
She smiles at you, looking back over her shoulder. You nod, still mesmerized by her beauty.
Once you enter your room, Jieun makes you sit down on the edge of the bed. You hear your breath hitch, when she suddenly straddles your lap. Your hands instinctively move to her thighs, you feel her weight on your crotch.
Without another word, Jieun captures your lips with hers. You can't believe this is actually happening. The two of you share a hot kiss as you feel her slowly grinding against you. By the way she let's a moan escape into your mouth, you know that she can feel your hard cock.
"You're such a good kisser."
She only stops for a moment to tell you that, before she gets back to kissing you again.
You wonder if she is actually telling the truth or not. But you can't ask her as she starts to make the kiss more messy. Her fingers run through your hair, occasionally tugging at it lightly. Her tongue pushes past your lips, now dueling with your own for dominance.
You feel like the kiss lasts for hours. But eventually, the two of you need to break away for air.
"Do you want to watch me strip, or do you want to take the dress off yourself?"
"W-Watch."
You almost stumble over that one simple word.
With a grin, Jieun slowly gets off your lap. Instinctively, you cover your crotch with your hand, ashamed at how hard you are.
You expect her to just take it off. Instead, Jieun turns around. She puts her hair over her right shoulder, exposing her neck.
You gulp as she sits back down on your lap.
"Would you mind?"
Your eyes linger on the zipper of her dress. This is really happening. Your fingers shake slightly as you start to open Jieun's dress from behind. Slowly, you reveal more and more of her flawless skin.
You now stare at her completely exposed back. Unable to hold yourself back, you want to have another taste of Jieun's body.
Your lips meet her skin as you kiss her shoulder. You slowly move towards her neck, peppering her with small kisses.
"Good boy."
A sigh escapes Jieun's mouth. You like how she said it. With love and appreciation. As if you are the man she loves.
It turns you on more and you slowly kiss down her back. You take the same path her spine tikes, enjoying the sight of Jieun getting goosebumps at your touch.
Once you are unable to bend down further, Jieun gets off your lap. You can't tear your eyes off her as she twirls around, before giving you a seductive look. Slowly, she starts to let her dress glide down her frame.
"What do you think, honey?"
Her chest is exposed first. Her mounds seem to probably fit perfectly into your hands. Her pink nipples taunt you, trying to make you jump into action. Jieun's toned midriff deserves just as much admiration. You unconsciously bite your lip, when her dress slips past her hips, exposing her white panties. The lace patterns are firmly wrapped around her thighs. You can only catch a glimpse of her lower lips.
With a smile, Jieun hooks a thumb underneath the waistband, slightly pulling it down. Before you can see more of her, she puts it back in place, visibly enjoying teasing you.
"Not so fast. You have to show me what you have first."
You watch as Jieun steps between your legs, before she kneels down. This still feels like a dream to you. But here you are, you classmate's mother unbuckling your belt.
"I like the sight of that."
Jieun grins up at you after pulling down your pants. You have to stop yourself from bucking your hips towards her as she gives your cock, which is still restrained by your underwear, a kiss.
Another one follows quickly after.
"Thank you for this big gift."
Jieun chuckles as she lifts her head to kiss your lips. You can't tell if she is genuine or not. But her fingertips dancing along your length, make you forget what she just said.
With an alluring sparkle in her eyes, Jieun looks up at you as she pulls down your underwear.
"Fuck. You are huge."
You watch her bite her lip as she stares at your now exposed member. Of course you measured it before. This time you know that she isn't exaggerating. At least not a lot.
"Let me have a taste."
Jieun leans down to kiss your cock. She licks her lips afterwards, before she runs her tongue along the length of your shaft.
"Relax, baby."
Jieun giggles, covering your right hand with her left. Only now do you realize that you've taken a hold of your sheets. Your knuckles starting to turn white.
"Is this your first time?"
You nod slowly, embarrassed that it's so obvious.
"Don't be shy. It's an honor, you know."
Jieun slowly strokes your cock up and down as she talks.
"Why don't you lie down and let me take care of you?"
"S-Sure."
You position yourself in the middle of your bed with your back slightly sinking into your mattress. Jieun is lying on her stomach, between your spread legs.
"I can't believe this is your first time. With a cock like this..."
She kisses your base and slowly starts to move towards your tip, peppering your cock with kisses. Once her lips wrap around your tip, she sinks her head down. You let out an embarrassed moan as Jieun uses her tongue to play with the head of your cock.
The older woman knows exactly what she is doing. You seem to sink further into the mattress as Jieun keeps worshipping your cock. Her lips glide along your shaft. Her tongue swirls around your tip, whenever she moves upwards.
"Such a nice cock."
She murmurs to herself occasionally between sucks and licks.
"It tastes so good."
Eventually, your cock is covered with her saliva.
"Do you want me to deep throat you? Check if it fits or not?"
You nod in excitement while Jieun is still talking.
"If it doesn't, I'm not sure if you would fit in my pussy. If you destroy me, you have to pay extra."
She gives you a wink, before she laughs.
You give Jieun an awkward smile, hoping that really is a joke.
When she starts to take you into her mouth again, you hold your breath. Her lips glide along your shaft. She goes further down than before. You feel Jieun starting to slow down a little. Eventually, you hit something inside of her.
It makes Jieun gag. She slowly backs up, until her mouth is empty again. She gives you another look, before she dives in once more. Soon, you have her choking again. This time, she went down even further. Instinctively you put a hand on her head, slightly bucking your hips upwards.
You can't believe how good this feels. Your cock feels warm and safe in Jieun's mouth. Your tip probably already down her throat as she tries to open her jaw even wider.
You catch yourself pressing Jieun's head into your crotch. Eventually, she taps on your thighs, struggling for air. Regretfully letting go of her, you watch your in spit covered cock fall out of her mouth.
"Wow. You are really something."
Before you can reply, Jieun is deepthroating you once more. Apart from the occasional choking, everything is quiet. You look down, watching how small rivers of her saliva run down to the base of your cock.
Your breathing becomes heavier as you try to calm yourself. This isn't the right time. You need to hold out longer. Your fingers bury themselves in your sheets once more.
"I-I want to fuck you now."
You are embarrassed, when these words spill out of your mouth. But you need a moment to calm down. You don't want this to end too soon.
A devilish smirk plays around Jieun's lips as she moves them along the length of your shaft. Until she finally releases your cock out of her mouth, you are afraid that you would cum too soon.
"I see you are getting more comfortable?"
"Well-"
Jieun's warm smile makes you stutter. You can't believe you are seeing the same smile with which she congratulated you on your 12th birthday. It just feels unreal.
"How would you like to take me?"
You haven't thought about that yet. Now that you got a much needed break, you try to come up with something.
Jieun must've seen you struggling to find something. She leans over your body to give you a deep kiss, before she moves her legs on both sides of your hips.
"Would you like me to ride you?"
You hesitantly nod. Now that you are about to lose your virginity, you don't care about how. You just want this to happen.
Your heart races when Jieun slowly pulls down her lace panties. This is the first time you actually see a woman naked in real life. Her shaven pussy greets you, once the white fabric reaches her knees. It looks too good to be true. You unconsciously lick your lips, imagining your head between her thighs. You bet she would taste delicious.
"What do you think?"
Jieun pulls back her folds a little, showing off more of her pink insides.
"I-It looks amazing."
"I hear that a lot."
Her laugh makes you smile.
Jieun puts her left hand on your chest, her smile suddenly turning into something different. She almost looks needy now.
"It's time to put your cock where it belongs."
Her right hand holds your cock once more, slowly stroking it a couple of times, before she guides it towards her warm core. This is it.
You watch with wide eyes. Your tip brushes her wet folds. Jieun moves it along her slit a couple of times, before she starts to part her lips with your cock.
Her wetness and warmth welcome you as your tip finally slips inside. Jieun slowly lowers herself onto you. Her pussy seems to swallow your cock, almost like her mouth did earlier. Its walls hug you, slightly squeezing your dick.
"Good boy."
Jieun mumbles, her eyes closed, as she sinks herself onto you.
You feel her pussy gliding along your shaft, until Jieun finally stops. You are almost fully inside of her by now. But you can see that she is struggling to take all of you inside.
Your hands automatically move to her waist, not sure what else to hold onto.
"You really are big."
Jieun sighs, before she starts to circle her hips. A moan almost escapes your mouth. This feels too good to be true. Why don't people have sex all the time? How are they able to do anything else?
You start to lose all train of thought, when Jieun stops the circling of her hips. She now lifts herself off you, both of her hands pressing against your chest. Her lips have a tight grip on you as they move along your length.
"Damn, you are making me so wet."
Jieun moans when she reaches your tip.
"I just want to impale myself on your cock until I cum."
Her confession makes you groan. You never thought you would hear someone say that to you. Ever.
Staying true to her words, Jieun suddenly slams herself down onto your lap. Bot of your eyes roll back at the pleasure. You feel your thighs slightly sticking together, due to Jieun's juices.
Before you can completely recover from this new feeling, Jieun has already moved upwards again and is now impaling herself onto your cock once more.
She hits you hard and deep everytime. The couple of seconds she needs to recover, whenever you bottom out inside of her, feel like ages.
"Jieun."
You moan her name, when she lets her pussy glide along your shaft once more.
Eventually, the two of you get used to each other. Jieun trades in the hard and deep thrusts for pace. She starts to really ride you now. The sound of her hips meeting yours echo through your room.
"Such a nice cock."
She breathlessly moans, her eyes shut as she enjoys the feeling of being completely filled.
Jieun keeps riding you, making you struggle to keep quiet. You try to distract yourself from the inevitable. Your hands start to explore Jieun's body. They first roam her midriff, enjoying her toned stomach, before they move further upwards.
You feel Jieun slowing down a little to make it easier for you to cup her tits. She tilts her head back when you grope her breasts.
"Yes, baby. Good boy."
You feel her pussy hugging you a little tighter now. You realize that you can't hold off your orgasm for much longer. It has been coming for a while now. Your exploring of her body made you forget about it for a moment. But the squeezing of her walls bring you back to reality.
Your hands keep cupping her tits as Jieun picks up the pace again. Soon, you are not the only one, who is hanging on by a threat.
The older woman feels your cock parting her walls, everytime she slams herself down on you. It almost seems like you hit deeper spots with every hit. Her nails slowly start to scratch the skin on your chest. That little bit of pain makes you squeeze Jieun's tits a little harder.
This finally drives the older woman over the edge. You didn't expect her to cum because of you. But here you are. Her pussy is pulsating around your cock, trying to to make you cum as well. Her lewd moan sounds like the voice of an angel as she voices her pleasure.
Jieun's tight grip on your cock brings you closer to your orgasm as well. You are able to hold out Jieun's, until she slowly starts to ride you again.
"Oh fuck. I needed that."
She sighs, enjoying your cock deep inside her pussy.
"I've been really stressed lately."
Jieun leans down to give you another kiss. You realize you are starting to get addicted to her lips. It's the same way with her pussy. If you stay inside of her for much longer, you doubt you will be able to live without it from now on.
"Tell me when you're there."
Jieun seems to be able to tell that you are close. It's embarrassing that you are cuming so soon. You wished you could try out more positions with her. Maybe even get a taste of her pussy. It looked more delicious than anything you've ever seen.
Jieun keeps riding you. Her snatch keeps your cock warm and wet. Her juices make it easy for her lips to glide along your shaft.
Your arms are slowly getting tired and you regretfully let go of her tits. Instead, your hands retake their place on Jieun's hip.
"Oh baby. Your cock feels so good. I really need your cum now."
Jieun's moaned words make you twitch inside of her. You are able to hold on a little longer. One more bounce. Two. Three.
You start counting, trying to distract yourself.
Ten. Twelve. Thirteen.
"Jieun."
Her name slips out of your mouth, accompanied by a deep groan. You never expected to say her name like this.
"Cum for me, baby. Put it in me."
You are unable to think straight. This is the hardest orgasm you've ever had. Everything starts to become blurry as you approach the end of the cliff.
"Creampie me. Give me that load."
Jieun's moans finally push you over. You feel her stop moving as you start to shoot rope after rope inside of her. You pump her pussy full with your cum.
You see stars as Jieun's pussy contracts around you, trying to squeeze every last drop out of your cock.
"Oh fuck yes. That's a good boy."
You eventually calm down, unable to comprehend what happened in the last thirty minutes. Did you actually do it? You had your first time with your classmate's mother? And came inside of her?
You are still unable to move, blankly staring up at the ceiling.
Jieun puts more weight onto your chest, leaning over you.
"You did great, baby."
She gives you another kiss.
"Where is the shower?"
"S-Second door on the right."
Jieun chuckles before kissing your cheek. She gets off of you and then off the bed. You realize she slipped her panties back on in the process. A dark spot is starting to ruin the white lace.
Taking this opportunity, you move your head, watching Jieun reach the door. Your eyes on her ass cheeks, taking in a sight, which you will probably never see again.
To your surprise, she suddenly turns around. Jieun giggles when she catches you staring.
"Aren't you coming?"
"W-What?"
"I thought you would enjoy taking me against a hard surface."
She winks at you, before leaving the room.
If you could, you would immediately jump off the bed. But your body is telling you take a moment.
Your eyes wander through your room, until they get caught on the yearbook, which is standing in your bookshelf. If Jieun would've seen it, would she have done the same? Or would she have called this off?
You genuinely can't tell.
When you hear a moan from the bathroom, you immediately jump out of your bed. The tiredness is all gone now. You realize that every second with her is priceless.
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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series
Summary: After moving to Hawkins to take care of your ailing grandma, you end up spending a wild night with Corroded Coffin's lead singer, Eddie Munson. When you uncover his true intentions, you have no desire to ever see him again, but fate--and his son, Harris--has other plans.
Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fingering (f! receiving), oral (m!receiving), slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n
WC: 7.5k
Chapter 1/20
Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple
Divider credit to @saradika
Late August, 1996.
July had come and gone so quickly, and you could sense it in the muggy air as the daylight dwindled away on the horizon of an orange colored sky. Your heels click along the parking lot pavement as you make your way into the dingy bar. Everyone told you that your twenties would be full of surprises, but no one warned you that those twists and turns would land you in Hawkins, Indiana.
The neon sign reads The Hideout; well, really, it reads Th H deo t, and the “o” is starting to flicker. You’re not the only one who notices the building’s crumbling exterior.
“Huh,” Jess says, crossing her arms over her chest. “This place seemed a lot cooler when I was in high school.” Still, she pushes open the door, where you’re immediately hit with the stench of cigarettes and beer. The floor is sticky with what you can only hope is spilled liquor, and you take a seat on a rickety barstool.
“How did you even hear about this place?” you ask your new friend, tugging your dress so it covers a bit more of your thighs. You had one night out to yourself, and Jess was insistent on you making the most of it.
“Used to come here all the time when I was, like, sixteen?” She wrinkles her nose. “They’re dirt cheap and they never card, so my friends and I used to get super wasted. Thought we were hot shit.” She flags down the bartender with a wave and a smile. “Anyway, you can’t live in Hawkins and not come to the Hideout at least once. It’s a tradition.”
The bartender, a woman who looks to be in her mid-forties, leans on the counter. “What can I get you ladies?” she asks. Her voice is raspy from what sounds like decades of chain smoking.
You’re about to order a Bud Light, but Jess cuts you off. “We’ll each have a Hideout Special,” she says confidently. “Make hers a double.”
“Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me? And what the hell is a Hideout Special?”
She waves off your concern. “Honestly, I have no idea. But it’ll get you buzzed fast.”
You reluctantly agree, sipping on something that tastes vaguely like a mixture of rum and vodka, with the pungency of rubbing alcohol. “That’s awful,” you grimace, and Jess just laughs.
“Yeah, they’re pretty rough going down. But you only have one night to yourself, and you’re gonna make the most of it.” She links her arm through yours, using her free hand to tilt the drink back up to your lips. “Now, drink up. The band’s gonna start playing soon, and you’ll need all the liquor you can get. Trust me.”
Corroded Coffin, the band in question, is warming up in the back room. Tuesday nights has been their slot since high school, and if their lead singer and guitarist has his way, it’ll be their slot until they’re too old to play. He’s tuning his ax, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, only looking up when he hears a faint “oh, shit,” come from his bandmate.
“Y’good?” Eddie asks, strumming gently to play a perfect A-chord.
“Yeah,” Jeff says, holding up a small black box. “Forgot I had this in my pocket; almost dropped it when I took off my jacket.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “That’s what you get for wearing leather in fuckin’ August, dude.” He squints at the object in Jeff’s hand. “What is that, anyway?”
“A ring,” Jeff proudly announces. “I’m gonna ask Viv to marry me.” The big, goofy grin on his face makes Eddie’s stomach churn. He looks at Gareth and Danny, expecting similar disgusted reactions from them, but they’re both smiling, too.
“Way to go, man!” Danny says, and Gareth claps Jeff on the back. “Our little Jeff is growing up.”
“Oh, fuck off, man,” Jeff says, but he’s laughing as he accepts the congratulations. He glances expectantly at Eddie, waiting for him to chime in.
“You two’ve been together for a million years,” Gareth jokes, twirling a drumstick in his free hand. “What made you decide to take the plunge?”
Jeff’s eyes dart around the room. “Okay, I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” he starts, voice hushed, “but Viv’s pregnant!”
“Holy shit!” Danny sputters. “Dude, you’re gonna be a dad!”
“Yeah,” Jeff agrees incredulously. “Fuckin’ wild, isn’t it?” His gaze falls to Eddie. “Does the seasoned professional have any words of wisdom?”
An uncharacteristic silence fills the room. Eddie can feel their eyes burning a hole into his head. He knows what he should say, what Jeff wants to hear, but he can’t bring himself to feign happiness. “You don’t have to marry someone just because you knocked her up.” It comes out with a snarl, meaner than he’d intended.
“Crazy thought, but have you considered that I actually want to marry her?” Jeff shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re not all content being miserable hermits like you are.”
“Whoa, break it up,” Gareth tries, stepping between the two guitarists, but the conversation’s already too heated.
“I’m not miserable, and I’m not a hermit,” Eddie counters. “I’m just not about to limit myself when there’s plenty of pussy in the sea.”
Jeff rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Thanks for the well wishes.” Eddie can’t help but notice the flash of hurt in his eyes as he walks away. A small part of him feels bad, but he can’t shake the anxiety that unexpected change seems to bring.
“So, what does this mean for Corroded Coffin?” he asks. “Should we consider this our farewell show?” He tries to ignore the irritated glares he’s getting from Gareth and Danny. It’s like the words fall from his mouth before his brain can process the damage they can do.
“Obviously, once the baby comes, I’ll have to take a step back,” Jeff shrugs. “And I’m gonna try to work some overtime before it’s born. Save some extra money, y’know.”
The room had been zapped of joy, and Eddie feeds off of the sullen atmosphere. “Nice commitment to the band,” he sneers. “Glad to see how easily your priorities change.”
“Yeah, man, you should try it sometime,” Jeff snaps. His fists clench, and he looks angry enough to throw a punch. “Maybe you’ll stop acting like an overgrown teenager.”
Eddie’s about to fight back, jaw locked in place and eyes seeing red, but he’s temporarily grounded by the sound of the manager’s tired voice echoing from the ancient sound system.
“Put your hands together for Corroded Coffin!” A smattering of applause signals their cue to enter. Eddie tries to shake off the conflict; it can be resolved after they play. The show must go on, or whatever it was that his high school drama teacher always said.
A balding man with a gruff voice introduces the band as Corroded Coffin. Jess’s eyes go wide; she’s already a few Hideout Specials deep and definitely feeling it.
“Oh, shit!” she laughs with a hiccup. “That’s my sister’s boyfriend’s band!” She motions to the bartender to pour her another drink, but you shake your head and just mouth water. The bartender gives you a knowing nod, probably grateful that she won’t have to be the one dealing with Jess tonight.
“Yeah, that’s Jeff!” Jess continues, pointing at a tall guitarist with tight curls. “He’s the one who knocked up Viv!” She cackles like she just made the most hilarious joke. “I totally forgot they were playing tonight.” She frantically waves at him, and he gives a small head nod in acknowledgment.
Your eyes are drawn to someone else: the lanky, ring-clad man who takes center stage. He grips the mic with black polished nails, smirking out into the crowd as he yells, “Hawkins, how’re we doin’ tonight?” The loudest cheers come from Jess, and you join in, letting out an obnoxious “woooooo!” in response.
The noise draws his attention, and you watch as his smirk shifts to something needier, hungrier, even. His big brown eyes land on you and Jess, leaving you momentarily breathless. He’s absolutely gorgeous, light stubble on his cheeks and above his plush lips. He’s wearing a white V-neck that shows off a dusting of chest hair. His torn black jeans hang low on his hips, accentuated with a studded belt. A gleaming pair of silver handcuffs are clipped to one of the loops.
“All right!” he calls back. “Well, this first one goes out to the pretty girl in the blue dress at the bar. Wait for me after the show, Sweetheart.” He counts out to four, and they launch into a cover of Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me.
It doesn’t even register until Jess nudges you, more forcefully than necessary, and says, “Hey, you’re wearing a blue dress!”
Oh.
Oh.
“Who…who is he?” you ask, feeling a warmth spread through your core that you’re sure isn’t from the alcohol.
“That,” Jess says, leaning on you for balance, “is Eddie Munson. Total freak back in high school, but now he’s just got a reputation for being a freak in the sheets.” She throws you a clumsy wink and adds, “looks like you’ll get to find out for yourself tonight.”
“I’m not really a one-night stand kind of person,” you counter, internally cringing at the memories of your feeble attempts at hooking up, all of which inevitably ended with you pining after them pathetically.
Jess rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she whines, taking note of the way you and Eddie can’t seem to tear your gazes from each other. “Your dad leaves tomorrow, and then you’ll be spending your nights taking care of your grandma. You gotta live a little!”
Plopping back down onto the barstool, you consider her sentiment. It’s true; once your dad goes back home, you’ll be the one helping out in the evenings. And the new school year starts next week, leaving you with little time for yourself.
Your whole life has been spent helping others. You became a teacher to shape young minds and provide them with a safe place to learn and express themselves. You moved to a tiny town in the middle of Indiana to look after your grandma. Even now, you’re babysitting Jess and ensuring she doesn’t dehydrate instead of letting loose and ordering another drink.
“Fine, but only if he brings it up,” you concede. “I’m not gonna be the one to make the first move.”
The band moves on to their next song; it’s either an original or one you’re not familiar with, but you find yourself dancing to the beat. Jess joins you, writhing her body in some kind of drunken jig that has you cackling. You’re having such a great time that you don’t even notice Eddie tripping over a few chords as he watches you sway your hips back and forth.
Corroded Coffin plays for another forty minutes. You recognize some Metallica and Black Sabbath songs, headbanging along until you’re dizzy. The bartender slides you another drink—on the house, she insists—and you sip it eagerly, trying to quell your nerves. Eddie shouts out, “thank you, Hawkins!” and disappears backstage with the rest of the band.
You can’t ignore the dejected pain in your heart, but you muster up a smile and turn to Jess. “Ready to get out of here?”
She shakes her head, putting her palm on the bar to steady herself. “You still have to wait for Eddie,” she teases. “You promised.”
You cock your eyebrow in amusement. “First of all, Drunky McWasted, I didn’t promise anything,” you say, “and second, show’s over and, uh, he’s not here.” You swivel around for emphasis.
“Give him a fucking second, would ya?” The comment doesn’t come from your friend, and you turn around to see Eddie standing behind you. He’s got a towel around the back of his neck, mopping up the sweat from his performance. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and you can see the remnants of kohl eyeliner smudged around his lash line. “Had to clean myself up a little bit, damn.” He smiles, and you feel like you’re going to melt.
Jess interrupts, pushing you closer to him. “Eddie, this is my neighbor.” When you still don’t say anything, too awestruck to introduce yourself, she tells him your name.
Eddie nods, letting his fingers graze yours. “What’d you think of the set?” He grins at the bartender, who gives a small head bob and hands him a whiskey, neat.
“It was good,” you manage, finally finding your voice. “I especially liked the song you dedicated to the pretty girl in the blue dress.” There. You flirted. The rest is up to him.
“Yeah?” He rests his forearm on the bar and leans over to take his glass. “Was kinda hopin’ you would. Soon as I saw you, I knew I had to shoot my shot.” His eyes flit over the low-cut neckline of your dress before he drags his gaze back to your eyes. “You new to Hawkins?”
“Mhm,” you say, watching as he fumbles with a pack of Newports. “I moved here to take care of my grandma.” Good going. Nothing turns a guy on like talking about your elderly relatives.
But Eddie’s unfazed. “Hot and nice? A lethal combo, if I do say so myself.”
“What about you?” you blurt out. “I mean, have you always lived in Hawkins?”
He shrugs. “Been back and forth. Came here when I was nine, left when I was twenty-two, then came back about four years ago.”
“What brought you back? Missed all the excitement?” You laugh and he gives a small smile, but an emotion you can’t pinpoint crosses over his face.
“Somethin’ like that,” Eddie mutters, popping a cigarette between his lips. “Wanna go outside an’ have a smoke with me?”
“I’d love to,” you say with an apologetic tone, “but I really don’t wanna leave her alone.” You motion to your friend, who is currently trying to convince the bartender to let her have another drink. But as soon as she hears you using her as an excuse, she waves you off.
“Go,” she insists. “I’ll be fine. ‘M gonna have Jeff take me back home.” She stands on her tiptoes, nearly falling over, flailing both her arms wildly when she spots Jeff in the crowd and shouting, “Jeffy! Jeffy, can you drive me home so these two can have sex?”
You feel your face heat up at her words as Eddie shakes his head incredulously, lips twisting into a cocky grin. The last thing Jeff wants to do after Eddie’s earlier tantrum is help him get laid, but he knows there will be hell to pay if he doesn’t watch after his inebriated sister-in-law-to-be.
“Yeah, sure,” he grumbles, carefully looping his arm around her waist and helps her to his car. He appears to deliberately avoid making eye contact with Eddie, though you don’t know why. The two of them seemed to be getting along just fine on stage. The rest of the band leaves with them, carrying various instruments. No one even acknowledges Eddie’s presence.
“Uh, everything okay?” You can’t not pretend you didn’t notice; the tension is far too obvious.
Eddie brushes it off with another shrug. “Guys all got sticks up their asses, I dunno.” He pulls a black Bic lighter from his back pocket and motions towards the door, signaling your cue to walk out with him and drop the conversation.
Chirping crickets and a rowdy group of drunks shouting obscenities at each other punctuates the otherwise quiet atmosphere. Eddie looks at you expectantly, holding out his lighter, and you realize that he’s waiting for you to take out your own pack of cigarettes. A pack of cigarettes that you do not have.
“Oh, I, um, I don’t smoke,” you stammer, biting your tongue in irritation towards your own awkwardness. “I mean, I’ll smoke, like, socially, but I don’t carry cigarettes on me. Sorry.”
“Wanna bum one?” You pluck one from the pack and lean in as he lights it for you. The crisp inhale of tobacco lingers in your lungs for a moment before you breathe out, grateful that you didn’t cough like a middle schooler stealing cigs from her mom’s stash. You take another drag, watching as he does the same. You’d thought that there would be some level of conversation, but Eddie seems perfectly content smoking in silence.
“So,” you finally say, “how long have you been playing guitar?”
He chuckles and pushes his hand through his hair, stopping where it’s gathered into a hair tie. The perspiration on his forehead is starting to dry, but his bangs still stick to it. “Shit, gotta be twenty years now. Damn, I’m fuckin’ old.”
“How old are you?” It comes out more accusing than inquisitive, and you sharply inhale more nicotine to shut yourself up.
“Turned thirty last month.”
“Oh, that’s not old,” you reassure him. “I’m twenty-eight, so…not far behind.”
He doesn’t say anything in response to this. Maybe you’d misread his intentions. Or maybe he’d lost interest after just a few moments alone with you. The pretty girl in the blue dress quickly becomes the lame girl in the blue dress, and you both return home unsatisfied.
You try again, this time saying something that warrants a response. “I just moved here last week, if you have any recommendations of places to go. Restaurants or something?”
Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, ‘s pretty boring around here.”
End of conversation.
“Well, I should probably get home,” you say, shifting your weight onto your other foot and stubbing out your cigarette in the nearby ashtray. There’s no sense in wasting anymore time, and the nighttime chill is biting at your bare legs.
“Wait, what?” Eddie practically does a double-take. “I thought…didn’t Viv’s sister say something about…”
Or maybe you’d read the situation correctly after all.
“You still want to?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his own cigarette, and the smirk returns to his face. “Your place or mine?”
Considering the fact that your place is currently housing an eighty-year-old woman with declining cognition, and your father, you quickly jump at the offer to go to his home.
You walk with him to his car, a beat-up blue sedan. He opens the passenger door, and you thank him with a tight smile, still not sure what to expect. Maybe he’s just not into small talk, but he seems awfully closed off for a man who’s trying to get laid.
A tangle of tree-shaped air fresheners hang from the rearview mirror; they sway slightly as the two of you plop in your seats. Instinctively, you look behind you as he turns the key in the ignition. Nestled into the far left side of the backseat is a carseat. Cheerio crumbs are wedged in the crevices, and an empty sippy cup leans up against it.
“Is that a carseat?” It’s a dumb question; of course it’s a carseat, but you can’t bring yourself to be more blunt and ask if he has a kid. I mean, the guy couldn’t even tell you a single restaurant to go to.
“Oh. Yeah.” Eddie reaches around, placing a ringed hand on the back of your headrest as he backs out of the spot. He doesn’t elaborate on the matter, just speeds out of the parking lot, so you don’t push it.
The words, I love kids; I’m actually a preschool teacher, linger on your lips, but you bite them back. This is supposed to be casual, a one-night stand; you’re not trying to be anyone’s stepmother.
Eddie flicks on the radio to a metal station–of course–and you sit back and try to enjoy the ride. You can faintly hear him humming along to the music. The fingers on his left hand drum on the steering wheel, while his right hand finds its way to your upper thigh. Fuck, it feels good. He gently squeezes, and the sensation of his cold metal rings combined with his hungry touch makes you involuntarily press your legs together.
“Just wait, Sweetheart,” he laughs. “There’s more where that came from.” It’s probably the most he’s said to you all night, and you consider it a small win. You lean in and gently nip at his earlobe, grinning as he shivers at the contact.
“There’s more where that came from,” you echo, shifting back in your seat. Eddie looks at you, brows raised and forehead creased in amusement, but–big surprise–says nothing. He pulls into an apartment complex parking lot, swinging into the nearest available spot, and kills the engine. Without the music or the steady hum of the ignition, you’re suddenly plunged into complete silence. Are you really doing this? Going to a stranger’s apartment to have sex with him? What if he’s some sort of serial killer? But Jess knows him–sort of–and vouched for him, so he can’t be all bad, right? Although, Ted Bundy had friends, too…
Eddie clearing his throat disrupts your inner monologue, and you glance up at him shyly. “Sorry,” you mutter, though you’re not quite sure what you’re apologizing for.
“No biggie,” he says, like he’s used to women just spacing out in his car before they fuck him. “Um, y’ready to go inside?”
You nod, opening your door and carefully stepping out onto the uneven pavement. You wobble a little in your high heels, but you feel a hand on your lower back, steadying you. “Lemme help you,” he mumbles, lacing his fingers through yours and guiding you to the front door of the building.
The two of you only make it to the stairwell between the first and second floors before he’s pouncing on you, your back against the cold concrete walls. His hands start on your waist, traveling upwards and lightly grazing your breasts before he’s cupping your face. His kisses are hungry, but not sloppy; when his tongue breaches your lips, you let him in without a second thought. He places his knee between your legs, just barely nudging it against your lace thong. “Fuck,” he hisses, pulling away from you and running his tongue over his teeth, “I need you, pretty girl.”
You pout, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. “Can’t get naked until we’re in your apartment.” You pause before whispering in his ear, “and if you thought this dress looked good on me, wait till you see it on your floor.”
Eddie’s eyes widen. “‘S just another flight of stairs after this, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just takes your hand again and leads you to apartment 3C. There are a few Hot Wheels cars scattered on the ground, but he kicks them under the couch without further explanation. He sits down, adjusts his body on the soft beige cushion, and pats his lap. “Your throne,” he says cheekily, exposing tiny dimples on either side of his lips.
Wordlessly, you climb on top of him. Your dress bunches up as you straddle his waist, though that won’t be a problem much longer. You greedily grind your clothed pussy over the rough denim of his fly, sucking on his neck as his strong hands clasp the back of your thighs and pull you closer.
“Needy thing, hmm?” Eddie smirks, chuckling when you feign offense. “Where’re you going? ‘M just teasing you.” He sits up a bit, tugging one dress strap down and kissing the flesh between your neck and shoulder. “Maybe I read it wrong, but…y’look like a girl who likes to be teased,” he says, voice muffled by your skin.
“N-No, I do. Like it,” you stammer, fumbling with the frayed hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head. You run your hands over the expanse of pale skin, admiring his tattoos. There’s one of a red guitar pick right above his left pec; without thinking, you kiss it gingerly. He lets out a quiet moan, unzipping your dress and helping you shimmy out of it. You’re not wearing a bra, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue when he sees you on display for him.
“Christ, baby,” he groans, “got the most perfect fuckin’ tits I’ve ever seen.” He kisses them and runs his thumbs over your pert nipples before briefly sucking on them. The nickname baby isn’t lost on you, but you try not to read into it.
Still, there’s a sense of satisfaction at the way he’s crumbling literally beneath you, though you can’t help but snarkily say, “bet you say that to all the girls you bring back here.”
Eddie throws his head back and laughs, sending vibrations through your core. “Only the ones with perfect tits.”
You hate yourself for wondering how many perfect-breasted women there have been.
“Bedroom?” It’s all you can manage, already breathless from dry humping like a goddamn teenager on prom night.
Eddie hesitates before shaking his head, a curl falling loose from the hair tie. “Let’s just, uh, stay out here. Room’s kinda a mess.” The unsure expression on his face hints at another reason, but he quickly distracts you by pushing your panties to the side, slipping his middle finger into your aching cunt. “Holy shit. S’fucking wet already. I knew you were needy.”
“Y-Yes. Need you. Need more.” You’re already stretched out by one finger, but you’re dying to know how a second one feels. The more of him inside you, the better. He obliges, fucking you with his pointer and middle fingers while his thumb makes tiny, hurried circles against your clit. “That’s it, right…right there. Don’t stop; please don’t stop!” He brings you to your orgasm, smirking as you finish all over his fingers.
Your rocking slows, and you reluctantly pull yourself off of him and sink to your knees. He’s unbuckling his belt as fast as he can, and you can’t help but notice the wet spot on his jeans right where you were grinding on his thigh.
Eddie’s pants and plaid boxers are around his ankles in a heartbeat. His hard cock rests against his stomach; a pearly bead of pre-cum leaks from the tip. “Let’s see what that cute little mouth can do, Sweetheart,” he muses, leaning back into the couch with his hands behind his head.
You bite your lower lip. “First I gotta clean you off, yeah?” you ask before licking the tip, tasting him. His length twitches at that minimal contact, which makes you giggle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.” There’s no protesting, so you grasp the base of his shaft with one hand and cup his balls with the other. You suck on the head, circling it with your tongue, before taking as much of the rest of his cock as you can fit into your mouth.
“Mmm, baby, yes,” he growls, inhaling sharply when you gently tug on his balls. “Thas’ a good girl. Play with my fuckin��� balls, just like that.” He bucks up his hips, bringing his cock even further down your throat. “Gag on it, baby. Gag on my big fuckin’ cock.”
He’s not wrong; at least, it’s the biggest of any guy you’ve ever been with. Hollowing out your cheeks, you increase your pace, letting your nose brush against his patch of dark curls. Saliva drips down your chin; you swipe at it clumsily and keep your focus on him.
“Shitshitshitshitshit–FUCK!” Before you can even process what’s happening, Eddie pulls out of you. Thick, hot ropes of cum trickle down his right hand, and he buries his face in his left. You reach for a tissue and hand it to him, and he angrily wipes off his spend.
“Gimme fifteen minutes, and I’ll be good to go,” he says, tossing the used tissue in a nearby wastebasket. He finds the remote tucked behind a couch cushion and clicks on the TV. An episode of Seinfeld comes on. “You’ll do,” he mutters, plopping down next to you and poorly stifling a yawn.
“Sleepy?” you tease, wrapping your naked chest in an itchy wool blanket and curling up. He doesn’t put his arm around you, or make any attempt to cuddle, so neither do you.
“Nah, ‘m fine.” But nearly five minutes later, while Jerry and Elaine argue about God-knows-what, you can hear Eddie softly snoring next to you.
“Eddie,” you whisper. No response, so you try a little louder. “Eddie!”
“Huh? What?”
“I can, uh, I can go now. I’ll call a cab. Just need your address.” You start to get up and head for the phone hanging on the wall, but he puts an arm out to stop you.
“‘S’okay. Stay for a bit, baby.”
Stay for a bit, baby.
It almost feels like you’re taking advantage of him; his curt conversations and closed-off demeanor earlier in the night indicated that he was not looking for someone to sleep over. But now he’s asking you to stick around, resting his head on your shoulder and letting one tattooed arm drape over your waist. You let him stay there, trying your best not to wake him, but you’re forced to reach over him to grab the remote when an infomercial starts blaring.
“C’mere,” he mumbles, half-asleep as he lays down and scoots himself as far back as he can. You follow his lead, pressing your back against his bare chest. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you find yourself drifting off while wrapped in the warm embrace of this handsome stranger.
RRRRIIIINNGGG! RRRRIIIINNGGG!
You’re startled awake by a loud, unfamiliar noise that doesn’t sound like your alarm clock.
RRRRIIIINNGGG! RRRRIIIINNGGG!
Eddie jolts up, almost knocking you off the couch. “Shit, didn’t think you were still…” He turns towards the ringing sound, still confused. “What time is it?!” His eyes widen as he gets a look at the clock, which reads 7:19. “Shit, shit, shit! Son of a bitch!”
He practically flies off of the couch, sprinting to the phone and bringing the receiver to his ear. “Wayne? Yeah, I’m sorry…overslept. I can be there in ten…no, you don’t have to do that, I’ll just…okay, okay, fine. See you soon.” He hangs up with a clank, turning back to you.
You’re just sitting on the sofa, still wearing nothing but your underwear and the blanket. “Everything…um, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he lets out an overwhelmed sigh. “Let me help you find your dress.” He doesn’t say it aloud, but the real meaning behind his words seeps through: you should leave.
You nod, feeling the all-too recognizable lump in your throat. It happens any time these shared intimate moments come to an end; the realization of just how temporary you are in someone’s life is a punch to the stomach.
You find the bunched blue garment behind the couch and slide it over your head. The fabric feels stale and cold against your skin, like it doesn’t belong to you. Eddie’s only wearing his boxers, and you catch yourself staring at the collection of tattoos that trail down his arms and torso.
“Like what you see?” He laughs when you duck your head, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks as he walks towards you. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Not after that little show you put on for me last night.” He leans down, tilting your chin up to him and kissing you softly. “Before you go, leave your number, yeah?”
That makes you roll your eyes. “Oh, please,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.
“What?”
“Don’t ask for my number if you’re not gonna call,” you say. You sling your bag over your shoulder as you walk to the door. “We don’t have to do the whole song-and-dance. We can just, y’know, leave this as a one-night stand.”
Eddie chuckles incredulously. “You wound me, Sweetheart,” he says. “‘Course I’m gonna call you. How could I not wanna see a girl as beautiful as you again? ‘Sides,” he adds slyly, “We didn’t even get to the best part.”
Begrudgingly, you write your number on a nearby notepad. The phrase don’t get my hopes up for nothing sits on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back.
You’re halfway down the stairwell when you remember that you never called a cab. There’s no way in hell that you’re going to clamber back up to the third floor and ask Eddie to use his phone–and get his address–so you continue down to the lobby payphone and dial Jess’s number.
“H-Hello?” a man’s sleepy voice picks up on the third ring.
“Uh, Jess?” It’s clearly not your neighbor, but you have no idea what else to ask. Did she find some skeezy guy to bring home from the Hideout last night?
“Nah, it’s Jeff. Who’s this?” When you say your name, he hums in acknowledgment. “Oh, yeah. From the bar, right?”
“Yeah…is Jess there?”
He yawns into the receiver. “Last I checked, she was asleep. Finally. She spent half of last night puking her guts up. Everything okay?”
“Mhm. I was just wondering if she could pick me up from…um, from Eddie’s.” You cringe at your admission; the last thing you want is for Eddie’s bandmates to think that you’re some kind of pathetic groupie.
But Jeff seems unfazed. “I’ll be right there.” Before you can protest, he hangs up.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the glass-door reflection. Your hair is a mess, and there’s smudged makeup around your eyes and lips, like a billboard for the walk of shame.
Jeff pulls up a few minutes later, and you bashfully climb into the passenger seat. “Thanks,” you mumble, trying not to let your humiliation show through.
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs as he pulls onto the main road, “it’s a special occasion.” When you pinch your eyebrows together in confusion, he laughs. “Ed never lets a girl stay over. Not sure what you did–don’t wanna know, to be honest–but you must’ve made quite the impression.”
“Didn’t mean to,” you say quietly. “We both fell asleep after…yeah. We only woke up when we did because some guy named Wayne called.”
Jeff nods knowingly. “That’s his uncle. He watches his son on Tuesdays when we have our gigs.”
His…son?
Jeff must notice the stunned expression on your face, and his cheeks flush pink. “Shit, he didn’t tell you about Harris?”
“We didn’t do much talking,” you reply wryly. “I’ll have to ask him about that when he calls.”
“Christ,” Jeff shakes his head. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s not gonna call. Never does. Calls it the ‘Cat-and-Mouse.’”
“The what?” Your throat goes bone-dry. You should’ve trusted your intuition, denied giving him your number, left it as a one-time thing.
“He brings a girl back to his place, has sex with her and asks for her number, but doesn’t call. When she shows up to the bar the next week, all insecure and wondering if he’s still interested, he acts like he’s been so busy, apologizes profusely, and strings her along until she catches on. Then it’s onto the next one.”
You feel like your heart’s been ripped out of your chest. Bile burns at the back of your esophagus, and you have to blink back tears. How could you be so stupid, so naive? Didn’t you know by now that guys like Eddie Munson are only after one thing?
The two of you sit in silence until he pulls up to your building. “Thanks,” you say finally, “for the ride and for the warning.” Jeff just nods, watching to make sure you get inside before driving off. As soon as he’s safely down the road, you burst into tears. Angry at Eddie, but mostly angry at yourself.
Eddie watches from his window as you get into a car–Jeff’s car–and leave. Great, he thinks, I’m sure I’ll get my ass handed to me at our next practice for fucking around with his sister-in-law’s friend. If we even still have a band, anyway.
Throwing on a pair of dark gray sweatpants and an undershirt, he makes his way downstairs just as Wayne and Harris arrive. His son is leaping out of his carseat to get to him.
“Daddy!” Harris flashes a gigantic smile. His dark brown curls are a tangled mess atop his head. Eddie unbuckles him and wraps him in a giant hug. He’s losing the chubbiness of his baby fat, but he’s still sweet and cuddly.
“Har-Bear!” Eddie laughs. “Did you say goodbye to Grampa Wayne?” Harris encircles Eddie’s waist with his legs, reaching out his arms to give Wayne a hug through the window.
“Sorry again,” Eddie says sheepishly. “Fell asleep and forgot to set the alarm.”
“Got a job yet? A real one?” Wayne asks stoically, ignoring his nephew’s apology.
A storm cloud washes over Eddie’s face. “I’ve told you a million times: nothing’s going to pay the bills as well as working for Rick.”
Wayne rolls his eyes. “Get a job,” he says pointedly, pressing a kiss to Harris’s cheek before lowering his voice and growling at Eddie, “and wipe the damn lipstick off your neck, for Chrissake.”
Jeff’s right: Eddie never calls. The home health aid that takes care of your grandma during the day informs you at the end of each shift that week that no one named Eddie called for you. And while you can’t say you’re shocked, it doesn’t do much to quell the hurt.
You spend as much time as you can preparing your classroom for the new school year. By the time you’re finished, the room is decorated to look like a jungle. Stuffed animals of lions, monkeys, and different birds line the shelf tops, which are packed with various books and art supplies. Your walls are decorated with different posters, all of which encourage kids to be their best.
The hustle and bustle of the first day of school helps keep your mind off of your personal life. With a thermos full of hot coffee, you happily introduce yourself to your teaching assistant, Will. He’s a sweet guy, a few years younger than you, and he’s practically bursting with games to teach the kids.
“Before I forget,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, “I picked up our roster from the office on my way in. Looks like we have ten kids this year.”
“You’re the best,” you tell him gratefully, and he starts putting tiny chairs around tiny tables.
Being new to town, you don’t expect to recognize any of the names on the list. There’s an Abigail Carver, a Joshua Harrington…
And a Harris Munson.
“No fucking way,” you muse, apparently a bit louder than you’d intended, because Will’s head snaps up and he swivels in your direction. “Sorry.”
The sounds of bubbly giggles and excited chatter filing into the hallway grab your attention. One by one, parents start dropping off their kids, kissing them goodbye. There are tears–some from students, some from parents–and you’re quick to reassure everyone that school will be so much fun.
You’re just grabbing the sign-in sheet for Mr. Carver to fill out when you feel a small thump against your legs. When you look down, you see a curly-haired boy staring up at you with wide, brown eyes.
“This is my classroom!” he says matter-of-factly, pointing to the number 3 on the door. “My name’s Harris. Like the guy from Iron Maiden!” He jumps up and down as he speaks. “Are you my teacher?”
“I am.” You smile and introduce yourself, peering towards the door. “Harris? Did a grown-up drop you off?” And please tell me his name is Wayne, you silently plead.
“Oh, yeah! My dad has my backpack!” He starts running back to the hallway, only to crash right into Eddie.
“Little dude, you can’t be running off like—” Eddie stops mid-sentence when his eyes land on you. “Oh, shit.”
You set your jaw, willing yourself to stay strong. He’s on your turf now.
“Mr. Munson, you need to watch your language,” you warn crossly.
“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, handing Harris’s backpack to him. “I packed him a snack, um, and a juice box.”
“Okay,” you nod, crouching down to Harris’s eye level and injecting enthusiasm into your voice. “Can you find your cubby? It’s the one with your name on it!”
The little boy bounds over to his assigned spot, hanging his bag on the hook before running over to play with blocks.
Forced to interact with Eddie, you press up on your knees and say, “Pick-up is at two.”
“Can I say goodbye to my kid before you kick me out? Jeez,” he grunts, calling out to Harris with his arms wide open. Harris hugs him, half-heartedly promising to be on his best behavior before starting to race back to the toys.
“We walk in the classroom,” you tell him sweetly. “That way, people don’t hurt each other!” You make a point to look over at Eddie when you say the last part, though his gaze is trained on the classroom posters. Harris, innocent and oblivious, walks hurriedly towards the group of kids playing with blocks.
“Didn’t know you were my kid’s teacher,” Eddie remarks, pressing his tongue into his cheek.
You shrug. “Maybe I would’ve told you if you called me.”
Shooting you the wide eyes that he passed down to his son, Eddie lets his lower lip jut out in a little pout. “I’m so sorry; life’s just been, like, crazy lately—”
“Exactly what Jeff said you’d pull,” you bite back. “Two PM, Mr. Munson.” You walk towards your students to begin circle time, leaving Eddie dumbfounded.
After a long day of wrangling ten four-year-olds, you’re ready to go home and take a nap. The kids are gathered around the table, molding Play-Doh and giggling amongst themselves. By 2:10, everyone’s been picked up. Except for Harris.
“Typical,” you mutter, kneeling next to the boy and smiling sweetly. “Whatcha making, Harris?”
He holds up a lump of the yellow clay. “A dinosaur, see? Roar!” You fake being scared, and he laughs. “Don’t worry; it’s just pretend!”
“Oh, phew!” You wipe imaginary sweat off of your brow. “I was afraid that he was gonna eat me!”
Harris reaches over to where one of the other students had been sitting and plucks a handful of blue Play-Doh off of the table. “Wanna play with me?” He’s looking at you adoringly, and you can’t possibly turn him down.
Just as you’re about to join him, Eddie runs into the room. “Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. Got, uh, caught up with something.”
Harris just shrugs, unaffected by his dad’s tardiness. “S’okay. Look!” He holds up the dinosaur proudly, giving another ferocious roar.
“That’s awesome! And super scary.” Eddie ruffles Harris’s curly hair before looking at you. “Can we talk for a sec? Out there?” he asks, gesturing to the hallway.
You huff out a sigh. “Fine,” you concede, and Will slips into the chair next to Harris.
Eddie closes the door behind him. “Listen,” he begins, twisting his rings around his fingers, ”about the other night…” He trails off, and for a split second, you think he might offer a genuine apology. “I just don’t want this to affect how you treat Harris.”
You bark out an incredulous laugh. “You really think I treat my students any differently based on whether or not I like their parents?” Crossing your arms, you turn back towards the door, throwing out a pointed, “I think it’s best if you leave now.”
Eddie’s voice draws you back into the conversation. “I’ve never had this problem before,” he snorts.
“Excuse me?”
“Most girls love the thrill of the chase. The will-he, won’t-he. Haven’t struck out yet,” he retorts, a smug grin spreading on his face.
You roll your eyes. “Well, I’m honored to be the first. I don’t know what girls are into your pathetic games, but I’m certainly not one of them. So, please, just go before you say something else ridiculously stupid.”
Eddie bristles at that, standing a bit straighter and clenching his jaw. “Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, twisting the doorknob and punctuating his frustration with, “Frigid bitch.”
He’s just trying to get under your skin, and you refuse to let him get the best of you. You plaster on a well-practiced fake smile. “If you don’t think that this classroom is a good fit for Harris, you can request a transfer with the office.”
“Sounds like a plan, Sweetheart,” he snaps, yanking the door open so aggressively that it smacks into the wall. “We’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow.”
“Can’t come soon enough.”
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