#ask two beatles about something | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

viennakarma · 4 months

Text

In my life (I love you more)

Part 2 of Say Something (Alternate ending)

Summary: Navigating pregnancy is an adventure on its own, but doing it with your recently divorced ex-husband is on a whole new level. But maybe it's the perfect opportunity to find your kinship once again.

Word count: 8.3k

Tags: Female reader, established relationship, ex-wife reader, reader is an architect, cheating, smut, pregnancy symptoms, pregnancy sex, fingering and oral sex, lactation kink (briefly), chilbirth (not descriptive), lots of fluff, open ending, happy ending, not beta read

Relationships: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Notes: Again, sorry if it's rushed or something, I was just going with the flow. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

Find me on Twitter!

It’s different getting settled on your new, divorced life, and with a baby on the way. You kept trying to establish a new routine in your new place, while going over and over on what to do in your head.

You knew you were keeping the baby, because that’s something you always wanted. And for a few weeks, you weren’t sure if you would tell Lewis.

Then, you started thinking about going through the pregnancy alone, which you knew you couldn’t do. Then you thought if, god forbid, something happened to you during childbirth, if you died, who would take care of your child? What would happen to your baby? But also, you got lost in thoughts about the future, about the kid not having a father growing up, about your kid finding out you had hidden them from their father. You wasted only a couple of weeks until you made up your mind.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night keeping something like this from your ex-husband.

That’s how you were a little over twelve weeks when you finally sent Lewis an email. You could’ve called or texted him, but you were only willing to talk in person.

I’m not sure if you’re interested in hearing anything from me now, but I urge you to come meet me this Saturday at 11 am. I have some important things to talk about with you.

Attached, you sent him the address of your new home. It was a complete shot in the dark, adding the fact that he never replied to your email, you were unsure if he was gonna show up.

Hugging yourself inside your winter coat, you wondered if you did right by inviting him to your home. But then again, you didn’t want to have this conversation in public and risk Lewis being recognised.

You made tea and were waiting outside on the porch when he finally showed up, right on time.

God, he was easily the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life, still. He was dressed in a dark blue coat, and simple cargo pants. He stopped when he saw you, visibly emotional.

“Hi, lo- Y/N” he almost slipped up.

“Hi, Lewis. I’m glad you came,” you whispered with a small smile.

You were just as stunning as the day Lewis saw you for the first time, beautiful skin, sweet smile and the kindest eyes.

“What happened? Do you need help?” He asked, and you just shook your head, with a small smile, and he added “you look so content. So different from the last time I saw you.”

“I am, Lewis. Still adapting but I really am,” you gestured for the house, you started walking, “come on in. It’s cold outside.”

You two entered, and removed your shoes by the door, getting comfortable.

“I need to tell you something, Lewis.”

“Is it about the divorce? You know I would come back to you whenever, you just need to say the word and I ca-”

As he started rambling, you just removed your coat, showing your little baby bump, now starting to show. Lewis stopped talking abruptly. He was shocked, jaw slack as he stared from your face to your belly a couple of times.

“I’m dreaming,” he turned around, slapping his own cheek as if to wake up.

“I’m pregnant, Lewis.”

Lewis turned around again, taking in your figure. You were wearing those elegant pajama sets you’d always wear whenever you wanted to feel comfortable at home, but the shirt was hugging your figure tightly, specifically around your middle, displaying the baby bump.

He felt a lump on his throat. He had dreamt of this throughout your relationship, but even more after he lost you. Lewis would dream of you and your family almost everyday, waking up crying over what his mistake cost him.

But now, now you were right in front of him, pregnant with his kid.

You mistook his silence for confusion, so with a heavy heart, you said:

“The baby is yours, but I don’t mind if you want to take a paternity test. I know it’s been a few months with no contact, so I understand if you have doubts ab-”

“No, no! I believe you- I do!” He interrupted your turn to ramble, “I guess I’m just a little bit shocked.”

There’s a brief, awkward silence as you two stood there. Lewis was staring at you so intently, so in awe that it made you squirm, so you walked further inside, going to the kitchen to leave your cup of tea, now empty by the sink. Lewis still walked after you, still looking at you like you had hung the moon or something.

“You’re stunning, Y/N. Just how I imagined you would be when pregnant.” He whispered. You felt yourself blush with the open compliment.

“Thank you, the morning sickness is dying down now, so I’m feeling much better these past few days.” You told him.

Someone rang the doorbell, and you went to check followed by Lewis. You opened the door to your new neighbor from down the road. He greeted you quickly, and handed you a small box full of cherry-tomatoes.

“Oh, thank you so much, James! You’re a lifesaver!” You waved at him, as he got in his car and drove away.

Happily skipping back to the kitchen, you washed and put the cherry-tomatoes on a plate, seasoning it with a little bit of salt and pepper. You ate the cherry-tomatoes raw, only after the second bite, noticing Lewis was still there, even more confused.

“Who’s that guy?” Lewis pointed to the door. He didn’t like the idea of other men coming to visit you. Especially that James guy who looked at you as if you were the most beautiful goddess to grace the earth. Well, you were the most beautiful goddess, but still, only Lewis looked at you like that.

“He’s my neighbor down the road, a couple of kilometers down. Him and his mom have a small plantation of fruits and vegetables. I told her I was craving cherry-tomatoes and she kindly sent them to me,” you said, taking another bite right after, “this is the best I’ve ever had. So fresh!” You exclaimed, eating a couple more.

Lewis looked at you, giddy with your little cherry-tomatoes, and he felt something in his chest expand. He smiled at you, looking so happy and healthy. The last two images he had of you were, you miserable around the house in Monaco, and the other was of you making love with him so passionately but so sad. The last time he touched you intimately, and lovingly, it was painfully obvious it was a goodbye to you, but to him it had been a chance, he had let himself be blinded by hope.

He had so many questions about the pregnancy, about how you had been feeling and what you wanted to do that he couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. Still, he took a deep breath and just said:

“Have you been having lots of weird cravings?” He asked, staring at you, still munching on the cherry-tomatoes.

“I’ve been craving fruits a lot this past week, the other day I wanted green mango with salt, but it’s so hard to find tropical fruits around here!”

Lewis grabbed his phone and texted Kevin, one of his assistants, telling him to find fresh mangoes anywhere as fast as possible.

“How are you? How are you feeling?” He put the phone away, eyes focused on yours.

“In regards to health, me and Peanut are completely fine. I’ve been really sleepy, taking naps all the time…”

“Peanut?” He smiled, eyes shining to the little nickname.

“So, the first craving I had was so bad I spent three days eating anything with peanuts. People have some really creative recipes on the internet.” Your words made Lewis laugh out loud, that one giggle that you had not heard in months. One laugh that used to make you so happy, “but really, we're fine. I’ve had some doctor visits now.”

“That’s good. I told my family about our divorce. Mum tore me a new one.” He gave an awkward smile.

“I know, she called me to apologize.” You let him know. You were still in touch with his mom, not having the heart to cut her off.

“Hey,” Lewis leaned in, his expression serious again, “I know I failed you in our marriage. But I won’t fail you in this pregnancy, ok? I want to be there every step of the way, if you allow me to.”

“I know, Lewis. I never doubted you would,” you sighed, pushing the plate away. You always knew Lewis would want to be there for you and his kid, “I just- I’m sorry it took me a while to reach you. I was confused and overwhelmed, heartbroken, everything at once, and I had to comprehend what I wanted to do. In the end, I couldn’t allow my baby to grow up without a father, and I know you will be a loving one.”

“Thank you, I hurt you so deeply, just- Thank you for letting me know about Peanut.”

“I know it will be difficult to get over our problems and the divorce, but I was hoping we could co-parent, as friends,” you told him.

“Whatever you want, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I’m aware that's not how we planned things to go…” your eyes were wet with unshed tears, sometimes you still mourned the future you had with Lewis before, “... But we can do it, right?”

“We can do it. Peanut will be so happy.”

He was so sure, so confident, that it gave you a weird sense of security, knowing he will be there no matter what, knowing Peanut would have a loving father. It was a huge weight lifted from your shoulders, and now you could just focus on trying to go through a safe pregnancy.

“Tell me about your routine, how are you adapting here?” Lewis stood up, looking around.

You told him how you had reduced your work hours, to only work during the mornings, usually finishing up around noon, then you had lunch, then if you had any errands to run, you’d go to the city, then prenatal yoga class, and doing your hobbies the rest of the day.

While you were explaining your routine, you went to the pantry and got cat food out, your new companion showing up, meowing.

“You got a kitten.” Lewis pointed out.

“That’s Olive. I’ve always wanted one,” you said as if he didn’t know it, your fingers scratching behind her ears. Your voice didn’t have any malice, but Lewis’ own blame made your words feel like a jab.

“I know.”

Lewis stared at the fluffy gray cat. You had always talked about how growing up you had a cat that passed away when you were around fifteen. You had mentioned adopting a new one a lot after you got married, and still, Lewis never felt inclined to support the idea, he thought you two already had Roscoe, who you had to leave with a caretaker most of the time. He just thought you two wouldn’t have the time for another pet. It made something inside him burn with shame seeing that now that you were divorced, you finally got the little pet you always wanted.

You kept talking, telling Lewis how your parents are constantly traveling here to keep you company on weekends, and how you had been changing a few furniture, because you bought the house already furnished, but you wanted it to feel more like you, including a flowerbed by your porch. How you met a couple of neighbors, and how you had been exploring Edinburgh’s museums and galleries at least once a week.

It hurt him hearing about how you were moving on, meeting people and places, buying things and making plans when he was still stuck in the past. He was still wishing every morning he would wake up in your arms again, how he would share one big cup of coffee with you in the mornings, how he used to hold you in silence for a good 20 minutes after you woke up because you don’t like talking as soon as you wake up. How you would peck his lips every time he had to pack a bag to leave. How he would kiss your ring finger every time before he hopped in the car for a race.

Now he would walk past your office, and your work supplies weren’t there anymore, and the furniture didn’t have charcoal stains anymore, and the house didn’t smell like your tea and the bedsheets didn’t smell like your strawberry body scrub and shower gel thing.

Lewis spent the day with you, chatting like you were just two friends catching up. There was still a lot of baggage none of you wanted to touch just yet, so you just brushed past any awkward silence, and distant, cold chatter. It took a couple of hours to feel fully comfortable with each other. You had seen Lewis as the love of your life for so long it was mind boggling now having to put him in a “friend” category.

He left by the end of the afternoon, after leaving dinner ready for you.

“Will you unblock me?” He asked, getting ready to leave. You laughed but nodded, “You can text me anything. If you need something, anything really, call me or text me, yes?”

“Will do, Lewis. I’ll text any pregnancy updates too,” you walked him to the door, “Oh, wait! I forgot something.”

You went back inside scrambling into your purse for the sonogram image you had gotten the last doctor visit. You went back and handed it to Lewis. His eyes shone with tears as he understood what it was. He ran his thumb through the picture, tears falling down his cheeks.

“Oh, wow. That’s my baby.”

You noticed how Lewis was still wearing his wedding band, and your chest constricted a bit. You knew more than anyone that it would take some getting used to remove the ring as you were still getting used to not wearing yours, but you had forced yourself to leave it behind. You wondered if Lewis had gotten rid of it after the divorce was finalized.

“Can I- Can I tell my family about the baby?” He asked you, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

“Yes. Tell Carmen to call me after you tell her.” You smiled softly at him.

He stared from the picture to your belly, your small bump.

“Wanna touch?” You offered, and he smiled.

“Only if you’re ok with it,” he muttered. You nodded, raising your shirt up.

You pulled his wrist, placing his palm against your stomach. His hand was warm, calloused as you were used to feeling them on your body. His thumb moved up and down, caressing your bump and raising goosebumps in your skin. It took him a full minute to let go, like it was physically painful to leave.

“Take care, yeah?” He told you, walking away.

“You too.”

You went back inside after locking the house, the sun was already setting as you sat down to eat the dinner Lewis prepared. He had promised you to come back in a couple of days after his work commitments.

The next morning, you were working when the doorbell rang, and it was a delivery guy. He handed you a box and left. You opened it on the kitchen counter, and it was full of fresh mangoes and a small note.

“Anything you need. -L”

Lewis came back three days later, letting you know when he was at the airport. You knew he had told his family, since Carmen had called you and you spent a good hour talking to her on the phone the night before. You heard a noise outside and you went to your porch to see Lewis arriving in a pick-up truck.

You walked up to Lewis with a small smile. He closed his fists, physically restraining himself as to not hold your pretty face and kiss you silly.

“Hi,” you said and your voice was sweet.

“Hi, beautiful mama,” he whispered, which made you blush. You eye the back of the truck.

“What is that?”

“I bought some stuff,” he patted one of the boxes, “this is an ergonomic chair, appropriate for pregnant women, I thought it would be useful since you’ll still be working for a while. And they had it in your favorite color too!”

“Lewis.”

“I also bought a few books on pregnancy, maternity and paternity. Already sent a few copies to my place too. There’s a bunch of baby clothes over there, a few are gifts from my family but most of them I just bought because I thought they were pretty cute.” He pointed to the other boxes.

“Lewis, it’s too much!” You wanted to reprimand him, but it was also sweet how dedicated he was being.

“Nothing is too much for Peanut and Mama,” he dismissed you, “and I didn’t even buy a lot of stuff because I thought we should do it together.”

He carried the boxes inside, while you got started on the meal for lunch.

“Why is this ladder here?” Lewis pointed to the folded ladder in the hallway.

“Oh, I was going to change the light!” You told him.

“Are you crazy, woman?! You can be doing all that while pregnant!” His voice echoed from the hallway.

“I’m pregnant, not ill!” You screamed back, and he laughed out loud.

There was only silence for a few minutes, so you checked the hallway to see Lewis changing the lights. As he came down the ladder, he put both hands on his waist.

“Anything else needs fixing?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to fix the door handle, would you?”

“Please, how would you doubt me?”

After Lewis fixed the bathroom door handle, he came back out and started helping you with the food. You ate while Lewis told you about his family’s reaction to the news. He guaranteed everyone was happy, but they were refraining to call and text you so as to not overwhelm you.

While you were on the phone with your mom, Lewis decided to unbox the new chair and take it to your new office. He looked around, seeing how this office was smaller than the one at home, but cozier. You had a big window with lots of natural light bathing the room. Whenever you were working on your projects on paper and charcoal, you liked using natural light to draw. There were a couple of scented candles around too.

He took a little while to fully assemble the new chair, but as he came back down, you were taking a nap on the couch. He grabbed the blanket and covered you, and went back to put the dishes away. It was different, he hadn’t been so domestic in so long, and certainly not when you were married. Now he was just happy to be of service, to help you around just like things had never changed. He noticed you had put a panel on the kitchen, just like in the project for your family home, and your planner was there. It showed you had a doctor visit by the end of the week and pregnancy yoga twice a week in the afternoons, it also had your next museum visit marked for after the doctor. He took a picture of your planner, to align his to yours.

“Y/N, hey,” he woke you up softly, confused, you stared at him, “you have yoga class in like an hour, will you go today? I can drive you to the city.”

“Yes, sure.” You got ready and Lewis drove you there right on time.

“I’ll just drive around for a bit, text me when the class is over,” he said as he dropped you by the gym’s door. He ended up going shopping for baby stuff, and had at least seven shopping bags by the time he went back to pick you up. He stopped the car by the entryway of the gym, where a man had been excitedly talking to you. Lewis made a face, it seemed like everywhere he went, there was someone into you. Of course, you were radiating this glow and charm of a pregnant woman, seducing everyone around.

Impatient, Lewis honked softly to catch your attention. He bit his tongue as you said goodbye to the man, who hugged you way too tight for Lewis’ taste. You were happy and Lewis hated that you were giving that rando your sweet smile and attention. He didn’t say anything as you got closer and he left the car to open the door for you, instead, he showed you all the stuff he had bought you and the baby.

When the end of the week came, Lewis also came back as you were leaving for your doctor’s appointment. You had invited him but he also had taken a picture of your schedule.

At the doctor’s you laid on the bed and the doctor started the ultrasound, Lewis gripped your hand firmly, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“See, here, this is your baby,” she pointed at the little gray mass on the screen, she gestured to the nurse, “and this is their heartbeat.”

The sound filled the room, and Lewis felt like his world stopped and reset, a warm sensation in his chest, finding what felt like something to live and something to die for. He listened while you asked the doctor for updates, but his eyes never left the screen, where he could see Peanut.

As you left the room, with your next appointment scheduled, Lewis stopped you in the parking lot, pulled you to his chest, holding you firmly and breathing into you. He was crying, you held him and that moment, something started to heal inside you. Maybe you’d never get your husband back, but you could count on him as a friend, as the father of your kid.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, Lewis. We’re gonna do great for Peanut.” You whispered into his shoulder.

You and Lewis managed to get a routine, he was coming back frequently, he claimed your guest room and was staying for two or three days at a time, only leaving for his commitments. Both of you already did therapy separately but you also decided to go a few sessions with a family therapist to try and navigate the new family dynamics as divorced parents to an unborn baby. You talked about the cheating a lot, which brought big emotions during most of the sessions, with the therapist mediating until you could talk again. Lewis for the most part accepted taking you anger and sadness and hurt, apologizing profusely over and over again, reassuring you that he made a mistake he regretted every breathing moment. It took a while to make peace with the fact that his mistake shouldn’t define him forever, to accept and give him the opportunity to grow and learn for the sake of your baby.

“The season will start soon,” he told you one day, late at night as you ate quietly. You only hummed a response, unsure of what he wanted you to say or what point he was trying to make.

“Ok, understood,” you muttered, knowing he probably was letting you know he wasn’t going to come visit you as much, which honestly made you a bit sad, kinda used to his company by now.

“What I mean to ask is, can I move here? I know I won’t have much free time, so instead of going back to Monaco, I was wondering if I could come straight here. Of course, I would need to bring a few things, training gear, stuff from my office,” When you didn’t answer him, jaw slacked, he thought you might not like the idea, “But it’s ok if you rather not, too. I mean, if you prefer your privacy and all- I totally respect-”

“It’s ok, Lewis, you can move here for the remainder of the pregnancy,” you calmed his rambling, and he smiled seemingly relieved.

“Thank you, I don’t want to miss anything,” He whispered, crouching down by your side, putting his hand on your belly, “right, Peanut? Daddy’s gonna be right here.”

The next morning, you woke up, the breakfast was ready, and you looked around for Lewis, until you found him outside. He was wearing gardening gloves, making a hole on the ground with a trowel, and behind him a wheelbarrow loaded with flower pots. He was also shirtless, sweat glistening on his skin and above his tattoos, back muscles prominent with every move, which had your pregnancy hormones feeling some kind of way.

“Morning, what is going on?” You asked, hugging yourself as you approached him.

“Well, you said you wanted a flower bed on the entryway. So I had the time and thought I would do it for you.” He shrugged, removing the gloves.

“You didn’t have to, but thank you.”

As he stood up and when he turned to you, your eyes fell on his necklace, and more specifically, your wedding band hanging from the necklace like a pendant. You had wondered if he had gotten rid of your wedding ring, but now you knew where it was. Lewis swallowed like he was self conscious, putting his hand over the ring. It was so different whenever you thought about the cheating and the divorce, about the new normal you had to get used to. You weren’t angry at him anymore, but it would require a lot to rebuild the trust you once had in him. You decided to not address the elephant in the room, so you just looked away.

“I’m going to eat, thank you for breakfast, also.”

He only nodded as you got inside, swallowing the lump in your throat with a glass of juice and slices of bread. You didn’t mention the ring, but you could notice he kept wearing the ring under his shirts.

You went back to watch his races, commenting about it with Olive and Peanut, cheering when he was going well and complaining when he wasn’t. You’d hug him whenever he came back, for emotional support, you’d tell yourself.

You two decided you wouldn’t find out if Peanut was a boy or a girl, leaving the mystery to whenever they were born. And as the pregnancy progressed, it was inevitable that you and Lewis got closer, almost like best friends as he had seen your many lows of the pregnancy. That one time you craved cauliflower with barbecue sauce, or when you ate corn with sprinkled smashed cheetos on top, or when you farted loudly. He also had seen you cry because the delivery guy didn’t wave back to you as he was leaving, or when Olive hunted a small gecko and gave you as a present and you started just bawling. Or when Lewis hummed a song by a rapper you disliked and you started going off, snappy.

Honestly, Lewis took your mood swings and weird cravings like a champ with the patience of a saint. He had read about how pregnancy could cause your emotions to be all over the place, with outbursts of sadness or anger, and according to what he read, he just needed to help you let it all out. He had studied hard about pregnancy and was always willing to help. Funnily enough, you saw him more that season than all the five seasons you witnessed when you dated and was married to him.

One night you went to bed early, and when he went to your bedroom to check on you, you were moving a little, grunting in your sleep. Lewis immediately went closer, shaking your shoulders to wake you up from your nightmare.

“Hey, hey,” he called and you opened your eyes wide and you looked a little winded, “had a bad dream?”

Your eyes started tearing up, and he sat by your side, putting an arm over your shoulder for comfort. He ran a hand up and down your back as you wiped your tears.

“Are you ok?”

“It wasn’t a bad dream!” You whined like a little kid about to throw a tantrum.

“Ok, you want to talk about it? Maybe I can run you a bath?” He offered.

“It was a sex dream!”

Your words caught him a little off guard.

“I’m sorry?” He tried to understand what he should do or say.

“Goddamn pregnancy! I’m horny all the time now, but I can’t cum with my fingers! And I bought a bunch of toys but the delivery had messed it up and it never arrived!” You cried even louder now, and Lewis had to bite his tongue so as to not laugh and cause more anger.

“I could help you with that,” he offered, softly. He was actually scared you’d punch him in the nose for offering.

Instead you just stood up huffing and puffing, and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

“Sorry!” He shouted, standing by the door. Then a minute later you opened the door again, poking your head out.

“Will you help me?” You pouted.

“Of course, baby,” he walked inside, and you stood there wearing only a t-shirt and panties, “do you have something in mind or do you want me to freestyle?”

“Freestyle. Fuck, I just need to cum.”

Lewis sat by the closed toilet and patted his lap. You walked over to him, letting him position you sideways on his lap. God, you were so frustrated, and so horny your panties were shamelessly wet from the dream. He cupped you, running his middle finger up and down between your legs.

“Lewis, fuck,” you moaned, hyper sensitive, but still not enough, “if you’re going to tease me, I better finish the job myself.”

“Calm down, woman! I was just creating the buildup!”

“I’ve been building up for the past three weeks, Lewis. I need the finishing!” You whined and Lewis chuckled, pushing your panties down until they hung from your foot.

A loud moan escaped your lips as he ran his finger over your cunt, spreading out your wetness and when the pad of his finger found your clit, your hips jerked. You nuzzled into his neck inhaling his perfume and laying your weight on him, letting him do his thing. You had been feeling so sensitive because of the pregnancy, every single touch made your body jolt, curling your stomach already so close.

“More, Lewis, please,” you moaned into his skin, and he only hummed, pressing a finger inside you. His other arm was around you, holding you firmly against his chest.

“Like that, baby? That’s how you want it?” He asked, egging you on, going harder.

You could only moan as he took his time pressing into you, curling his finger and finding your most pleasurable spot.

“Oh, Lewis, fuck-” you moaned all the way up to your orgasm that had your toes curling and eyes rolling back. It took all his restraint to not eat your moans with a sloppy kiss.

Lewis slowed down, but he didn’t stop fingering you, and when you almost felt like it was too much, he kept going, cooing you.

“That’s ok, baby. Give me one more, yeah?” As you whined, pushing his hand away, he gave you a couple of seconds and went back, “you can take it, love. Gonna sleep so well after. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

He practically pushed you into the second orgasm, shaking, hand pressing your nails into his skin and you bit into his neck to muffle your moans.

Breathless, you just melted into him, sleepy again after cumming so good. Lewis cleaned you and carried you back to bed, letting you fall into slumber.

Raging hard, he ended up in the bathroom of the guest room, fisting his own length thinking of your moans and your teeth on his neck, that’s how he finished under the running shower.

The next morning, he smirked as you walked inside the kitchen, his winning smile hidden behind a mug.

“Shut up, Lewis, or I swear I’m gonna cut your dick off!” You warned. He held back a laugh.

“I didn’t say anything!” He raised both hands in surrender.

“Yeah, but you thought.”

“Look, whenever you need release, I’m right here for you to use me any way you want.” He smiled slyly.

“SHUT UP!” You threw a grape at him, which he caught in the air and ate. “I won’t be needing your services anymore, but thank you.” You whispered begrudgingly.

“If you say so…” He shrugged.

But that same night you ended up laid on the table, your dress hunched around your waist as Lewis ate you out like a man starved for the better part of an hour. You came loudly, grinding your hips to his face, pulling on his braids as he pulled orgasm after orgasm. Until you were limp and sleepy, and he cleaned you up and took you to bed.

It kept happening, but you never kissed or fucked, he would just relieve your tension with hand and mouth, and the few times you tried to reciprocate, he denied and said you were pregnant and needed the stress relief. You’d usually go to sleep right after he pleasured you.

After he left for a race week, you received a medium box full of sex toys, ranging from vibrators to suckers and dildos. He left a note saying it was for whenever he wasn’t there to fulfill your needs.

One morning, you were working, finishing up the last of your projects before going on maternity leave, when you felt a little poke on your belly, from inside. You squealed, and in mere seconds, Lewis was speeding up the stairs and barging into your office.

“What happened? Are you ok? Do we need to go to the hospital?” He panted, getting close to you. You just held his wrist and pressed his palm against your bump, where you had felt the thing.

“I think Peanut just kicked!”

You two stayed silent as you waited, and then you felt it just as Lewis felt on his hand. You cried, Lewis cried, and then he crouched, pressing his face to your belly, feeling a little kick on the side of his face. He laughed between tears.

“Peanut, daddy’s right here! You’re going to be so strong, baby!”

As your bump got bigger, and the pains got a little bit worse, you tried new sleep positions because of the back pains. Your feet swelled and your boobs and nipples got a bit more sensitive, so you had to change bras. Lewis was such a great help throughout the gestation, that you’d always remember him as a great source of strength. Sometime after you were seven months along during Summer Break, Lewis ended up taking you to a spa resort one week, somewhere in Greece, where you had one of the best times ever. You got massages, went into the hot tub, swam in the pools and went to the beach.

One random day back home, you were feeling particularly bothered by the backache, laying down in different positions and walking around with a muscle pain tape glued to your spine. Whenever you felt like that, your mood got irritable due to the pain.

“I saw something on the internet, I think we could try,” Lewis suggested.

“What?”

“Just trust me, yeah?” He asked and you nodded.

He stood right behind you, his chest pressed to your back, and his arms circled your waist, both hands settling under the bump. Then he just pushed up softly, taking the weight of the baby. You moaned feeling instant relief on your back, your head falling down on Lewis’ shoulder as you breathed deep.

“It’s ok, take your time,” he murmured close to your ear, “we should do this a few times a day to ease the pain.”

Eventually you two sat down to discuss baby names, and decided on each making a list and then comparing if you had put the same names. The boy names list ended up with three names matching and the girls’ list had only one match. You came around with choices for both, but ultimately decided to leave the decision for after Peanut was born.

When your birthday came in late July, Lewis took you to another trip, for a surprise.

“Where are we?” You asked as he blindfolded you on your way out of the private jet.

“We’re in London.”

“Oh, I love London!” You whispered excitedly, getting inside a car.

“I know you do.”

It took a few minutes, but eventually, he took you out of the car and walked you a few steps. Then, he removed your blindfold, and you stared at a big house. Not any house, but the home you had designed, your family home. The one you would give him on his birthday, but he saw when you were at the low ending of your marriage.

And it was just like the project, the same materials, the same colors, the same height and size. With all the little details you had poured your heart into.

“Happy birthday, this is yours.” Lewis whispered, handing you a key set.

“Lewis? What?” You turned to him, feeling your eyes watering.

“I know that we divorced, and things are different now… But I think it’s only fair that you get to raise Peanut in the home we dreamed of,” he said and you just nodded, the tears falling down, “and I hope you save me a guest room, for when I want to spend time with Peanut and Mama, if you allow.”

It was time you admitted that you and Lewis had grown so much closer than you ever did while married. It was good and most of the time you’d say it was everything for the sake of Peanut, but you knew better. You could silently admit to yourself that Lewis was an indispensable presence in your life. You needed his steadfast support that you been getting throughout the pregnancy, you needed his company in the mornings and his laughter in the evenings, you needed the feel of his hands on you be it for comfort or for intimacy.

And you fucking loved him.

It was like you’ve never stopped, even through the pain and the divorce, like your heart had always been in the palm of his hands.

But the pregnancy was like falling in love all over again.

You turned around and pulled Lewis by the coat, pressing your lips into his. It felt so right, like you should’ve never stopped. Lewis held your neck, pressing you into him.

“Lewis…”

“We can talk about it, yeah? Take as slow or as fast as you want. I just-” he paused, pecking your lips twice like he couldn’t get enough, “-I love you, my baby. And we can do whatever you want.”

“Let’s just, let’s take it slow first, yeah? See what- see what happens.”

He nodded, kissing you once again before taking you for a tour of the house. It was just as beautiful as you had imagined. The house was already baby proofed, and it had electricity and water already running.

“You can move here whenever you feel like it.”

“Yeah, I think I will soon rather than later. But I’ll keep my place in Edinburgh too.”

When the due date came, you had already moved to the new home, and it was so much closer to your parents and Lewis’ parents to visit, so Carmen was coming to see you a couple of times a week. She usually cooked for you, leaving meal preps for the days she couldn’t come.

To keep everything on the low with the media, you and Lewis decided against a baby shower. No one knew about the divorce, nor the baby.

“Lewis, it’s time to pack your bags,” you said walking into the room.

You were honestly so fed up with being pregnant that you just wanted to give birth. Your body was uncomfortable, you couldn’t sleep right in any position, your breasts were so full that it was leaking all the time and the bump got in the way of pretty much anything.

“I don’t need to,” he said, sleepily turning off the alarm.

“Lewis, you’re going to miss the flight!”

It was race week, which meant he would leave and only come back Monday. Hopefully, Peanut will be born next week. You were already a little over 39 weeks so you’d give birth pretty much any minute now.

“I’m not racing this week,” he said simply.

“You what?! You can’t do that! You need the points!” You exclaimed, pacing around.

“Love, Peanut will come any moment now, I won’t be away and risk missing this.” Lewis stood up, holding your shoulders and standing behind you. He held your bump and lifted it just like he had been doing, which helped you feel immense relief.

“Lewis, I can’t believe this! You’re literally competing for the championship! You can’t afford to lose any points.”

“I won’t be able to get in the car and drive knowing you’re here mostly alone or maybe that you’re going through labor alone. This is not up for discussion, I have spoken to Toto and everything is already set.”

You wanted to cry. You had not told him about how you were worried he might miss the birth, but he must’ve picked up somehow. You two had been in an entirely new level of connection, Lewis attuned to your wants and needs without you needing to express.

You turned around, kissing him. He held you close, reciprocating as his hands explored your body. And with just a little make out you were lit up and horny again.

“Can we make love?” You asked him, between kisses.

“Are you sure?” He mumbled, nipping at your bottom lip.

“Please, I miss your cock,” you whined, pulling his shirt.

That did it for him. He undressed, and you eyed your wedding band on his necklace. You pulled your dress up and Lewis groaned as he saw you were wearing only a support bra underneath, no panties.

“We need to see what positions is more comfortable though, I-”

“Spooning, missionary or cowgirl” he kissed you again, taking your hand and leading you to the bed.

“How do you know?”

“I read a book.”

“A book about sex?” You giggled.

“A book about pregnancy sex.” He corrected which made you laugh even harder.

“Ok then, get in the bed. On your back,” you bossed him and he obeyed.

You didn’t take too much time to straddle him, his cock between your pussy lips as you ground up and down on him, leaning down to kiss him. You were dripping wet, finding comfort on the way his abdomen held most of the weight of the bump. You looked down to him, his lips were open and he helped you up until you had him lined up and into your cunt. Both of you moaned out loud. The first time for both since your goodbye before the divorce.

Lewis sat up and pawed at your boobs and you moaned with sensitivity. He tried to remove your bra, but you stopped him.

“It’s going to leak everywhere, Lewis.” You shook your head.

“What kind of husband do you take me for?” He asked as if you were being silly. He unclasped your bra and as soon as you were free, ready to complain, he mouthed your nipple, sucking hard. The relief of the milk coming out was so great it had you groaning.

“Oh, Jesus! Fuck, fuck, fuck-” you moaned out loud with the relief his sucking caused, so much that your cunt clenched with the pleasure, “that’s so good baby, fuck- you’re so good!”

You started moving your hips, the experience so otherworldly that you could only ride him, letting him suck at your tits as your mind exploded with mind blowing sex. You shook so hard through the orgasm that Lewis had to stop and hold you firmly, only moving his hips under you to cum hard to the feel of your cunt milking him.

He stared at you like you were the most beautiful woman on earth, with so much love and devotion that you couldn’t help but bash in it.

You fucked any given chance for the next few days, making up for lost time. Lewis’ favorite position was spooning while he fucked you from behind, holding your body flush against him, kissing your neck and shoulder.

Saturday evening, you started feeling pain, sometimes every few hours. Lewis wanted to go to the hospital immediately but you, having talked with your doctor, knew it was too soon, and you’d only wait for hours in a hospital room.

You slept on and off the entire night, the jolts of pain waking you up every couple of hours. In the morning, you and Lewis had breakfast and decided to watch the race to see how Mick was going to do. You didn’t make it past ten laps, when the water broke when you got up for snacks.

“Oh my god! Ok, now we’re going to the hospital, yeah?” He asked and you nodded, taking your phone to let your doctor know you were going to the hospital.

Lewis was a mess, running up and down the stairs to grab your hospital bag, then he forgot the car keys and went back up again.

“Ok, stay calm, we’re fine,” he said, helping you up.

“I’m calm, Lewis.”

“Yeah, I’m talking to myself.”

You laughed as you two got in the car and to the hospital. You still felt these jolts of pain, each contraction getting closer and closer from the one before. You were put in a bed to wait for the right moment for the baby to crown. Lewis never left your side, even to call his family and your parents to let them know, he stood by you.

When it was a little while before the time to labor, you couldn’t handle the pain anymore, opting for an epidural on the spot which made the pain bearable. Then finally came the time to push, and Lewis stayed there, holding your hand and whispering words of comfort when necessary, and words of strength when needed.

“You are doing great, love. Come on, on three you push with all you can yeah? Promise I’ll stay right here! Come on, no- no-” he held your face softly, “I know you’re tired but you can’t rest yet! Stay here, and we’re going to see Peanut soon! Come on, when the doctor calls three, you push!”

Your memory would be hazy but you’d never forget Lewis’ patience and strength dealing with you. His voice guiding you through every single hour, his eyes that were so kind and his hands on you.

“I can’t Lewis!” You cried, but he held your face, looking deep into your eyes.

“You can! You can because you’re the strongest person here! I love you so much. You can, I’m right here with you. One more push, Peanut is almost out.”

Then, there was the loud cry of the baby in the doctor's hands. Gasping, Lewis stared at the baby while the doctor cut the umbilical cord. You looked at Lewis, who was bawling, face sweaty but the complete adoration in his eyes said more than any words could ever.

“This is your baby girl, Mom and Dad!” The doctor handed you the baby curled on a blanket.

“Oh my god. Love, this is Luna, right?” Lewis leaned down, whispering and watching his baby’s face.

“Luna…” You whispered, looking at her perfect little face.

“Our Luna…” Lewis whispered.

You were making tea in the kitchen when you heard Luna starting to cry, progressively louder. You could hear Lewis trying to calm her down, and when you came back to the living room, he was softly nursing Luna, and she was still whining.

“Everything ok, Dada?” You asked him, saving him a mug with tea.

Chuckling, he held Luna against his naked chest, and she was getting calmer and calmer. You sat on the couch, watching them. But then Lewis started mumbling a song, softly like a lullaby, and after a few seconds he sang a bit louder so you could make up the lyrics.

But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new

Though I know I'll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I'll often stop and think about them

In my life, I love you more

Funnily enough, Luna started to drift to sleep again, curled on her Dad’s chest. He put her on the little carrier, covering with the blanket then sat beside you, pulling you into his chest.

“Can you believe that? We made the most amazing bundle of love!” He said, kissing the top of your head, “Thank you so much for taking a chance on me, for letting me be part of this. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, honey.”

“I told you we were gonna make it.”

You felt like your heart was going to burst with so much love, for Lewis, for Luna and grateful for the second chance you took on this life and these dreams. You knew there was still a lot of work to put in, not only in raising your daughter but also in rebuilding your life with Lewis, but you were sure you'd have the rest of your lives to work on it.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #formula 1 #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton +18 #f1 smut #smut #Spotify

2K notes · View notes

juniperskye · 2 months

Text

Begin Again.

Sneak peek: Reader got out of a relationship about eight months ago and was sure love was meant to burn and break and end…but this particular Wednesday made her believe that maybe, just maybe, she could begin again with someone new.

Aaron Hotchner x (Fem) Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 1236

***Flashbacks are indented and in italics – this story flashes from present to past a few times. ***

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, implied age gap (kinda?), anxiety, self-consciousness, Past abusive relationship, explicit LANGUAGE, no use of y/n, mention of Jack, mention of Hotch’s previous relationship, story is guided by begin again by Taylor Swift (lyrics aren’t all directly used), mention of a love of the Beatles. I think that’s all, let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror, second guessing your outfit choice. Were the heels too much? Would he comment on them, would he be okay with them? Maybe you should switch to flats, they would be a safer choice.

“Babe seriously. Do you have to wear heels?” He berated you. “These are the shoes she told us to wear. I can’t switch shoes I’m a bridesmaid and were all supposed to look uniform.” You explained. “Really? You’re going to make me look so fucking stupid. Who cares if she chose those, just tell her the didn’t fit or the clasp broke or something.” “I’m not doing that.” You said. “You’re so difficult. Just change your shoes, it’s not a big deal. I just don’t want to look like a fucking idiot because my girlfriend is towering over me.” He continued.

You could remember multiple arguments that went that way. Him yelling at you for dressing how you wanted, so you didn’t. He started picking out your clothes and you complied, because that was easier than having him tear you down.

You smoothed your hands over your clothes and made your way out the door. The drive to the Café was a short one. You parked and made your way across the street, ready to go in and get a table for the two of you, fully expecting to have beaten him there.

To your surprise, when you opened the door, there he was. Aaron stood from his seat and walked toward you. You met him halfway and he pulled you into a gentle embrace. You didn’t fail to notice how he still towered over you despite your heels,

“Hi! It’s so good to see you.” He said pulling out your chair.

“Oh, thank you! It’s good to see you too, I was really glad you called.” You smiled as Aaron returned to his seat across from you.

“Yeah, sorry that it’s a random Wednesday, but with my job it makes it so hard and with us being free today I wanted to take the chance and spend it with you.” Aaron explained.

“I am happy to be here! The day doesn’t matter.” You shot Aaron a shy smile.

“You look beautiful by the way.”

You couldn’t help but blush at Aaron’s words. He had been so kind and gentle with you since you had started seeing one another. You had only gone on a few dates, but things were really good. The two of you had agreed to take things slow, having both gotten out of relationships not too long ago and Aaron also had Jack to think about. You guys had texted and talked on the phone quite a bit. He had gone as far as to call you late one night after a particularly rough case.

The two of you were currently talking about how your respective weeks have gone. Aaron had just gotten back from a case (hence why you were on your date now) and you had just completed a pretty big project at work. In the midst of your conversation, the song playing in the café changed to I Will by the Beatles, one of your favorite songs.

“Oh my god I love this song!” You gushed, quietly humming along.

“You like the Beatles?” Aaron asked.

“I love them! I have every one of their albums on vinyl.” You blushed.

“I don’t think I have ever met a woman with the same level of Beatles obsession as my own.” Aaron smiled at you in admiration.

The two of you ate while quietly enjoying the music and one another’s company.

“For if I ever saw you, I didn’t catch your name. But it never really mattered, I will always feel the same. Love you forever and forever, love you with all my hear- “ “Jesus, can you stop fucking singing that song?” He huffed. “Babe, it’s a really good song, I wish you would just listen to the words.” “I don’t give a shit about your stupid song. I don’t get it anyway.” He shut you down.

Aaron and you continued your conversation upon finishing your meal. You were in pure bliss with how amazing things were going. Aaron was attentive and gave you his full attention. He nodded and responded when it was needed. He also held conversation so well, he gave just enough information about himself in combination with asking you about yourself.

Another thing that had you swooning over Aaron was the fact that he had thrown his head back in laughter a few times throughout your conversation. You truly couldn’t wrap your head around how lucky you had been to have met Aaron. Your ex had never found your sense of humor funny, and it was nice to be in the presence of someone who appreciated it.

“Can you not make jokes like that when we’re in front of my friends? Like seriously what the fuck was that?” He demanded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke. Your friends laughed.” You shrugged. “It wasn’t even funny. They just laughed out of pity to save you from the embarrassment of nobody understanding your stupid ass jokes.” He rolled his eyes at you as he stormed off.

Aaron checked his watch and noticed how late it was getting. He looked into your eyes and smiled, neither one of you wanting this day to end. But he needed to go pick up Jack from soccer practice.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Aaron asked.

“That would be great.” You smiled, wrapping your scarf around your neck.

As you made your way over to your car, you thought about talking to Aaron about how your ex had truly broken you, and that part of the reason you’d requested to take things so slowly is because you had to relearn how to accept love from someone. The last eight months had allowed you time to fall in love with yourself again, but loving someone else was a whole new obstacle you were working through.

Aaron’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, he had been talking about how he wanted to introduce you to Jack, not now, but in the near future. He had come up with a nice way to do so.

“So, Jack and I always watch Elf and the Grinch around Christmas, I think it could be nice if one night you came over and watched one of them with us, you know. It gives us a few more weeks to really solidify things between us and by then we will have been seeing each other for four months. What do you say?” Aaron looked hopefully at you.

“Only if it’s the Jim Carrey Grinch movie. That new animated one is cute and all, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the live action.” You smiled back at him.

“Of course, it’s the Jim Carrey one. We take things very seriously at our house.” Aaron smirked at you.

Aaron and you shared a laugh, and then he brushed his hand over your cheek, leaned in, and kissed you gently. December couldn’t come fast enough. Things with your ex had really messed you up, and he’d left you believing that love wasn’t meant to flourish, just burn, and break and end.

But on a Wednesday, in a Café you watched it begin again.

474 notes · View notes

fr4nkoce4n · 3 months

Text

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏! ʲᵃᶜᵏ ʰᵘᵍʰᵉˢ

in which jack comes home in a bad mood after getting eliminated from the playoffs but his two girls are always there for him.

song- watch you sleep. - girl in red

jack felt off, almost empty as he pulled into the driveway of his home. a frown was displayed on his face, after getting eliminated from the playoffs. his team had played a good game, but not good enough.

he opened his car door grabbing his bags and keys, making his way to the front door and opening it with one swift movement.

he dropped his bags to the ground and looked around, no one to be seen, the tv was turned off and all that could be heard was the song here comes the sun by the beatles.

it was his 4year old daughter, matilda’s favourite song, she would try her best to sing along to it, not able to even get the words correct. it always brought a smile to his face.

he made his way into the kitchen without trying to disrupt anything. he stopped from a distance as he saw his wife with matilda propped up on her right hip, dancing and singing around the kitchen as she was making something.

jack leaned against the frame of the window and just watched, a look of happiness spread across his face.

you had had a big night, from watching the game, to trying to make dinner, to trying to make matilda stop crying. the crying was never ending, and for what reason? she could never figure it out, tilly was now 4 but she was just always crying. and when you couldn’t make it stop you felt like a horrible mother.

at this very moment you had matilda on your hip and you were trying to distract her so she would stop crying. you danced around and even started singing before she stopped crying.

it was rough when jack had to go on a roadie, meaning you had to put in that little bit of extra effort around the house.

you weren’t going to lie, it was a little bit relieving knowing jack wouldn’t have alot of hockey to focus on after losing tonight. you sure felt bad for your husband though.

“need a hand?” jack spoke up and took matilda out of his wife’s hands and pulled her in for a hug, “dada!” matilda cheered and dug her head into her dads neck.

“hey tills!” jack greeted, placing a sweet kiss on his daughters forehead.

“im sorry about the game jack.” you spoke and gave your husband a peck on lips.

“it’s okay, we tried our best.” he sighed, you could tell he was upset about it all.

“i need to finish dinner, could you go give her a bath?” you ask quietly.

“of course.”

jack carried matilda to the bathroom and turned on the bath tub. he grabbed out the basket full of tillys bath toys.

“which ones do you want tonight?” jack asked as he spread them out along the ground.

she picked up her favourite ones and placed them in the bath gently, as if they had feelings.

“good pick.” jack smiled picking up the rest of the toys and putting them away.

once the bath was full jack placed matilda in the bath and she played in there while jack washed her.

as her daddy put shampoo into her hair she looked up at him, she easily noticed that he wasn’t as talkative as he usually was and looked like he was sad.

“daddy?” she questioned.

“yes tilly baby?”

“do you have a boo boo?” she sat up in the bath and jack stopped massaging her scalp with conditioner.

“no honey, why do you ask?”

“your sad, what’s wrong daddy?” she frowned. “is it because you lost?”

“yes baby.” he sighed.

“it’s okay.” she placed her hand on top of his hoping to turn his frown into a smile.

a smile broke out on jack’s face, “thank you. can i ask you a question?”

she nodded gently.

“why do you get so upset all the time darling girl?” he asked curiously.

tilly looked like she was about to start crying again, “i miss you daddy.”

jacks heart swelled but also dropped, he wished that he could be there all the time for his girls.

“im always with you, in here.” he poked her little chest gesturing to her heart. “but baby, you need to stop getting so upset, it’s really hard on mummy, she feels bad when she can’t make you feel better.”

“do I make mummy sad?”

“not sad, she just feels like a bad mummy.” he sighed, knowing tilly most likely didn’t understand him anyway.

“she’s not a bad mummy!” she sort of yelled.

“she’s not. now come on, let’s get you dry and changed and into bed gorgeous.”

jack changed her into her pyjamas and placed her into her big girl bed pulling the blanket over her.

she closed her eyes straight away, but just was jack was about to shut the door she spoke up. “daddy?”

“yes?”

“i wont cry tonight so mummy feels better.”

“come see me if you want me baby.”

he left a gap in the door and made his way into the kitchen, his amazing wife had made his favourite meal, spaghetti bolognaise.

“ugh it looks and smells amazing baby.” he placed a kiss on your forehead and sat down next to you to eat.

you both dug into your food and ate up.

“im sorry you didn’t make it through to the next round.” you spoke quietly.

“it’s okay, I want to be here more for tilly, do you know why she cries so much?” he questioned his wife, she shared a look with him.

“no clue, I can’t get a peep out of her when she’s crying.” you frown.

“she said it’s because she misses me…” he sighed, he felt horrible. “i knew i would be a horrible dad.”

“hey hey hey, no your an amazing dad, tilly loves you, she wouldn’t want any other dad in the world.” you grabbed your husbands hand. “and I wouldn’t want anyone else to be my husband.”

you grab your husbands hand and drag him to tillys room and open the door, she is laid in her bed peacefully, “sometimes when your on a roadie i miss you so much so i come in here and watch her sleep. she looks exactly like you jack, and she calms me.”

jack remembered when tilly was first born, he would stay in her room for ages and watch her sleep because he was so worried something would happen to his girl.

but now, like his wife said, it was calming.

the way her little chest moved up and down as she breathed, the way she would move around every now and then and the way she would cuddle her snoopy teddy which had a devils jersey on it.

“we made her.” jack spoke softly.

“yeah. we did.” she grabbed jacks hand and leaned onto his shoulder.

this moment was the only moment he ever wanted, who cared about making it to the next round when he had his two girls at home?

they were all he ever needed.

#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #luke hughes #trevor zegras #nico hischier #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x oc #dad!jackhughes #nhl hockey #nhl all star 2024 #ice hockey

485 notes · View notes

d3add0vedonoteat · 3 months

Text

Carbonara (or Carmy Cooks for You)

Pt. 2 of Chicken Soup for Carmy

This is part 2 of Chicken Soup for Carmy! I hope you love it. NO WARNINGS. Pure fluff

Your apartment was warm. You entered ahead of Carmy, hanging your coat on the wall and kicking off your shoes. “Make yourself at home!” You invited, jovially.

Carmy followed suit, taking in your space. It smelled like you. It was small, but cozy. Personal touches littered every inch of the space. Your kitchen was to the left, a small wooden table against the wall for your dining area. The kitchen counter looked out to the moderately sized living room. Your little orange velvet couch sat before exposed brick and two tall windows. The wall to the left was covered with posters and picture frames, to the right were a pair of bookshelves without an inch of space that wasn’t occupied by a book or trinket. Several plants crowded the windowsills. The rug was soft and plushy on his feet. It would seem hectic to the blind eye, but Carmy could sense the intention behind each item present. Drumming his fingers on his leg, he chose to look at the wall of pictures. It was an eclectic mix of old posters; there were vintage Coca Cola posters, fashion campaigns from the 70s and 80s, music posters like The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Led Zepplin and such.. There were pictures and Polaroids of you with people he didn’t recognize and a few random things in picture frames; a pressed flower, a movie ticket, an unused tea bag, a coffee cup sleeve with a scrawling handwriting on it that said “don’t look back”.

You emerged from the bathroom, your hair free from the bun Carmy was used to. It fell about your face, messy and wild in a way that made the breath catch in Carmy’s throat. You joined him at his side, smiling at the wall before you.

“My scrap wall,” you explained. “I love the idea of scrapbooks but I like seeing things everyday.” Carmy nodded, staring at your profile. The slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. He could reach out and caress your cheek… he wrenched his gaze from you and forced it to the wall. “I uh, I had no idea you were into vintage stuff.” He said.

“Likewise.” He raised his brow at you sideways and you laughed. “Loopwheel? Very Americana.” Carmy’s face felt hot. Was this real? It couldn’t be. How could you be any more perfect. You were still wearing his shirt. “Come on, I’m starving.”

Carmy had perused your fridge and pantry, settling on the dish he’d make. You sat at the little table, one leg pulled up to your chest and scratching away in a notebook before you. Music from the playlist you put on floated through the space, complimenting the ambient sound of Camry hard at work. It was so domestic. Usually, Carmy was anxious. His head pounded, his heart raced, and he could never catch his breath. But here with you, Carmy felt peaceful. It was like he’d done this a thousand times before. It was comfortable, safe. Carmy’s chest felt warm and relaxed. His mind wandered as his well practiced hands moved through the recipe. He imagined being here with you, making dinner together after a long day at the restaurant or curled up on the couch watching something on tv, how his arms would wrap around you and you’d lay your head on his chest. Little things filled his mind: going grocery shopping together, washing dishes, folding laundry, having coffee in the morning sitting in your couch and discussing vintage American icons. Sleeping beside you, feeling your skin against his, feeling your-

“Fuck!” The hot sear of the pan against Carmy’s hand snapped him out of his thoughts. You leapt to your feet, rushing over to him.

“Are you okay?!” You asked, grasping his hand in both of yours and guiding it under the stream of cold water. Truthfully, Carmy couldn’t even feel the burn. Not when your hands were on him. You cooed and tutted, closely inspecting his hand.

“I’m alright.” He assured you. You looked up at him and released his hand, much to Carmy’s dismay. You were close, the sink pressed against your back. If you took an extra deep breath your chest would brush against his. Carmy wasn’t particularly tall, but the way he looked down at you, his eyes dark and glued to yours, lips parted slightly, and his uninjured hand resting on the edge of the counter beside you, it felt like he towered over you.

“C-can I help?” You didn’t mean for your voice to come out as such a whisper, but you couldn’t help it. His proximity made you dizzy.

“No, no… it’s almost done.”

It felt like an eternity while you stared at each other. You forced yourself away, resuming your place at the table while your heart screamed at the four foot distance. The next few minutes passed in silence until Carmy set a warm bowl in front of you.

Your jaw dropped.

Carmy kicked the door to the alley open, flicking his lighter. He felt like he was going to explode. Richie’s constant bitching, the endless mess of the office and the kitchen, everything was fucked. It was fucked. Carmy ran a frantic hand through his hair. He couldn’t breathe. He took a few steps into the alley, fully intending on having a total meltdown until he heard it. A sniffle.

You sat with your back against the bricks, your head in your hands. “Hey,” Carmy tried to make his voice as gentle as he could. “Are you, um- are you okay?”

Carmy felt his heart drop out of his body when you turned your face to him. Your eyes were red and puffy, tears staining your cheeks. Shit. Shit shit shit. What had he done? How had he fucked this up already? What happened? Was it Richie? He’d kill him.

“I’m sorry, chef.” You said, wiping your face.

“Carmy.” He said, quickly. “Sorry um… just you can call me Carmy.”

You smiled softly, despite the tears in your eyes you were beautiful. “Carmy,” you tested it on your tongue. Carmy thought he’d explode hearing your sweet voice say his name. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying at work it’s just-” you choked up, averting your gaze and shamefully wiping your tears.

Carmy sank down to sit beside you, unsure. You sighed. “My mom uh… she’s kind of fucked up. And my brother keeps calling and screaming at me because he wants me to go home and take care of her but…” you shook your head. “I just can’t go back there, ya know?”

Carmy’s heart panged with empathy. “Yeah, I know what you mean…”

“It was so fucked up when I was a kid, though.” You stared up at the sky. “When I was 10, my mom would make carbonara every Wednesday. It was my favorite day of the week because I loved carbonara. When she started to get worse, I’d make it on Wednesdays just trying to hold onto it you know? I haven’t made it since I was a kid… I don’t know, I just… couldn’t bring myself to. I miss it though.”

Carmy let you vent but truthfully, he didn’t know what to say. It was a little too close to home for him. He just watched you. The sun on your face, the puffiness subsiding from your eyes. He looked down at the ground, worried he’d say something stupid if he kept staring at you. You sighed again. You turned your head to him with a soft smile on your lips. “Thank you for listening to me rant. It feels good to say it out loud.”

Carmy’s cheeks tingled as he met your gaze. He smiled in return, the anxiety that had driven him into the alley in the first place was a million miles away.

“Yeah, anytime.”

You stared at the bowl before you. A nest of creamy spaghetti, dusted with grated Parmesan, crispy pancetta, and vibrant green chives. You felt your throat grow tight, tears pricking at your eyes. Carmy settled in the chair across from you and you stared at him in disbelief. “Carbonara?”

Carmy was suddenly nervous. Had he overstepped? “You uh, you said you hadn’t had it in a while.”

Nothing could have prepared Carmy for the look on your face. Eyes wide at him and beaming with adoration. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words seemed to fall short so instead you lifted a forkful of the creamy noodles to your lips. You sighed with delight when it touched your tongue. “Oh my god…”

“Good?”

You nodded, vigorously. “That is the best carbonara I’ve ever had.” You shook your head with a chuckle as you continued to eat. “You’re so annoying.”

“What?” Carmy practically choked he was so confused.

You laughed again, the melodic sound easing his nerves. “You’re SO good at this. Better be careful or I’ll have to make you cook dinner every night.”

Carmy couldn’t think of anything he’d like more. The warmth in his chest was threatening to spill over as he gathered all his courage into one single word: “promise?”

Seeing Carmy outside of the restaurant already gave you butterflies, but having him in your apartment so close you could touch made your knees weak. You stood at the sink side by side washing the dishes from dinner. Your shoulders bumped every few seconds. You had just made Carmy laugh with your very strong opinions of John Lennon. You’d never heard him laugh like that before, so earnest and carefree. His shoulders seemed lighter, his eyes brighter. The stress of family and the restaurant was far behind both of you, kept out by your apartment door. You hummed, wishing this night could last forever.

“Yeah… me too.” Carmy was grinning at you, cheeks tinged red and bashful. Your eyes widened, had that been out loud?

“Sorry, I uh- I just mean um-” you looked shyly over to him. He was drying his hands, leaning against the counter with a pleased smile on his perfect lips.

“It’s okay,” he assured. Carmy stepped closer. The warmth in his chest was boiling over. He reached up slowly and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered against your cheek. “I like taking care of you too.”

#carmen berzatto fluff #carmy x fem!reader #carmy x you #carmy x reader #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy fluff #the bear #fluff

344 notes · View notes

spencersssockss · 4 months

Text

Entomophobia

Summery: Spencer says I love you to you for the first time.

Warnings: not many besides the fact that there is lots of cute fluff, mention of spiders, and Beatles and I think that's all!

Word count: 700

A/n: this is super short but I hope you guys enjoy! ❤️❤️❤️

Spencer rushed out the door quickly after hearing your blood-curdling scream. You stood on the chair book in your hand.

“Y/n, what's wrong?” he asked standing a couple feet away from you.

“It's a bug, it's really big!” you trembled. “It tried to climb up my leg,” you added tears threatening to spill.

“It's okay, let me get it for you,” he replied taking a step closer to see what kind of bug it was.

“Oh,” Spencer said as he stepped closer to the bug on the porch below you. “It's just an Eastern Hercules Beetle, it's harmless,” he said before picking it up making you shriek in horror.

“No, no, getaway, it's gross and scary,” you begged watching as Spencer walked it over to a tree in the front yard and put it on a branch.

“There, it's gone now,” Spencer chuckled. He knew he had weird phobias with germs and all but it was hilarious seeing you be so scared of a harmless little creature.

“It's not funny,” you pouted taking a step back when he offered a hug.

“No hug?” he asked eyes widening.

“Nope, not until you wash your hands,” you reply marching into the house with the book in your hand.

“Fine then,” Spencer mumbled before washing his hands in the kitchen and following you into the living room.

“Okay, you can hug me now,” you say smiling as he wraps his arms around you in a large hug. “You're my night in shining armor you know that?” you ask smiling once again.

“Just because I picked up a harmless Beatle that you accused of terrorizing you?” he asked smirking into your neck.

“Yup, I'm honestly more afraid of bugs than I am Hotch, and that's saying something,” you say giggling before Spencer pulls away from the hug.

“No way, I think hotch is much scarier,” Spencer replies before sitting down on the sofa, gesturing for you to join him.

You sat next to him and he pulled you on top of him allowing you to rest your head on his chest.

“To help you get over your fear of bugs we are going to watch a documentary about them!” he announced clicking on some insect video and pressing play.

“This is going to give me worse nightmares than any case I've ever worked on,” you groaned eyes widening as a tarantula appeared on the screen.

“On no, not a spider,” you groaned before the narrator started.

“The funnel web spider is incredibly venomous.” “This Australian spider has a venom that is packed with 40 different toxic proteins.” “Though a bite from one of these creatures is certainly capable of killing a human, no deaths have been reported from a funnel web spider in Australia since 1980.” the narrator spoke before the images of the bites from one appeared on the screen, making your stomach turn.

“No, no more, I would much rather have to deal with my fear of bugs than continue to see that gross monster on the tv,” you groaned standing up.

“To be fair, I'm pretty sure I put the wrong one on,” Spencer replied before standing up and following you to the bedroom.

“We should just cuddle,” you spoke before climbing into your bed and crawling under the sheets. Spencer crawled in beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist. The two of you sat in silence for a while before you felt something crawling up your legs.

Of course, right after the documentary, you tapped Spencer's shoulder only to find out he was sleeping.

The light crawling continued before Spencer jumped up out of bed and chuckled at the sight of you curled up in a ball too scared to see what might have been crawling on your leg.

“I got you!” “you should see the look on your face!” he laughed before sliding back into bed.

“Not funny,” you scolded eyebrows furrowing.

“It totally was,” he replied as you laid your head in the crook of his neck.

“Your adorable,” he spoke running his hands softly through your hair. “I love you, you know that?” he asked kissing your forehead.

“I love you too,” you purred.

“Even though I think the fact you are terrified of bugs is hilarious?” Spencer asked his hand resting on your lower back.

“Even though you think it's funny and it's not,” you replied pecking his lips gently.

#criminal minds x reader #spencerreidssockss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic

284 notes · View notes

mydaroga · 2 months

Text

Exclusive: Steve Holley reveals Linda would drunk-shame Paul from horseback

I don't know how interested any of you are in the Fest for Beatles Fans, which I've attended twice now, but I thought everyone needed to hear this story.

I attended a panel with Adrian Sinclair, Steve Holley, Laurence Juber, and Allan Kozinn. The two on the ends wrote The McCartney Legacy. The other two were in Wings during Back to the Egg.

Recording "Arrow Through Me," which I've confirmed with the McCartney Project was done in Campbeltown, Scotland, they finished up a long day and went out to the pub. According to Steve Holley, they both drank everyone else under the table and around dawn, they emerged, staggering, to the street. Paul stopped and said, "d'you hear that?"

"What?"

"Do you hear a horse?"

Steve did, in fact, hear a horse.

"It's my wife," Paul said. "I'm in trouble."

Indeed, Linda rode up on a horse, stopped in front of them, and looked down. "Look at the state of you two," she said. "You disgust me." Steve said something about asking her if she'd let that man marry her daughter, which I didn't quite get, though she said, "Yes, but that's not the issue right now."

And Paul got up behind her and they rode away.

The existence of this story heavily implies this was not the only time Linda had to pick up Paul on a horse. We imagine that, upon discovering Paul wasn't yet home, she merely had to step outside, whistle, and her steed appeared, ready to shame Paul McCartney.

#fest for Beatles Fans #Steve Holley #paul mccartney #linda mccartney #arrow through me #back to the egg #Kris talks a lot

278 notes · View notes

perpetuallyconfused10 · 8 months

Text

Drive My Car (1/2)

GIF by rqgnarok Part 2

WARNINGS: None. Just two idiots in love. And maybe Hotch is a little too soft.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

“Fuck.”

The voice is low enough that you think you’ve imagined him at first, but there he is, standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to his office with one hand pressed to his forehead and staring at the phone in his other like it’s burned him.

“Hotch? Are you alright?”

He turns to look at you, appearing about as startled as you imagine he ever can. “I’m fine,” he says. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

In his defense, you didn’t expect to be here this late either. The others had left the bullpen over an hour ago, having finished their paperwork much before you.

You hold up the culprit for your staying behind, a Use of Force report that had ended up taking a lot longer than planned. “Just finishing up. Are you sure you’re okay?”

The hand on his forehead moves to his hip, and he studies you for a few seconds. Then he sighs. “My car’s in the shop. Jessica was going to bring me home, but Jack’s gotten sick and she doesn’t want to move him from his bed. I’m going to call a cab.”

That explains why he’s leaving so early. You’ve never heard of him leaving before eight or nine.

“Poor kid. That’s never fun,” you say with a wince. “But you’d be lucky, Hotch. It’s seven on a Friday night. Everyone and their mother is calling a cab.”

“It’s quicker than the subway.”

His voice is flat, worried. You make the decision in a second. “Not quick enough. Let me drive you.”

Hotch’s brow furrows as he considers your offer, mentally calculating the distance from your apartment to his. “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me. I’m miles out of your way.”

He’s right. He is miles away, but that doesn’t deter you. As wonderful as Jessica is, from what you’ve heard, you know Jack idolizes Hotch. He’ll want to be with him now.

“I’m not doing it for you,” you say with a smile, knowing you’re about to play your ace. “I’m doing it for Jack, who is sick and should see his father.”

There’s no room to argue with you. Hotch picks up his briefcase and thanks you. With long strides, he leads the way out of the bullpen and towards the garage.

Ten minutes later, find yourself rushing to stack empty to-go-cups and loose papers, shoving them away as Hotch climbs into your car. “It’s no problem, really. Sorry about the mess.”

Hotch shakes his head. His lips are a little less downturned than usual, which in your mind almost constitutes a smile. “Consider it noted,” he says, “We’ll talk during your next performance review.”

Fighting a smile, you can’t help it. You hit his arm. “I take it back. I’m not sorry.”

“It really isn’t a mess,” he says. “And you really shouldn’t be sorry. You should see my car. You can’t move for Jack’s toys.”

You hum, hands gripping the wheel as your reverse out of the spot, “Be careful what you admit around me. You might be my boss, but I can always snitch on you to yours.”

An amused huff is the closest you get to making him laugh, but you take it. He shakes his head. “I’ve had too many uncomfortable conversations with Strauss to bother counting. I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“Not if I have a hand in it.”

Neither of you says anything for a long while after that, and neither mind. What the protocol is for driving your boss home outside of work, you aren’t sure. If there is something in the FBI manual about it, you’re quite sure Hotch knows it – but asking him feels a little on-the-nose, and so you keep quiet and put the radio on.

You’re also sure that there isn’t anything in the FBI manual about what music is appropriate to listen to with your boss in your passenger seat. If there were, you’re certain the songs on at the moment – half of which you vaguely remember Morgan and Garcia dancing to on one of the team’s nights at the bar, and the other of which might be their next choices – don’t make the cut.

Feeling your face heat up, you clear your throat. “I think I have a couple Beatles albums in the glove box if you wanna look for one,” It isn’t so much a suggestion as it is a request — maybe even an order – and you know he senses that. With a nod, he reaches over to open it.

“You’ve got eclectic taste,” Hotch says after a moment, raising an eyebrow at you as he pulls out one of the CDs buried somewhere in the pile. “I didn’t take you for a Mozart fan.”

The corner of his mouth pulls itself into a smirk. It’s the kind reserved for non-working occasions, or, alternatively, occasions that don’t require the wearing of a suit jacket. Like now. Not that you’ve noticed the broad lines of his shoulders in his dress shirt, or the movement of his Adam’s apple as he speaks, more easily seen with the top two buttons undone. And if you have, that’s nobody’s business.

You shrug. “I’m not one, really. Reid likes it.”

For a long second, he looks at you. “You keep a CD in your car for Reid?”

“He doesn’t like the radio. It’s distracting. I don’t particularly like it, either.”

Hotch doesn’t let up, “That’s…very thoughtful of you.”

Keeping your eyes on the road is more of a task than you’d like.

“They’re only a couple dollars. I just buy them when I see them.”

He takes another look in the glove box, grabbing a beaten-down copy of The White Album and pushing it into the player. But before the opening to ‘Back in the USSR’ is even over, he’s pressed pause and shifted in his seat to look at you head-on. Silence stretches between the two of you again. The dull hum of the engine and the rain battering the windows sound, of a sudden, much louder.

“What? You’re making me nervous.”

He is. If becoming skilled in the art of dangerous driving weren’t a side-effect of working with the BAU, you might’ve crashed the car by now.

You chance a look over at him. His expression is set in a frown. Over your short tenure with the team, you’ve fallen witness to enough of what Morgan deems his ‘Hotchner frowns’ (trademark implied) to know that this one is different. There’s something softer about it, more considerate than displeased.

“Those other albums…Sinatra, Radiohead, Stevie Wonder…you’ve barely touched them. Not compared to the others.”

Damn profiler. The stubborn part of you — which was a larger part than you’d like to admit — wanted to ignore him. Even so, you know it’d never work. Hotch is just as stubborn as you are, and worse than that, he is far more patient.

“They’re not my favorites, no, but—” you relent.

Gently, Hotch cuts you off. “No, they’re not. They’re Rossi’s, Prentiss', and Morgan’s. I’m sure you’ve got records in there for JJ and Garcia. And–”

You look down again at your hands where they rest on the wheel. The skin of your knuckles pulls as you tighten your hands around it. In a sigh, you admit it. “—And for you too, yeah.”

He tilts his head. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “Why?”

Retreating into silence again, you turn the corner onto his street. But even off the clock, Hotch’s presence is commanding, his stare on you unassuming and exposing all at once.

You laugh. “Remind me never to end up in an interrogation with you again. You’re terrifying.”

“You haven’t learned enough from them if you’re still deflecting,” he says, ignoring your jibe. Instead he folds his hands in his lap.

You could double down, tell him jokingly to fuck off and then claim that swearing at him is entirely acceptable in non-working circumstances. What it is stopping you from giving him the answer he wants, you’re not sure. This isn’t the office. It’s not neutral ground. This is your car, your territory. Forced out of the context of work, Hotch is no longer just an abstract concept, your hardass of a boss — he’s a real person. Your friend. And something about that pulls at you.

“I had a little trouble adjusting, at first,” you say, stretching the words out until they become unfamiliar things. “More than I’d expected. I knew when I took the job what it’d be like. On paper, at least. But the first few cases…it was another thing to be doing it, you know?”

It’s the truth. The early days, right after you joined the team, were rough. They’d been a constant guessing game of when to speak up and when to keep quiet, when to shove down all of the stress and the fear and the self-loathing and when, if ever, to let yourself feel it.

Hotch stays quiet this time, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Was it too honest to admit that? His presence has gone to your head, like wine on a summer evening.

“I never let it affect my work–” you say in a rush, self-preservation instincts in full swing. You stop halfway, let the words wither in your throat.

One of Hotch’s hands twitches as if to reach for you, but retreats at the last seconds, remaining limp in his lap. He hums, his voice a low murmur. “I know that.”

You’ve come this far. Might as well finish this. “We’d come home from a case, and sometimes I’d drive Reid back so he didn’t have to get the subway. We’d drive back to our apartments with the radio on. But the news…”

Hotch sighs, “...Another robbery, another murder. Another thing out of our reach.”

There’s no judgment in his eyes, none of the sharp analysis profiling demands. It hits you again that you aren’t talking with the man that conducts your performance reviews, but the man who rolls his eyes at Reid and Morgan’s bickering, the father who’d drop anything to make his son happy.

A smile feels a little out of your reach as you remember those early months, so you settle for a nod. “I picked up a CD or two after the first couple weeks. Then I found out Reid liked classical music, so I looked for some. And it made sense, if I was giving Morgan or Prentiss or Garcia a ride too. I guess it got a little out of control.”

Hotch shakes his head. “That’s not out of control. It’s kind,” he starts, then stops for a second, his features rearranging themselves into a frown once more. “You know you don't have to do nice things for people to get them to like you, don’t you?”

Eyes widening, you almost think you’ve heard him wrong. “What?”

He tilts his head, his gaze on you soft as you put the car into park in front of his apartment complex. “Maybe you don’t do it anymore, but towards the beginning…I got the feeling you thought you’d have to move mountains to get the team to like you. And you didn’t.”

He’s right. You really had felt alone, for the first few months. You’d done everything you could to make yourself tolerable: memorized Garcia’s miles-long Starbucks order, lied about where you lived to Reid so he didn’t feel guilty about taking a lift from you, nodded along when Morgan told you about his housing projects even though you hadn’t a clue about property development. You’d done it all. And it had worked.

Maybe you hadn’t needed to do it. But over time, obligation had morphed into affection, and you liked to. Hence the music.

“Hotch…”

You’re glad he speaks before you can get any further, because you really have no idea what to say. “I mean it,” he says quietly. “Anyone with sense would do that all on their own.”

“Thank you,” you say, swallowing. “I hope Jack feels better soon.”

“I’ll tell him you said hi. He’ll appreciate it.” he says, checking his watch. “I’d better go check on him. Thank you for driving me back. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod. “Tomorrow.”

He climbs out of the car, head bowed against the rain, and you wait for him to get inside before you pull away. You’re not mad about the Beatles. The White Album wouldn’t be your pick of their records. But the drive is long, long enough to let yourself think, and you leave it playing until you’re home.

#hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #thomas gibson #aaron hotch fanfiction #how the fuck does tumblr work #soft hotch #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x reader #ssa aaron hotchner

620 notes · View notes

munsonslove · 2 years

Text

Make It Up to You

(18+ only) (read part 2 here)

summary: After Eddie’s van stalls when he tries to leave your party, you invite him to stay the night.

wordcount: 5.3k

tags/warnings: fem!virgin!sub!reader (18+ and a high school graduate), softdom!Eddie, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, praise kink, sharing a bed, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dacryphilia, teasing, begging, use of pet names (baby, babygirl, pretty girl, sweetheart, sweetie, good girl), no use of y/n

a/n: first fic! kinda set it up for a part 2, so let me know if you want one~

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?” Eddie asks as he ever so slightly grazed his fingertips up your thigh. You think back to where you were at the start of your day and wonder how you ended up here.

After unexpectedly learning that morning you would be home alone for the entire weekend you wasted no time calling up all your friends and telling them to come over after dark. Most of them were your fellow band nerds at the high school you graduated from a month prior, along with a handful of tutoring clients that you had kept in touch with. The first person you called was your best friend of the past four years, Robin Buckley. She, of course, is more than excited to hear the news, and tells you she’ll cover letting ‘the gang’ know.

‘The gang’ she’s referring to is the rather surprising group of friends she’s accumulated this past year. Steve Harrington’s been around the longest, having worked with Robin at the ice cream parlor in the mall that burned down last summer, and now at Family Video. Though you were skeptical at first that spending time with the former King of Hawkins High would be enjoyable, you quickly came to see why Robin loved him so much. Your duo with her became a trio, and despite the sneaking suspicion that the two were hiding something from you, having him as a friend made you happier than planned. The next unanticipated friendly addition was Nancy Wheeler. You didn’t know much about her back in school, just that she was head of the newspaper and Steve’s ex. Getting to know her now, she’s impressed you with her tenacity and cleverness. It’s clear why someone like her would get along so well with your Robin, but you still wondered how this relationship even came to be. Whenever you questioned them they gave vague answers and changed topics, so you ultimately decided to just give up on the subject.

Then there was Eddie.

Eddie Munson may have been the most unpredictable out of all of them. Sure, being in the marching band meant you and Robin rolled with the outcasts, but he was a different breed of outcast. His bold personality- often resulting in causing scenes in the halls and outbursts in the cafeteria- has always intrigued you. And though most wouldn’t have suspected it from someone like you, you found his personal aesthetic very attractive. You didn’t live in a strict household by any means, but that was only because you never exhibited the type of rebellious nature that made it necessary. Still, the lure of loud music, drugs, and taboo role playing games (that may or may not have to do with Satanism) was too tantalizing to ignore completely. You often found yourself gazing his way during your time in school and daydreaming, even back in freshman year when he was a junior. Coming back from spring break to see your best friend laughing at her locker with the super-super senior of your desires was definitely a shock.

Pretty soon it was nightfall and your backyard was packed with 18-20 year olds drinking lukewarm beers, happy to have a distraction from their impending dooms of adulthood. Luck was on your side tonight, seeing as your neighbors to the left were out of town, and the ones to the right were so old they wouldn’t hear a fire truck’s siren if it was directly outside their window. The tape playing from the boombox was a mix specially curated by yours truly to appease as many party goers as possible. So while it included Bowie, Blondie, and Beatles, it also had Black Sabbath. Every time a song came on that you picked out with Eddie in mind he would lock eyes with you, throwing a knowing and toothy smile your way. The confirmation that something you did pleased him brought butterflies to your stomach, and filled your mind with ideas on how to see that smile again.

Just to be on the safe side, you still kept the music as low as you could without hearing complaints from anyone. And by anyone, you meant Eddie, who liked his radio blasting so loud he could feel his eardrums vibrate. He did, however, turn the volume down out of courtesy whenever he picked you up for group hangouts. The gesture of that alone caused your heart to flutter more than it should have, and left you feeling like you were floating in his passenger seat. Him placing his hand on your knee while he drove would always bring you back down to Earth, though, along with migrating the fluttering feeling to a different part of your body. Distracted by the memory of his skin on yours, you don’t notice him making his way over to you until you feel his arm snake its way around your torso.

He stays by your side the remainder of the night, even as the crowd starts to thin out by around 2am. You’re left completely alone with him when Nance and Rob get into Steve’s car and drive off. You try to tell him he doesn’t need to stick around to clean, but he insists and helps pick up the crushed aluminum cans and red solo cups from your lawn. It doesn’t take long, much to your disappointment, and the easy conversation and inside jokes come to an early end as you walk with him around the side of your house. You both drop the trash bags filled with proof of a successful night of partying on the curb by the garbage bins his van was parked next to, and he pulls you into a hug. With a kiss to the top of your head (a habit he picked up early on in your friendship), he says his final goodbye and slides into his front seat. You wait patiently to see him off, but the stalling of his engine puts those plans to rest. He gets back out, returning to your side with a sheepish grin and explains that his engine’s been acting up recently and he hasn’t had the chance to get a look under the hood quite yet. Just as he’s about to ask if you have a toolbox laying around somewhere, you suggest that he should stay the night, since it’s already so late anyway.

“You sure you don’t mind? I didn’t mean to back you into a corner or anything, baby,” he asks, using his favorite pet name for you.

You roll your eyes and scoff, “Of course I don’t mind. We’re friends!”

The word ‘friend’ brings a soft smile to his face that confusingly doesn’t reach his eyes. The reassurance does calm his nerves about intruding, however, and he allows you to lead him to your house. Once you're both a little closer, he walks ahead so that he can open the front door and gestures for you to enter first.

“So,” he starts as he shuts the door behind himself and locks it, “do I get a tour of your bedroom before you send me to the couch?”

The sudden surge of audacity you feel comes out of the blue. In the past, the only time you’d been this forward with Eddie was when you were at the very least tipsy, but neither of you had had more than a couple beers tonight. So it was as much to his sober surprise as it was yours when you responded, “You don’t want to sleep with me?”

His eyes widen, jaw dropping to bring his mouth to an ‘O’ shape, but he quickly recovered to his signature smirk. “Well I certainly wouldn’t say no to that,” he chuckles, tone dripping innuendo on the final word.

The implication of what you said hits you like a freight train, and you scramble to correct yourself. “I just meant- I don’t mind sharing the bed! The air conditioning in the living room isn’t as good as mine, and it’s such a hot night-“

“Relax, sweetheart,” he interjects, using his second favorite pet name for you. “I’m just teasing. Trying to make you blush.” You suspect he succeeded in his attempt, if the warmth in your cheeks has anything to say about it.

Turning on your light, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He skims over your music collection, runs his fingers along the spines of your books, laughs quietly at the small collection of stuffed animals you still had from when you were a kid. Usually you would have felt embarrassed, but his laughter held no malice. He wasn’t making fun of you, simply reacting. You waited for his comment about your cuteness- a common adjective he’d use that you’d at first confused as mocking until realizing he meant it as a compliment- but it never came. Your room is slightly chilly, but it feels good on your skin after spending hours in the humid summer air. It even wasn’t that messy, thankfully, and the inviting softness of your bed was tempting you like a siren call despite your doubt that you’d be able to get any sleep with Eddie laying beside you. The man in question catches your attention again, tearing you from your racing thoughts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and unbuttoning his jeans.

“I sleep in just boxers, is that a problem? I mean, you know I don’t have a change of clothes or anything,” he explains.

“Yeah, totally fine!” you assure, trying not to be too obviously excited by the view of his tattoos on full display, “No big deal. Like really, it’s okay.” Admittedly, the reassurance was more to convince yourself than him.

He nods and takes his pants off- balling them up and tossing them to the side, then pulls back your duvet and crawls into bed, leaving enough room for you to get in as well. He lays on his side, one of his hands supporting his head as he stares at you expectedly. His unabashed behavior while undressing soothed your anxiety slightly, encouraging you to yank down and kick off your own jeans. You make the choice to actively ignore Eddie’s amusement at your eagerness. Normally this is when your bra would come off, but you decided instead to just leave it on, nervous that removing said item would be viewed as a step too far. Turning off your light, you slide in under the covers next to the boy you’ve had eyes for since you were 14.

You only have a full size mattress, so although the both of you fit it was unlikely the night would pass without making contact. The thought of even accidentally feeling his touch in your bed, in the dark, with neither of you wearing pants… It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. You didn’t know if you should hope for or avoid it. Logically, in the long run it would be better for your own well-being to not let yourself fall too hard for someone who only thought of you as a friend, so you chose the latter. You tried to give him plenty of space and hoped he didn’t notice your slinking away from him. He noticed.

“What’s wrong pretty girl? Scared to touch me?” he jokes. If only he knew the truth in his statement. You deny it with a curt head shake, and he shoots you an unimpressed look at the obvious lie. Knowing he wouldn’t drop it, you exhale a shaky breath and scooch more toward the center of the bed. He still persists though, and your mind short circuits when he leans in close to whisper, “If you’re not scared, how about you let me hold you?”

He’s challenging you, and you’re not about to back down. You nod and roll over to face away from him before that little voice in your mind can tell you this is a bad idea. He wraps one of his arms around your torso- hand resting against the underside of your boob, his pelvis pressed firmly against your behind, and his leg found its way to be sandwiched between yours, thigh warm against your core. With the humiliating realization that there’s only a single layer of fabric between your growing wetness and his bare skin, you try to discreetly position yourself in a way where he might not be able to tell you’re practically dripping just from cuddling alone.

“Why are you squirming, baby?” he hums in your ear, breaking the silence in the room as he flattens his palm against the area just above your belly button and holds you tighter against himself. “Are you not comfortable?”

He’s not hard, but the thin materials of his and your underwear isn’t enough to stop you from feeling his length settle in between your ass cheeks. You hold back a moan and force out “I am comfortable, I just… Um…”

He props himself up on the arm that was previously under his head and scoots away just far enough that he can take your shoulder and roll you onto your back, urging you to look at him. The light of the streetlamps outside filter in through the thin slots of the blinds on your window and illuminate your face, allowing him to see you clearly.

“Aw sweetie, you’re blushing so pretty for me,” he murmurs, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek. With a start, you realize from the gleam in his eyes that he’s teasing you.

You angrily push his hand away and accuse him just that. He doesn’t even try to deny it. Throwing the blanket off of you, you sit up and glare at him. He simply says that he ‘couldn’t help it’, and that ‘you just kept getting cuter the more and more flustered you became’.

“Is this a joke to you? I’m just some… some…” you struggle for the right words, clearly upset. “Some dumb girl for you to play around with when you know you have no intention of returning her feelings?”

His teasing sneer immediately fades as he follows you into a sitting position. “No sweetheart. Believe me, I never saw you that way,” he promises, “You’re so important to me.”

Your annoyance dissipates, hope blossoming in your chest. “Do you swear?”

“On my guitar.” he replies, smiling with you when you let out a small chuckle. A moment of quiet passes, the both of you just looking at each other. His flirtatious tone returns as he lightly caresses your thigh and says, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?”

You’re brought back to the present when his hand on your bare thigh slipped underneath the hem of your baggy t-shirt and crept up the softness of your hips to pause at your waist.

“I could feel how hot you got against my thigh,” he whispers, dragging you closer to him then continuing the path of his hand upward until you could feel his calloused, guitarist fingertips along the underwire of your bra. “I could feel your pulse,” he practically growled, and you gasp out the air you were unconsciously holding, shocked by his statement. He pulls you closer even still, until you're nearly on his lap. His lips are almost touching your ear, and the hot breath released with his next words send a shiver straight through you.

“Just say yes, baby. That’s all I need from you. A yes.” You turn to look at his eyes and see no trace of humor.

“Yes.”

He removes his hand out from under your shirt so that he can take either side of your jaw. “If at any point you want me to stop, say the word and I will,” he tells you. Before you can question why you would ever want him to stop, he leans in and connects your lips.

The kiss is slow but firm, and you have to stop yourself from thinking about the women that frequent the Hideout on Tuesday nights, wondering if they have something to do with his supposed expertise. There’s no time for jealousy right now, not when Eddie’s brushing his tongue against your lower lip, wordlessly asking for entry. You grant permission, and when you feel the foreign muscle flexing next to your molars, you moan into his mouth. Eddie stops the kiss and laughs when that causes you to whine.

“Come here,” he says. “Straddle me.” So you do.

Sitting astride his lap with your knees bent and tucked beneath you, you place your hands on his shoulders. His own hands slip underneath your shirt once more, palms pressed flat against your lower back as he kissed you again, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, biting gently, and pulling away. You hear a quiet ‘plop’ noise as it snaps back into place. He starts kissing just below your jaw and navigates his hands to your sides, latching onto your waist. His grip tightens as he starts rocking you against himself.

You gasp, feeling his dick harden. “Oh Eds-“ but cut yourself off with your hand to your mouth.

His kiss leaves your jaw and his touch leaves one side of your waist as he roughly pulls the guilty hand away from your mouth, holding it raised beside your head. “Don’t try to be quiet,” he demands with an authoritative tone. You’re surprised by the sudden ordering, but the domineering was not unwelcome. His expression lightens and he relaxes as he explains, “It’s just us here. Let me hear all the pretty noises you make. The ones I've been imagining every night for weeks.”

The confession startles you even more than the ordering. “You think of me at night?” He hums in confirmation, letting go of your hand. It stays frozen in the air though, the shock from the image of him touching himself and getting off to the thought of you causing your brain to go blank.

“At night,” he presses a kiss to your neck, “the morning,” one to your collarbone, “afternoon,” another to the small bit of shoulder he can get to from where your shirt slid down. He looks up, his nose brushes against yours. “When I'm watching TV, playing guitar, planning campaigns... all the time. You don’t know what you do to me.”

Hearing that he’s been feeling the way you’ve felt for years drives you crazy. You grab his face and kiss him greedily, groaning when you feel him smile against your mouth and pull away yet again.

“I know you think about me too, babygirl. I know you’ve been thinking of me,” he accuses. Your embarrassment is ignored as he continues, “I see how you look at me. I see how your eyes bulge outta your head whenever my shirt rides up and you can see my happy trail.”

“What?” you yelp, “You knew you were turning me on?” He starts laughing, and presses his face into the crook of your neck. “Eds, I thought I was a perv! I felt dirty!”

His humor vanished abruptly. He raised his head and stared directly into your soul, before growling, “Oh, I can make you feel dirty.” A shiver went up your spine as he started rocking you against him again, “I can make you feel really dirty. Do you want me to, baby?”

“Please.”

He grins widely. “You begging sounds even better than I imagined. Keep moving your hips for me, okay?” His hands stop guiding your movements as they leave your waist to travel up your front, bunching the fabric as he groped your chest over your shirt. You moan wantonly and do as he says, grinding on his cock without any direction.

“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart,” he praises, “Good girl.”

He’s never used that before. You’ve heard ‘pretty girl’, ‘babygirl’… never ‘good girl’. You like it. A lot. You never realized how much you wanted to be a good girl for Eddie. How much you wanted to be his good girl.

“Raise your arms,” he commands, and you obey without question. You hold still for him as he pulled your shirt off, but once the cool chill of your air conditioned bedroom finally hit your heated skin, you immediately continued grinding against him. Despite this, his nimble fingers were able to skillfully undo your bra, and he ripped it from your body like it was a personal offense. He quickly seized the opportunity to take one of your nipples into his warm, wet mouth. One hand found its way to the flesh of your ass, fingers digging in and probably leaving marks, while the other massaged the breast not being attacked by his tongue. Your movement grew desperate, hips aggressively meeting his as you threw your head back in pleasure and made ridiculous lewd noises that you never even knew you were capable of. After a while he switched sides, making sure to give the other nipple the same amount of attention.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned when his lips finally left your chest, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He was mesmerized by the sight of your tits bouncing in his face as you humped him. Your vulgar wailing never stopped as his lips went on with their assault to the delicate skin of your neck, in fact it impossibly raised in volume. “I bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you? Before I even get my hands on that pretty pussy.” You glanced down at him and nodded dumbly, lost in the feeling. “God, you're so responsive. No one’s ever made it feel this good before, huh?”

Your grinding stutters momentarily before picking back up again, and you look away, trying to keep your expression as unreadable as possible. His brows furrowed in confusion before it finally clicked. “Sweetheart,” he says, taking your waist and halting your movement, “you’ve never been with anyone else?”

You hesitate to answer. “Are you going to make fun of me if I say I haven't?”

His disbelief is palpable, but he shakes his head no anyway. “Of course not, silly. I just wish I had known. I got you doing all the work and it’s your first time.” He lifts you off of his lap, his voice going from comforting to seductive as he says, “Lay back for me, baby. I'm gonna make it good for you. I don't want you thinking about anything except for how amazing it feels, understand?”

You bit your lip and nodded, climbing the rest of the way off of him and laying down lengthwise on the bed as Eddie stood up. You expected to get on top, but to your surprise he instead cupped his hands under your armpits and manhandled you so that you were horizontal across the bed. He grabbed your hips and positioned them on the edge of the mattress, your legs hanging off the side, with knees bent and feet on the floor. Then, he got down on his knees in front of you.

You pushed yourself up just in time to see his awestruck face when he spread your thighs apart. “Jesus, baby,” he gushed, “you soaked through your panties.” You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed when he presses the pad of his thumb to where your clit is under the fabric. Your elbows give way under you and you fall onto your back, moaning loud. One of your thighs involuntarily twitches, rising up above his head as your calf tucked in and your toes curled. “All worked up aren’t you? Poor thing. I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” He holds your already raised leg in place, then slides his hand under your other thigh, hoisting that one up as well. With both of your legs elevated, he dips his fingers under the elastic of your underwear. “Up,” he instructs.

You dig your heels into the edge of the mattress and use them as support so you can do as he says. Once your hips are off the bed, he slides the panties off and down. You lower yourself and lift your heels, and Eddie finally pulls the last of the clothing off of your body. He tosses the garment to the side, not caring where it lands. After your feet lowered to rest on the floor again, he took your knees in both hands and spread you wide open, putting your drenched folds on full display. He kissed his way up to the apex of your thigh and you tensed, preparing yourself for his first contact with your aching center, only for him to turn his head and repeat this gesture on the opposite side.

“Pl-please Eds,” you disturb his actions with a broken voice, head thrown back again, this time in frustration instead of pleasure. “Please touch me. Please. I can’t- I’m so- Fuck.” Desperate and pathetic, you grasp both of his hands in yours as you look back down at him. “I'm so horny, I think I might literally, actually explode,” you exaggerate. “Please make me cum. Please, I can't take it.”

He stares back at you slack mouthed and expressionless as you finish shamelessly begging. Your eyes bore into his, absolutely pleading. Finally, he smirks and leans down to lick a single straight line directly up your pussy. You squeeze his fingers- letting out a relieved groan, and he finds it so sweet sounding that he wished he brought a tape recorder.

“So good for me, telling me exactly what you need and asking so politely,” he praises as he frees one of his hands from yours and starts rubbing slow, lazy circles on your clit. “Such good manners. Behavior like that should be rewarded, don't you think?”

“Yes. Oh my god.” It’s dark in your room, what with it being nearly 4 in the morning and the only source of light still being what little is coming in through your blinds. It does cast a slight glow as it bounces off your walls though, so despite the darkness Eddie swears he can see glistening in your eyes as you carry on rambling aimlessly. “Oh my god, thank you. Please, Eds.”

Eddie truly did mean to stop teasing you and get on with it, but the sight of you being so desperate to cum that you were reduced to tears shocks him so much he goes still. You sob out pitifully as you let go of his other hand and throw both of your arms over your face, hiding in the crooks of your elbows. He almost feels bad, but he can’t deny the deep throbbing it causes in his lower region.

“Are you crying baby?” he asks as he begins rubbing his hands up and down your thighs as if trying to console you. “You’re crying for me? I got you that needy?” You start squirming on the bed, and your feet stomp on the floor behind him.

“Watch it now,” he chastised, his hands stilling and his grip tightening, “Remember what we said about good behavior being rewarded? Throwing a temper tantrum will get you nowhere.” You removed your face from its hiding spot and threw your arms back dramatically on the space of the bed above you. Your eyes strain, trying to force your vision to work better in the dark, and you can just barely make out Eddie’s stern expression. His eyebrow raised, “You want to be my good girl right?”

You feel a tear roll down your cheek as you try and fail to keep your voice steady. “I do want to be your good girl! But I've been so patient-“

“I’ll decide when you’ve been patient,” he interrupts strictly, cutting off your complaining. You almost protest, but think better of it and say nothing. “Tell me who’s in charge,” he demands.

“You are,” you comply willingly, stopping your squirming, “You’re in charge. I’ll behave.”

He smiles and loosens his grip “There we go,” he goes back to rubbing your clit, this time faster, with more pressure. You let out a whimper, your moaning starting up again. “Now was that so hard? Since it’s your first time, I’ll forgive your little outburst. Be grateful I’m feeling nice.” He can almost make out the ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s hidden in between your whines.

Pulling his thumb away, he puts his tongue to work. He massages your clit up and down and side to side, until coming to the conclusion that spirals get the best response out of you. “Oh, found the way you like it, did I?” he asks between licks, “Is this the way your fingers do it when you’re all alone and thinking about me?”

You nod vigorously. Your eyes squeezed shut at some point, and you might draw blood with how hard you’re biting your lower lip. Reaching down, you comb your fingers through Eddie’s hair as he swirls his tongue in circles. Pretty soon, you are grasping at the bedsheets, heels dug into his shoulder blades, toes curling. You’re loud, but speaking no words. Your head is completely empty and all you can focus on in the coil inside of you growing tighter, and tighter, and tighter. Suddenly, you feel Eddie slide two fingers into you and curl them upwards. You gasp so hard you nearly choke.

He lifts his mouth from your clit, quickly moving to continue the motions with his thumb, the fingers on his other hand working their way in and out of you fast and hard. “You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You look down at him with pleading, teary eyes. “Can I?”

That response causes his actions to falter ever so slightly, then he carries on with even more force than before. His fingers speed up, pumping in and out of you and hitting you just perfectly in the right spot every time, and your moans get impossibly louder. “So well behaved for me, asking permission. Fuck babygirl. You can cum. Whenever you want to, you can cum.”

He returns his mouth to you and sucks in while circling his tongue. That was all it took for you to start spasming underneath him. You came so quickly after Eddie giving the okay that it was easy for him to tell you’d been holding it back for a while. He keeps his fingers inside of you during your climax, wanting to feel the way your walls tightened and clenched around them. The assault on your swollen clit never ceases, helping you to ride out your orgasm for as long as possible, and he only eased off when the sensitivity caused you to push him away. He pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean before standing and kissing his way up your trembling body as you struggle to catch your breath. Picking you up from under your armpits again, he drags you to the middle of the mattress, lays you longways, then lifts his knees onto the bed to crawl on top of you. When he sees your blissed out face he can’t help but kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. In between pecks, he strokes your hair and whispers comforts like ‘I got you’ and ‘Breathe, sweetheart, you did so well’. After about 5 minutes, you begin to regain your composure slightly, or at least enough to look at Eddie and see the adoration in his eyes. The sincerity in his expression makes your stomach flip, and it honestly almost feels like a small wave of aftershocks. He kisses at your neck again, sucking and biting slowly as he starts grinding on your thigh. You glance down, face full of lust as your eyes travel past his tattoos and body hair, until finally settling on the impressively sized tent he was still sporting.

“I want to make you cum, too,” you proclaim as you slide your hand down his abdomen until you reach his boxers and lightly graze his bulge.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he says, taking your chin in his hand and pulling you into a slow kiss. “We’re not done yet. Just letting you have a little breather.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic

3K notes · View notes

carolmunson · 1 year

Text

the nerve.

virgin!eddie x reader, semi-modern AU, it's the very early 2000s (early enough that the phantom menace would have already come out in 1999, but cellphones weren't really a thing yet.) i feel like we've been on a toxic!eddie train for a little so here's a little love drunk baby boy (in his late 20s) whose been about you for ages but the timing wasn't right. now you're together and it's time, but he's real nervous. this fic is mostly from eddie's point of view, so, hopefully you bitches like that. super fluffy, smutty, sweet. cute. tooth rotting even. warnings: smut, minors dni. couples first time, virgin!eddie, p in v, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving).

Eddie's hands are sweating when he pulls up to your house. A small little one bedroom he's been in so many times before -- cozy and soft, like you. You never have the overhead lights on, except for in the kitchen. Always opting for something warm and glowly, decorative. You told him a story once about how women used to put pink lightbulbs in their house so they'd look younger and he never forgot it, so now he tells people that story and says he learned it from you.

You hadn't been dating long, but he feels like he's been with you forever. You come so naturally to him -- years of friendship will do that to a person, he guesses. Spending those years watching you be with someone else, someone he didn't really know very well -- different town, someone you used to know in college with Nancy. When you showed up to Steve's after the break-up he was almost relieved but he felt awful about it. Feeling giddy while you cried into Nancy's shoulder and Robin rubbed your back. You thought you were gonna marry that guy -- how?! He didn't even like your favorite movie! He didn't even know how you liked your pancakes! Or how you lie about what your favorite song is depending on who you're with! (It's a tie between Nina Simone's 'New Day' and The Beatles' 'Blackbird' in case anyone was wondering.)

Getting here, coming to your house for dinner dates, taking you out, holding your hand, that was an easier task than what was to come. But it wasn't an easy road to get here for him either. He wasn't really great at the whole girls thing.

It's why he was was still blushy and nervous the night you came over to Steve's for a movie night. You all got snowed in. He knew you liked him and you knew he liked you but you weren't sure if you 'like' liked each other -- you'd never said. Neither of you had.

He stopped breathing when you'd sat next to him, sinking into the cushions of Steve's large L-shaped sectional with your knees brushing. Steve casting glances over at Eddie to implement at least one trick he taught him to get close to you. 'If she doesn't do it back then you know it's not happening, it's that easy.' It's that easy? He'd rather die than make a move and have you not be into it.

You were half way through The Empire Strikes Back when he noticed Steve knock Robin on the knee with his. Robin looked over at the two of you, knees and shoulders touching, hands to yourselves. Her lips curled into a mischevious smile when she realized what her partner in crime was asking from her.

"Hey," she whispered over to you, offering you a peach ring from the bag, "Want one?"

"Ooh, thank you," you whispered back. 'They're my favorite.' He thinks it as you say it to her, he knows they're your favorite, that's why he always picks them up at the gas station before he shows up to these things. The crinkling of the bag gets Nancy's attention and she casts a glance up at Steve from where she's settled in the crook of his arm. They share knowing looks, shaking her head while her attention goes back to the screen.

"You want one, Ed?" she asks, except this time her hand is much farther away, resting on the back of the couch so that he'll have to reach behind you to get one. Eddie looks at her, eyes begging, 'you're kidding'. Her eyes glint back in the glow of the TV, 'I'm not kidding.'

"Yeah, sure," he says shakily, reaching across the back of the couch. If you know what he's doing, you're not letting on and that's fine with him. He grabs the candy, popping it in his mouth and letting his arm rest behind you at first -- heart pounding while he moves it downward enough so that you can feel him drape himself around you. He can't look at you at all while he does it, terrified that you might be disgusted by him even attempting to be close to you.

He swallows when you turn to him, your knees pressing up to his thigh when you shift your hips towards him, feet tucking up onto the couch. Eddie turns slowly to see you looking up from his shoulder, eyes shining with a smile.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," you say back in a whisper, inching your face a little closer to him, "Can you tell me what's happening?"

He lets out an airy chuckle through his nose, "I always forget you haven't seen these, sorry we started with the second one."

"So, right now," he starts, pointing at the screen, "Harrison Ford's character--"

"Anakin," you say, certain of your answer.

"No," Eddie laughs.

"Qui-gon Jinn," you offer, as a new answer. "Oh my fucking God," he laughs, running a hand over his face in disbelief. He looks at you, toothy grin and all, "You don't know who Harrison Ford's character is, but you know the name Qui-gon Jinn?"

"It's very memorable," you say softly, laughing at yourself. He loves that about you -- you're very confidently wrong sometimes.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, "That's like, in the newer movies -- he's not even in the ones from the 80s."

"Oh -- is it Obi-wan?" you ask, "Or Luke?"

"You know you're the assistant editor for the Culture section, right?" he asks, his face inching closer to yours, "How do you not know about film culture?"

"More like nerd culture," you huff back, rolling your eyes. When you turn your attention back to the screen he feels you settle into the crook of his waist, scooching yourself closer to him. His hand falls to your shoulder, unsure if he should hold you the way Steve holds Nancy -- arm wrapped around with a hand resting on her hip. That might be better for another day when he was feeling more confident.

Your head finds a home on his shoulder and part of his chest, your hair smells like Herbal Essences and he only knows that because he started buying it recently. He holds his breath for a moment while you get comfortable against him. Eddie eases himself against you, hand around your bicep to pull you in closer.

"Harrison Ford is Han Solo," he says to the top of your head.

"No, he's Obi-wan," you mutter defiantly, brushing off his answer.

"Sure," he laughs, "You're right, he's Obi-wan."

He kissed you in the kitchen after everyone had gone to bed and you both stayed up talking over a six pack. You tasted like peach rings.

Once he parks in the drive way he gives himself a mini peptalk all the way to your door. It's not like it was your first date, which he'll admit went really well, but this was the date. You both felt it. With every kiss getting more feverish, every makeout getting more and more hot and heavy, every wandering hand and mouth -- he was gonna have sex with you tonight.

Which would have been fine.

If he wasn't a virgin.

He'd gone over and over it again with Steve. Tips, help, tricks, reassurance -- but all of it made him feel even more inexperienced. It took him three years to graduate high school and he wasn't exactly the most popular guy there. No one caught his eye when he threw himself into work at the auto-shop, even less at the craft store full of old ladies, and even less at the comic book shop where all he was, was surrounded by other vigrins who were ten years younger than him.

He was always too nervous to talk to girls at The Hideout or other bars his band played at. They were almost always more into Jeff and Gareth anyway. Smooth talking, suave, more confident with age -- he felt like he was behind. Regressing, even. More focused on his hobbies, his friendships, more focused on you. How you'd talk about work and whether you wanted to move closer to the city. How you'd hang out at the bar with him after a gig and listen with bright eyes while he told you what was coming next for the band. How you'd ask about the next campaign for the store's D&D club. Even if you didn't get it, you at least tried. Anakin, Obi-wan, Qui-gon Jinn.

He knocks and rings the bell, he can hear the thump! of Brutus, your old gray cat, jumping from the couch down to the floor getting ready to greet him. You appear, flushed and smiley, some of your hair stuck to your cheeks with sweat.

"Hi, sorry, the kitchen's kind of hot -- didn't get a chance to y'know -- get my shit together," you say, while the door opens. He swears his heart is going to come out of his mouth out of these days with how it rises in his throat when he sees you.

"You look pretty," he says, shrugging off his jacket when he steps inside. You press a kiss to his cheek but it's not enough. With his coat still in his hand he catches you with the free one, stopping you before you head back to the kitchen, to kiss your lips.

"Hi, baby," he says quietly. You grin, eyes downcast to the floor.

"Hi."

"How was work today?" he asks, finally stepping away to hang up his coat in your closet by the door. Brutus follows him with scraggly 'meows' and 'rahhs', weaving through his boots to get his attention.

"Work was worky. Nancy's bummed she didn't get that promotion but she'll be alright," you scrunch your nose in sympathy for Nance, drying your hands off on your jeans.

"She's got bigger things going for her anyway," Ed says, bending down to scratch Brutus behind the ears. The cat nuzzles his hand with a pleased purr, following him who was following you back into the kitchen. He looks at the pots and pans boiling and simmering, the light on in the tiny oven. Your kitchen and little and hasn't been updated since the sixties but you told him you prefer it. 'S'part of my charm,' you'd say. He thought all of you was charming.

"This is a lot, baby -- you didn't have to do all this," he pleads. He hates when you over work yourself, and you do it all the time. 'I just wanna impress you,' he thinks your response as you say it because of course you do.

"Everything you do impresses me," he murmurs, coming up behind you while you massage arugula for a side salad, "But I would've been more impressed if you called a pizza joint and placed an order."

"I can't make a phone call," you laugh, "I think it would kill me. I think I'd have a heart attack."

"Which is why I'm saying it would've been more impressive if you ordered a pizza," he says into your hair, leaning his head on your shoulder, "What can I do to make this easier for you?"

"Will you just set the table for me?"

Dinner was delicious. You made it for him, so of course it was. He likes this, snuggling on the couch, laying long ways, Eddie's head on your chest with your hands gliding through his waves. His eyes are fluttering closed and open again while the graze of your nails glides over his scalp. He totally gets why Brutus begs for scratches behind the ears -- this must be exactly what it feels like.

The hum of 'If I Only Had A Brain' leaks out of the TV speakers. This was culture you knew -- you'd seen The Wizard of Oz a hundred times over. He knows it's not your favorite movie, but it's up there, it's close. Your favorite movie is Grease and you don't lie about that to anyone. You got John Travolta's autograph once and framed it when you were little, he remembers you telling him that when you were drunk at karaoke. You sang 'Hopelessly Devoted'.

Then you made him come up and sing Summer Nights with you. He wished he would've kissed you then, but you had a few drinks and he thought maybe you were just feeling flirty. That you didn't like him like that. You wanted to kiss him when he hit the end high note, it still makes your heart race a little when you think about it.

"This is so you," you say, the sleepy hum of your voice vibrates against his ear. He furrows his brow and looks up at you.

"Excuse me? If I only had a brain?" he inquires, hand crawling up to press against your face in a fake smack, "That's mean."

You laugh, it's a sound he wants to be the one to cause for the long haul, "I don't mean you don't have a brain, I mean like -- look at him move. He's such a goofball -- you're like that, you're goofy."

He rolls his eyes, "Okay."

"In a good way!" you argue playfully.

"Oh look, it's you," he teases when the Wicked Witch appears on screen with her green hands and sneering glare.

"Did you know that she actually --"

"Couldn't use her hands to eat or drink whenever she had the makeup on because it was toxic?" he finishes, shifting his body so he was caging you in under him. He uses his free arm to nudge you onto your back, both of your faces hidden by his sheets of dark hair, "You told me."

"Oh," you blush, "Sorry. I always forget who I tell my little facts to."

"No, it's okay," he says softly, leaning down to kiss you, "It's very cute."

"You're very cute," you say back when his lips break away.

"Stop," he says with a giggle. Always so boyish when he doesn't mean to be.

He lets out a sharp exhale through his nose when you lean up to kiss him again. The kiss is chaste and sweet, your legs parting so he can comfortably slot himself between them. He's come to learn how much you like that type of friction and closeness. You like loosely wrapping your legs around him -- it's a thought he has often when he's home alone and thinking about you.

You deepen the kiss, hands finding his hair, tongue snaking into his mouth. Somewhere deep in his belly comes a growl, hips pressing up against yours eagerly. The softest, 'mm!' squeaks out of you at the pressure and he can feel the gentle roll of your hips against him. His heart hammers in his chest -- oh fuck, we're gonna actually do it.

Eddie's eyes flick up to see Brutus on the lounge chair looking at him. He looks back at Brutus, green eyes shining into his brown ones -- it feels...judgemental.

"Could we maybe go somewhere that Brute can't see this? I feel like the spirit of your dad is inside him," Eddie asks, still keeping his eyes on the cat.

You let out an airy laugh through your nose, "Yeah, sure, c'mon."

Your room smells like you, so do your sheets, your pillows. He loved being engulfed like this, he didn't think he could be any more in love with a person.

You follow him in and watch him sit on the bed, eager faced and flushed. He gulps when you take your jeans off, followed by your sweatshirt and socks.

"I just wanted you to see -- surprise!" you cheer quietly, looking back at him. The set was burgundy, made of satin, shiny. Slightly frilled on the ends. Underwear cut high and perfectly laid over the curve of your ass. The cups of the bra in that old timey balconette cut. You bought it on purpose, you bought it for him.

"Oh fuck," he mutters to himself.

"I didn't know if you'd like black or red more so I sorta," you shrug, "Met them in the middle."

"I don't care what color it is," he breathes out, eyes glassy and blown, mouth completely dry. How could you talk so casually to him when you look like this? How could you act like this wasn't a really big fucking deal to have worn a set for him to see? With him in mind? Like, you thought about him while you bought this? His jeans feel tighter by the second. He leans back on his hands on your bed to take you in, "You look -- insane."

"In the good way," he quickly follows up.

"You like it?" you smile.

"I really like it," he nods, gulping again, begging his voice not to crack, "C'mere, let me look at you up close."

He watches you approach him and sits up slowly, hands coming out to caress you. He puts his hands up to cup your breasts, thumbs dragging over the fabric of the bra, drifting down to your hips where he leans forward to kiss the side of your tummy, another by your ribcage, a third on your sternum. He looks up at you afterwards, awaiting your lips when you lean down to kiss him.

"You're so pretty, baby," he mumbles against your lips, "You're beautiful."

He swallows when you get him on his back, biting his lip when you straddle him over his jeans. You take your hair down, he blinks hard to make sure he's not dreaming -- that you're really on top of him, really in lingerie, really looking like that.

"Shouldn't um -- shouldn't I be on top of you?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" you ask with a giggle, "You don't want me to be on top?"

"It's just, like," he sighs, letting his hands rest on the outsides of your thick thighs, "Aren't I supposed to be in charge?"

"You're not supposed to be anything, Ed," you reason, pawing up his chest until you were flat against him. You kiss him but he stays rigid, his mouth rubbery and unmoving.

"You okay?" you ask, his chest pangs.

"Uh, yeah," he says, shaking his head. He racks his brain for anything Steve might've told him, any porn he might've watched. Sure girls were on top but like, they didn't like that did they? Didn't they like being thrown around? Slammed? Fucked? What do you like? Shit, how was he supposed to figure this out? Especially with you grinding your hips like that, slow and teasing -- fuck.

You tug at his shirt and he uses the moment to pull it off, scooching you off him to take off his jeans. Regular, clean, tartan boxers. He wished he'd worn something sexier -- like boxer briefs or something -- something that didn't look so ridiculous with a hard on.

"So we're doing this, right?" he asks, climbing back on the bed and laying you down on the mattress.

"Only if you want to," you smile at him, reaching behind you to snap the bra off throwing it on the floor. All the light in the room was from a single three wick candle on your dresser on the back wall but even then he could see the curves of your chest. The shape of your body under him. Your head hits your pillow and he sighs, using one arm to steady him and the other to glide over you, from your cheek, down your neck, landing on the swell of your breast.

"You're so perfect," he says softly, eyes lingering where his hand was resting. He kneads it gently and smiles when it earns him a small gasp. Your legs part again and he uses his knees to part them further.

You look up at him, a little confused, but part your legs further anyway. He sits up, leaning back to take your arms and pin them against your chest, falling back into his previous position. He kisses roughly, you oblige but it doesn't feel like him.

He bites at your lower lip, hard enough that you let out a whine but he takes it as the go ahead. He lets his mouth wander, nipping down your neck in harsh love bites with nothing to follow up to soothe them. His hand snakes into your hair with a sharp tug.

"Ow," you whisper, but he doesn't hear it. Too busy trying to make sense of this in his head. Is he supposed to lick a stripe up your neck before or after he bites? Is it supposed to be closer to your jaw? Where did he even see this? This would be easier if he wasn't achingly hard.

“Hey, hey, stop — stop,” you say sternly. Eddie recoils immediately, sitting back on his heels and shrinking into himself with a deep blush you can’t see in the low light. His eyes sting with embarrassed tears, adams apple bobbing while he tries to swallow them down. His heart is beating so hard he think it might shoot directly out of his chest. And how awful would that be? First he ruins sex and then he just bleeds all over you?

“What’s going on?” you ask, pulling your blanket up from the end of your bed.

“I just — I’m doing what I thought you might like?” his voice his tight, like he’s holding back a cry, “Am I not doing it right?”

“Ed, I just want you to be yourself,” you sigh. You reach out to him but he slinks away before you can, "You're like, trying to be the DM version of you right now."

"Yeah but he's like, hot and confident," Ed shrugs, "I'm just...Eddie Munson, resident virgin."

"I wanna fuck Eddie Munson, resident virgin," you state plainly. His cock twitches, he thought he might even cum from hearing you say that.

"And you won't know what I like unless you ask me, don't just guess," you instruct softly. He let's you reach back out and touch him, pulling him down to lay next to you. His hand skates over your tummy and he wraps an arm around you to pull you close. The smell of your perfume and shampoo engulfs him instantly -- his brain had to be shutting down at this point.

"This is all about communicating," you assure, "Do you think you like it rough like that? Like how you were doing to me?"

"Um, I don't know," he lies, because he does like that. He thinks he likes doing it and he thinks he'd like it being done to him.

"I like it," you confessed, "Just not right now."

"Oh," he blushes, "You like when I'm rough? Just not all the time?"

"Exactly," you smile.

"So what do you like tonight?" he asks awkwardly, "Or what would you like tonight?"

"Soft," you say, pressing a kiss next to his lips, "And gentle."

You kiss him again, on the lips this time, "You."

With a newfound approach he leans in to kiss you, this he knows he’s good at because Steve overheard you tell Nancy that you ‘never got so wet from making out before’ and that it ‘made you feel like you were in high school again’. He gasps when you break away to kiss his jaw down to his neck, his hand traveling up to get entangled in your hair.

"I really like when you kiss me there," he pants out, eyes rolling when you reach a spot on his neck right above his collar bone, "Fuck."

"There?" you grin against his skin, letting your tongue run over it again before sucking on the spot eagerly.

"Fuck, yeah there," he whines, hips bucking against your thigh. You maneuver him again, crawling on top of him and he succumbs to letting you take the lead. Your hips do that deliciously evil grind over him again, and he can feel how dampened your panties are over his boxers. Each drag of your hips pulls his skin over the head of his cock, sending him hurtling closer to cumming than he anticipated. He reaches feverishly for your hips, holding you to a stop.

"Too much?" you ask. Fuck, why are you so cute?

"A little," he confesses, breaths getting heavy, hips twitching.

"Sorry, I just...I'm really horny," you whisper with a giggle, covering your face with your hand like a visor. He giggles back, shimmying down so your heat was directly over him.

"We can...you know," he says, reaching up to move your hand and place it on his chest, "We can do it."

"You sure?" you ask again.

"I'm sure," he assures, heart still thumping with nerves. He watches you lean over him, breasts directly in his face, knocking his nose, while you fish in your beside table for a condom.

"I brought some, they're in my --"

"Too late," you say, gold foil packet in hand, offering it to him while you sit back between his legs.

"You're too confident in me," he says at the sight of the Magnum XL wrapper.

"I promise I'm not," you laugh, "I've seen a lot of dicks."

You both pause.

"I mean...you...fuck, you know what I mean," you smack your hand to your forehead, "Let me shut the fuck up really quick."

He takes the condom from you and tugs down his boxers slowly, while you help him take them the rest of the way down. He sighs while he reaches down to pump himself a few times before slipping on the latex. He catches your eyes round out when you see it, your soft swallow of the saliva pooling in your mouth.

Maybe you weren't too confident in him.

It was a little tight, if he was being honest.

"I'm gonna be on top, okay?" you ask. He nods, looking at you while you slide off your underwear, nerves building in his throat. Adrenaline coursed through him like he just did a line, like he just played a show. Like you just kissed in Steve Harrington's kitchen. Like when you tasted like peach rings.

You kiss him while you get back over him, sliding over his length with your lips. Your thighs twitch when the rigidness of the underside of his cock runs over your clit.

"Ooh, fuck yes," you mutter to yourself, face crumpling with pleasure.

"That's good? You like that?" he asks, hands resting on your hips while you continue toying with yourself over him. You nod, knowing you're wet enough to take him without foreplay, which will be a different conversation for a different day.

He squirms when you take his cock by the base, guiding the tip to your entrance. "Oh, fuck, fuuuuck me," he gasps while you start sinking down on him, "Jesus fucking Christ. Shit."

He watches you sink all the way down to the base, bodies meeting again. He feels you press your weight on your hands on his chest, eyes rolling when you adjust your hips, walls tightening over him.

"Baby, I -- you're -- Jesus," he gasps, a soft groan follows suit. "Oh my god, oh my god," he hears you whine, eyes begging when he looks up at you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, nerves overriding his pleasure, "I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm okay," you breathe out, "It's just you, fuck, you feel so good."

"I -- I feel good?" he asks, "I'm making you feel good?"

You nod over him, hips dragging up slowly and then back down, little soft gasps and moans coming out of your mouth when you lean your head back. He watches you in awe, light bursting behind his eyes and sparks going off in his belly while you pick up the pace.

"I'm -- oh my god -- I'm not doing -- shit -- I'm not doing anything," he admits, "How am I -- oh god, oh god --"

You slow down, resolving to grinding your hips slowly to answer him, "You don't have to do anything, you just...you fit like, perfectly in me."

He grabs a pillow and covers his face so you don't see him smiling like an idiot, "Are you saying I have a nice dick?"

You laugh and it sends vibrations down his shaft to his sac, his hips jump involuntarily. He feels you reach for the pillow and he grips it harder.

"C'mon, let me see you," he hears you say, relenting when that soft coaxing tone comes out of your mouth. You tuck the pillow off to the side, still sitting there with him inside of you. He puts his hands on your hips, sliding them down your thighs and then back up again.

He mumbles gently, "Can't believe you're here with me."

"I can," you smile, hips rising and falling again.

"Shit," he gasps, fingers pressing hard into the fat of your hips and back to your ass to steady you. He blanks out his mind, shaking out whatever Steve said, whatever porn he watched, whatever he read online. He lets you keep riding him until he sees stars and on instinct he wraps him arms over your hips to keep you in place and pull you to him.

"Want me to slow down?" you gasp out.

"No," he grins, planting his feet on the mattress. He bucks up into you, once, twice, three times until he gets a steady rythym. You feel like fucking heaven, and you sound like it too.

"Oh fuck, Eddie," you whine out, it's high pitched and needy. He grunts in response, chasing his high while your tits bounce in his face.

"Oh my god, oh fuck that's -- that's so good," you gasp, the end coming out in a yelp. Your nails did into his shoulders and he hisses in response, the pain feels good -- he makes a mental note of that to go back to later.

His thrusts slow as he feels himself getting closer to the edge, taking it away from him as he eases up. He wants this to last forever -- he can't even believe he's lasted this long.

"You good?" you ask, taking his face in your hands. He smiles, it's stupid, pussy-drunk.

"M'good, I'm so good," he says softly, "I wanna be on top now."

"Oh, okay," you chuckle out, "Let me just--"

You raise up off him and he whimpers at the feeling of you leaving. The cold air hitting his cock, his chest -- he feels exposed. You lay back on the mattress, legs open and spread for him while your hand travels down to rub lazily at your clit.

"You can't be serious," he whispers, "That's so hot."

"Me touching myself?" you ask.

"Yeah, you -- shit, you're a like a high preistess or some-something," he says, eyes wide with wonder while your hips squirm. He feels stupid after saying it, mentally scolding himself. You're such a fucking loser, Munson.

"Can you um," he takes a deep breath while he steadies himself between your legs, lining himself up with your opening, "Can you keep doing that while I -- do this?"

"Yeah," you nod, a whimper coming out of you when he pushes in. His body knows what to do but finding a rythym is hard at first. The caveman in him wants to just go for it, jackhammer you until he cums. He starts like that, hard and fast thrusts, grunting and moaning like an animal, hips smacking against the backs of your thighs -- but he can hear Steve in his head.

'Start slow and work your way up, try different angles -- when you feel her like...I don't know -- gush? That's when you know you're hitting it right.' 'Gush?" 'Yeah, gush. You'll know what I mean when you finally do it.'

He takes your legs, pressing them up against your chest -- a position he's definitely seen in porn. But the normal kind. The real couples kind. The kind where they're definitely in love. He readjusts, sliding back into you slowly, he smirks to himself when your eyes roll back, arms falling back to your ears.

Then he feels it.

The gush.

"Ed that feels so good," you whine, tears pricking your eyes, "You're doing so good, baby."

Eddie gasps, cock twitching wildly at the praise. His face gets white hot, biting his lip, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

You catch his reaction, letting yourself get louder for him.

"You're such a good boy, Ed," you coo between moans, "You're so good for me."

"So good," he rasps back, hips starting to snap erratically.

"Oh baby, shit, fuck, I'm gonna cum -- m'gonna fuck -- cum," Eddie grunts out, laying flush against you while he finishes out hard and fast. He groans into your ear while you feel him spasm over you and inside you, riding out his orgasm until he comes to a stop. He takes a shaky breath but he doesn't get up, his chest and shoulders continue to shake, he sniffles.

He's crying.

"Oh, no, Eddie -- baby are you okay? What's wrong?" you ask, running your hand over the back of his head. He lifts up slowly, looking at you and your concerned face, your kiss bitten lips.

It makes him want to cry more, "Oh angel, I'm sorry. I'm not sad I --"

"I just love you so much," he sniffles, laughing at the ridiculousness of this, face already wet with tears, "I love you and I've never like -- felt close to anyone like this before. M'sorry for crying. I know it's stupid --"

"It's not stupid," you smile, pulling him to your chest, "I love you, too."

He laughs again, "Do you think I'm some loser virgin for crying?"

He sighs at the feeling of your nails against his scalp again, his body still so sensitive with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"No," you smile, "Especially not a loser virgin. Since, you know, you're not anymore."

"I guess you're right," he says into your neck.

In the light of the three wick candle on your dresser, you both continued you lay there, naked and wrapped up in each other on your bed. You've switched around, your head on his chest and his hand stroking your hair.

"Do you uh," he starts, "Did you cum?"

You shake your head no, "I didn't, but that's okay."

"No, don't say that," he huffs, "Steve said that girls say 'it's okay' but that it's actually not."

"Psh, you really listen to everything that Steve says?" you argue.

"Well yeah, he's -- you know, he used to get girls before him and Nance were official," he says, "He wouldn't lie to me."

"Well I'm not lying to you either," you say, leaning on your side to look up at him, "It's okay."

He squints down at you, "I don't believe you."

With you on your side, he gets up on his knees again, hands finding your hips to lay them back on the bed.

"What're you doing?"

"I said, I don't believe you," he repeat, leaning down to kiss your stomach, your hip bone, the top of your pubic bone, "So I'm gonna make you cum."

"You're really confident," you say while he opens your legs to get between them.

"You think I can't?" he asks, a small frown falling onto his face.

"No, I'm sure you can," you urge, "I'm just saying, you sound really confident."

"It's sexy."

"Sexy?" he asks with a grin, kissing the inside of your knee, "I'll take it."

He looks down in the low light, your pussy still slick and glistening, still slightly puffy from earlier. No wonder guys ventured down here so often -- you looked delicious.

His fingers graze your inner thighs, making you shiver. His eyes meet yours, a devilish smirk dancing over his features, "Do you like that?"

"M'just excited," you blush, grabbing the pillow from earlier to cover your face. Eddie gets to work, laying down on his stomach, letting his lips slip and slide against your inner thighs before licking a thick flat stripe up through your lips. Your whine is loud enough to leak past the pillow, your hips grind slowly up against his mouth.

This was a skill he felt good about. He'd only done it once before a couple years ago during a really drunk hook up in the city, but he definitely didn't hear any complaints. And he figured, if he was a good kisser he had to be good at like...kissing pussy? That's how he thought about it at least.

His tongue traveled wherever he could let it go. Into your opening, against your lips, up and over the hood of your clit. He listened to your breathing, how your hips would react, the tensing in your thighs, trying to see where you liked it the best.

"Up a little higher," you instruct, pillow discarded, leaning on your forearms to look down at him. Your eyes meet and he melts, nodding while he moves up, waiting for your okay. He reaches up, the gods of cunnilingus speaking to him while he does, and pulls back the hood of your clit to lave his tongue over it.

"Ohmygod," you whisper out, head falling back on its hinge, "Don't stop."

"That's really hot," he croaks out to himself, looking at the expanse of your body above him, your exposed neck. He didn't mean to say it out loud. Fucking christ, he sounds like a teenager. He busies his mouth so he stops talking, sucking gently over you while your hips grind in time with his work.

"You can -- mm -- you can use your fingers, too," you tell him while your hand comes down to entwine in his hair. Eddie's eyes flutter closed, the gentle tug when you hit the right spots sends him reeling. His other hand comes up, tongue still flicking in alternating rhythms over your clit. He lets one finger slide in without resistence and then another -- Steve always said something about using two, but he doesn't remember, he just remembers 'curl upwards'. He pumps slow at first, your moans are getting to him, the sound hitting him right in his pelvis. The tightness of your walls around his fingers feels just as good as it was around his cock.

"Oh just like that, just like that, fuck," you gasp out. The praise sends him into a frenzy, hooking his fingers up to feel a different texture than before -- spongey, rigid.

But that's what it happens -- more than a gush. A flood, all over his fingers while your walls clench down hard on him. Hips rising off the mattress while you cum for him, whimpers and whines pouring out of your mouth.

"Easy, baby, easy," he giggles, free hand gripping your hip to ease it back down, "I got you."

You steady your breathing on the bed, feeling him detach from you, pressing soft kisses back up your tummy to your chest.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

"How," you breathe in, and out, "Did you get so good at that?"

He shrugs, "I dunno, just sort of winged it. Was I really that good?"

"You were really that good," you nod, "I came really hard."

"Fuck yeah," he nods to himself, still not realizing that he's thinking out loud, "Sick."

"Sorry," he says with an embarrassed shake of his head. You sit up, pecking him on the lips in a silent 'I love you,' and go to your dresser to throw on some pajamas. He reaches down off the bed to slide on his boxers, pulling his shirt over his head. You meet in the middle of the room and he can't help but hold you to him, feeling closer to you than he ever has. Magnetized, like you're meant to be touching at all times.

"I made brownies," you say, "They're already sliced up and in the microwave. Figured we wouldn't have time to get to dessert, so -- I prepped ahead of time."

"Is it lame to say I already had dessert?" he asks, a boyish grin showing off his teeth.

"Yes," you reply with a smile, "It is."

"Do you wanna watch Grease with me?" you ask while you walk to the door, warm light pooling into the room as you open it.

"Are you gonna say every line as it's being said like you always do?" he responds, following you out of the room, trying not to trip on Brutus who is scurrying past his feet to sleep on your bed.

"Of course I am," you say confidently, going to the kitchen to take out the plate of covered brownies in the microwave above the fridge. He takes them from you, placing them on the counter while he grabs two small plates from the cupboard above your head.

"Then I absolutely want to watch it with you," he smiles, a genuine full smile. Steve is gonna lose his fucking mind when he tells him.

Eddie Munson, resident virgin loverboy.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

1K notes · View notes

andvys · 11 months

Text

We'll burn the sky | part fourteen

Warnings: angst, mentions of drugs, alcohol, heartbreak, mentions of unrequited feelings

Pairings: Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Rockstar!fem!reader

Summary: The hope of things getting better gets crushed too soon.

Word count: 6k+

Author note: In the fic, readers dad sang the song 'Hey Jude' by The Beatles. Also shoutout to @mysticmunson who made an article and a cover for a magazine for this fic!

Series Masterlist

It took a lot of convincing for you to join Eddie and the others for their friends' Christmas. While you got along with all of them and became friends with them quickly, you still felt like you would be intervening. They have been friends for years and you had only joined their group recently. None of them accepted a no from you though, the teens were begging you to come and so were Eddie and Robin. You and Steve haven’t talked since Wednesday night and you began to miss him.

Now you are here, surrounded by your new friends at Robin’s place. Her living room smells like the pine from the Christmas tree, freshly baked cookies and a hint of cinnamon and pumpkin spice from all her candles.

She has a small apartment but it’s cozy, a bunch of movies and books are all over the place, some are on the shelves, others are piling up on the floor. You checked them out the moment you stepped into her apartment, getting excited over all the horror movies she had collected.

You finally met Jonathan and his friend from college; Argyle, who pulled you into a conversation right away, enthusiastically asking you questions about the tour. You settled beside him on the couch, quickly forgetting about all the heavy thoughts that lingered in your mind.

Steve kept looking at you all evening, eying you with an unsure look in his eyes, he wanted to talk to you but couldn’t bring himself to, he was too nervous. Even though you told him that you were okay and that everything was fine between you, he didn’t believe it and he still doesn’t. The fear that he messed up completely and broke your trust makes him feel so unbelievably angry with himself.

He was supposed to be your safe place, the one who protects you from all the pain and yet he hurt you. He knows he did.

“Hey Dingus,” Robin whispers. She nudges his shoulder and offers him a drink.

He looks at her and then he looks down at the glass in her hand, eying the beverage. “Eggnog?” He asks, already taking the drink from her hand.

“Yup.”

“Cool,” he mumbles. Raising the cup to his lips, he looks back at you as he takes the first sip. You are laughing at something Argyle said, the man beside you looking proud at his jokes.

Robin stares at him. She pities him, knowing that he likes you and that he is beating himself up for what happened two nights ago. You are not mad at him, you told her that and she told him that but he doesn’t believe it.

“You should talk to her.”

“How?”

“Just talk to her the way you always do,” she mumbles.

“Yeah but how do I approach her?”

“Just like always, like ‘hey honey, can we talk?’” Robin says in a deep voice.

Steve scrunches his face up, furrowing his brows. “I do not sound like that,” he mumbles.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!” She exclaims with a teasing look on her face. “You always have that smirk on your face too, flick your hair and put your hand on your hip like a mom.”

“What? I– no!”

She laughs at him, drinking her eggnog and looking behind her best friend’s shoulder with a knowing look on her face.

“What are you smirking at?” He mumbles, rolling his eyes.

Robin raises her brows and tilts her chin, gesturing to something behind him. Before he can turn around, he hears your voice.

“Steve?”

Suddenly, he feels nervous again, in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. He turns around, trying to force a smile on his face when he looks down at you. He almost expects to see something negative in your eyes, disgust, anger, hate but he finds none of those, he only finds softness in them.

“Can we talk?” You ask with shyness in your voice, something so unusual for you.

He nods, eyes softening as he watches you sigh in relief. You take his hand and lead him to the quiet corner in Robin’s living room, you both sit on the window nook.

He doesn’t look at you, not yet. Instead, he looks around the room. Max is talking to Jonathan and Nancy. Argyle is now leaning against the kitchen island, joking around with Eddie and Dustin. The others are on the couch and on the floor, seemingly in a heated conversation about holiday movies.

He feels your eyes on him and he finally turns to face you. You eye him with an apologetic look in your eyes.

What do you have to feel apologetic for? He is the one who messed up, Steve thinks.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” He asks, chuckling.

You nod.

“Why are you so nice, why are you looking at me like that?” He asks. He feels genuinely confused. You should be angry at him, you shouldn’t be so nice, you shouldn’t look at him like that.

“I don’t want you to feel bad about what happened, Steve.”

“We– I messed up,” he mumbles, shaking his head a little as he stares at you with a frown on his face. “You– I didn’t even make sure that you were okay with it–”

“I was okay with it.”

“But I still feel bad.”

“You don’t have to, I promise. I just want to go back to the way things were.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

You look at Nancy, the girl that told you about the apparent feelings Steve harbored for you. With a nervous glance and an unsure look on your face, you turn back to him.

Should you ask him?

He knows it, he knows that you want to ask something. He can tell by the furrowed brows and the curiosity in your eyes.

“A-Are we okay?” You ask the questions that you didn’t mean to ask.

His gaze softens and he finally moves to touch your hand, something he wasn’t sure about at first.

“Of course, we’re okay, honey.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, he keeps his eyes locked with yours, “but what do you really wanna know?”

Your eyes widen a little, something that makes him chuckle.

“Come on, ask what you wanna ask, it’s okay, I won’t be–”

“Do you have feelings for me?” You blurt out in a whisper, already blushing.

His eyes widen, lips parting and his cheeks grow red. “W-What? Who told you that?”

You grow nervous, your heart is beginning to race in your chest, you don’t want to hurt him, you don’t want to break his heart, he means too much to you.

“I– no one,” you whisper, looking down at his hand, “I’m just wondering.”

A small smile tugs on his lips as he watches you, for someone so tough and confident, you look small and shy, right now. You are worried about him and his feelings, that alone would be enough to mend the pain in his heart if it was there. You don’t want to break his heart.

He whispers your name and you almost sigh in relief when you don’t hear any pain in his voice. He squeezes your hand, urging you to look at him. You do and meet his eyes again.

“Listen,” he begins, “I would be lying if I said that I don’t feel something for you but it’s not– I’m not in love with you, I’m not gonna be heartbroken when you leave and when this thing between us will come to an end. I mean, I will be fucking sad,” he chuckles as he runs his fingers through his hair, “you and I, we had a really good time, one of the best times of my life, actually. You’ve become one of my best friends and I hope that you won’t forget about me when you leave because I sure as hell will never forget you and our time.”

You blink, smiling at him, you squeeze his hand the way he did to you.

“I could never forget you, Steve Harrington.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

You smile at each other, despite what happened and the way you felt the other night, you still feel safe with him.

“I got used to this,” he smiles, flicking his hand back and forth between the two of you, “having someone to hang out with, I mean other than Robin or the others. You made me realize that I miss having someone, someone to hold and kiss, you know?”

You nod at his words. You understand it, you feel the same but while he misses having someone in general, you only missed one person and even though you did enjoy the time with him, you still always thought about Eddie.

“At some point, I convinced myself that I don’t need anyone, that I’m not lucky in that department anyways,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes at himself, “I thought that all I’d ever get is meaningless hookups or just.. heartbreak.”

You raise your brows, smile turning upside down as you stare at him. He deserves more than that, more than meaningless flings.

“But then I met you and yeah, we hooked up too but it was also more than that. You showed me that it doesn’t have to be meaningless, that even though we aren’t in a relationship, we can still be something more than just this,” he mumbles, scooting closer to you, he looks down at the rings on your fingers, the ones that he played with when he held your hands, “you never made me feel used. Even when I knew you loved him, you never made me feel like I was a rebound or a thing to play with when you were bored. You never wanted something from me, you were just this sweet girl that wanted to be with me, even if only for a moment.”

Oh.

You and him, you are the same in a way. Perhaps this is why you got along so well.

All your life, you have felt like people wanted or needed something from you. You felt used, still do.

“So uh– I guess what I wanted to say is, thank you,” he smiles, squeezing your hand, “and I’m sorry for what happened that night.”

You blink, staring into his hazel eyes, you see so much in them. Emotions that you both share.

Yeah, the night at the trailer was something that left you feeling weird, something that made you feel used and even when it wasn’t what they did, something inside of you was damaged when you let your thoughts get the best of you. Your feelings for either of them haven't changed. You care about Steve and you love Eddie and that is something that will always stay the same.

Steve mended the pain in your heart after the horrible nights that followed when you found out about Chrissy. He became your friend and something more, there is an energy surrounding the two of you, one that makes you feel safe and comforted. It’s like having a safe haven that you know you can always come back to even after a long long time and you know it will still feel the same. There is nothing romantic about it but it’s nice.

He is your friend, one that will stay with you forever. You can confidently say that knowing that it’s the truth.

“Thank you, Steve,” you smile, “you made my life better and you made me happy when I needed it the most.”

“Come here,” he whispers, opening his arms for you. You smile and lean closer to him, wrapping your arms around him, you hug him and close your eyes.

“I’m gonna miss you when I’m gone.”

He hugs you even tighter, sighing sadly, “I’m gonna miss you, rockstar.”

On the other side of the room, Eddie stands there with a drink in his hand and a scowl on his face as he watches you staying in Steve’s embrace for longer than necessary. Letting the man touch your face after tucking your hair behind your ear.

Your eyes light up when he says something to you, you laugh and slap his shoulder playfully.

Do you look at him like that? Do you smile the same way when he talks to you? Do your eyes light up the same way?

Eddie swallows, his chest feels burdened with jealousy. He feels ridiculous for feeling this way, maybe even a little hypocritical considering he let Steve touch you in a way that was nowhere near friendly but he can’t help it. Anytime another man gets a little too close to you, he gets both angry and insecure but most of all, jealous.

“Damn, I never saw you look so angry.”

Eddie snaps his head towards Lucas, who is happily munching on one of the cookies that Nancy made.

“I’m not angry,” Eddie mutters, angrily.

Lucas chuckles, nodding, “sure, whatever you say, Eddie. You are totally not jealous over the fact that Steve is kissing her right now.”

“What?” Eddie almost shrieks as he turns to look at you again, heart dropping to his stomach at his words only to find you gone and Steve joining El and Robin in a conversation.

Clenching his jaw, he turns back to Lucas, “you little shit,” he says through gritted teeth. Lucas only laughs, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

“So you are jealous, huh?”

Rolling his eyes, he only shrugs, “clearly.”

“You’re so dense, man,” Lucas sighs.

“Excuse me?”

“You are dense!” He exclaims, throwing his arms up. “She is like literally in love with you and you are over here glaring at her–”

“I did not glare at her!”

“Yes, you did! You looked pretty scary right now, scarier than Henry Creel!”

“Dude!”

“It’s the truth!” Lucas mumbles, rolling his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Listen, clearly you have messed up somehow, otherwise you wouldn’t look at each other like kicked puppies, all the damn time. You probably made things worse by trying to make them right ‘cause I know that you can be an idiot sometimes, no offense. But you really gotta man up and fix things before you lose her and trust me, you don’t wanna lose her.”

Eddie blinks.

How is this 17 year old boy wiser and smarter than him?

He is right, he doesn’t want to lose you, ever. The thought of living a life without you makes him sick. Even if you never give him a chance again, he still wants you in his life, even if he’ll only get to love you from afar.

You breathe in the cold air, closing your eyes, you lean back against the concrete wall. The wind is harsh tonight as the snow falls. You wonder if there is a storm brewing, beside the one inside of you.

You are overstimulated by all the emotions running through you.

Confusion. Sadness. Insecurities. Anger. Exhaustion. Heartbreak.

The conversation with Chrissy left you with nothing but confusion, just like Eddie’s and Steve’s actions did.

The days leading closer to Christmas and to your Dad’s death anniversary leaves you with sadness, too much of it.

Your many insecurities have always been there but they have never been as intense as they are now. Despite Eddie’s words, Robin’s words or even Chrissy’s words, you can’t help but fear that Eddie doesn’t care about you in the same way you do for him. So far, things have only ever been physical between you two, at least from his side.

Before Eddie, you had never felt an emotional connection to anyone else, you have never loved anyone romantically, you have never felt all of this for another person. You were scared of these feelings, of falling in love only to end up heartbroken.

You were scared of falling in love with the wrong person. Though despite everything that happened, Eddie could never be the wrong person, even if he continues to put you through pain, you will never regret loving him.

He is your person, even if you aren’t his.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You open your eyes and turn to see Max approaching you, even in the darkness, you can see the concern in her eyes as she looks at you.

You smile at her and nod your head, “yes, I’m okay.”

She doesn’t look convinced, raising her brows, she crosses her arms over her chest as she pulls her jacket tighter around her body to shield herself from the cold wind.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you mumble with uncertainty in your voice.

She takes a moment to think about her words as she looks into your eyes as though she tries to figure you out.

“Is this too much for you?” She asks, “I mean the whole Christmas party.”

She doesn’t have to spell it out for you to know what she actually means by her question.

“No, I actually like it,” you smile, “I’m just not used to it, I haven’t celebrated Christmas in years.”

Because what was there to celebrate after he died that day?

“Honestly? I hate Christmas,” Max admits with a sigh and an eye roll, causing you to chuckle.

“Really?”

Her eyes widen as she nods, “yeah because even though my mom left my step dad, she still insists on spending holidays with him and Billy.”

“Billy?”

“My step brother who is a major asshole.”

“Oh no,” you mumble with a scowl on your face.

“Yeah, he is horrible and he always makes sure to make me feel horrible, especially during holidays, so I really just can’t wait for it to be over.”

“I get it. I feel the same way,” you admit, “but I’m sorry about him, fuck that guy.”

She chuckles at your words, “yeah, fuck that guy.”

“What about your dad?” You ask.

Her eyes light up and a smile appears on her face. “Oh, my dad is amazing, I don’t see him very often but he calls all the time. Lucas and I are going to visit him over the summer, he lives in California.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile, “I hope you’ll have the best summer before you both go to college.”

“I’m sure we will,” she smiles, “but back to you, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Oh umm.. I think that I will relax in my motel room,” you chuckle.

You are not looking forward to tomorrow or the day after at all. No matter what you do, no matter how much you try to distract yourself, it doesn’t work, it never works. This day always brings you back to that horrible night.

“Alone?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna get ready for tour, we’re leaving next week.”

“You can’t spend Christmas by yourself,” she frowns.

“I always spend Christmas by myself.”

“You shouldn’t, that’s sad.” Especially because of your dad, she wants to add but doesn’t. “I’d invite you to spend it with us but I don’t think that you want to meet Billy,” she rolls her eyes, “did Eddie not invite you?”

No. He didn’t. Eddie didn’t invite you. Steve did but he didn’t.

Maybe he doesn’t want you around. Christmas is a holiday that you spend with your loved ones, not ones you keep around because you like the way they make you feel, because you like touching them.

You shake your head.

“What?”

“Uh no, he uh– he didn’t invite me,” you mumble as the sadness begins to take hold of you, “which is fine, that’s a day you gotta spend with your family or with people you love. Eddie and I are just friends.”

She furrows her brows in confusion. She opens her mouth to speak but quickly closes it again. You feel overwhelmed, just like you did minutes before you left the apartment. She could see the way you put on a mask, the way you smiled at Steve and laughed along to his jokes despite the pain in your eyes, you are good at hiding your emotions and so is she, that’s why she could see right through you.

“It’s getting late, I think I’m gonna go,” you mumble, blinking away the tears that start to well up in your eyes.

“Do you want me to get Steve, so he can drive you?” She asks even though she already knows that you will say no. You want to be alone.

“No,” you shake your head, forcing a smile on your face, “it’s just a short walk, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, thank you for tonight, the party was nice.”

“You don’t have to thank us, you’re our friend now,” she smiles.

Her words warm your heart a little.

You give her a hug before you leave, telling her to enjoy the rest of the party before you walk away but then you make the abrupt decision to go the other way after Max goes back inside. The thought of being all alone in the quiet room makes you feel sick but going back to the party isn’t an option either. You need some time alone, a good drink and some music.

That’s how you find yourself sitting at the bar you performed in this Tuesday. Ordering yourself a drink and opting to watch the people around you.

Your eyes lock with blue ones, the ones that were stuck on you all night ever since you walked inside the hideout.

His hair is blond, a little messy. He has tattoos on his left arm, a dark look on his face and a smirk tugs at his lips when you don’t look away from him. He is attractive. If you weren’t so hung up on a man that probably only wants to fuck you, you would be over there flirting with this stranger already.

You look away, running your fingers through your hair, you sigh.

You’re a mess, a complicated mess with too many trust issues and feelings. You keep changing your mind about everything, your thoughts are running wild, making you feel as though you are going crazy. Everything that ever hurt you, keeps repeating itself in your head and you wish that your thoughts would just shut up.

That the pain could just stop.

Will it ever stop?

“Hey.”

You already know who it is before you even turn around to face the man.

“Hi.”

He smirks at you, eying you up and down before he looks at the seat next to you, “can I sit here?”

“If you give me your name,” you say with raised brows.

He licks his lips, chuckling, he holds his hand out to you, “I’m Henry.”

Oh my god.

“Henry,” you mumble, a smirk tugging at your lips. You assume that he must be the Henry Creel, the one that everyone kept mentioning, you expected him to look scary but there is not a single thing scary about him, well– maybe the look in his eyes is but you don’t care.

You give him your name and watch as he takes the seat next to you.

“I know who you are,” he chuckles, “you’re all over the television.”

His voice is raspy and he looks deep into your eyes.

“Yeah, do you want an autograph?” You joke.

“No, I think I’d rather talk to you.”

“What if I don’t want to talk?”

“Then I’ll leave,” he shrugs, “do you want me to leave?”

You tear your eyes away from him and look down at your drink, sloshing the dark liquid around, you down the rest of it, slamming the glass on the table. You call the bartender over, “can I get another one?”

The bartender, a middle aged man with the name tag Tom, nods at you, reaching for your glass.

“Actually make it two,” you request as you look back at Henry whose eyes light up.

With the way he has been making eyes at you all night, you expected him to be flirting with you but instead you found yourself having a pleasant conversation with the man that your friends have warned you about.

The only thing creepy about him is his obsession with spiders and zombies but he is probably just a really big fan of horror. He even has a big spider tattoo on his wrist.

You find out that he lives alone in a big house, he stayed behind after his family left Hawkins but he works as a tattoo artist in a different town.

The whole time he is talking to you, you nod along and listen. Leaning your elbow against the table, you cup your cheek and stare at him, wondering what gave him such a bad reputation.

Hours go by and you knock back one drink after the other, letting the alcohol flood your system. You needed this. A distraction. To feel careless and free of your thoughts. Who would’ve thought that a talk with a stranger and a few drinks would make you feel better?

“You are nice,” you slur, furrowing your brows.

“Why wouldn’t I be nice?”

“People say you’re dangerous and scary.”

He chuckles at your words, “maybe I am dangerous and scary.”

You shake your head, laughing, “no, I’ve met dangerous people before, you’re not dangerous. You just have that mean look on your face,” you mumble as you point to his eyes, “and your obsession with spiders makes you seem scary but you probably just want to be spiderman– hey, have you ever been to New York? You should go there but don’t have your first kiss there with someone you love or it’ll all go downhill,” you ramble carelessly.

You don’t see the way he raises his brows in surprise, you are too drunk to notice anything at this point. Getting more and more dizzy and tired.

“I fell in love with this– this guy who had a girlfriend but I didn’t know about her until she surprised him and then I got all heartbroken and we got into a lot of fights and blah blah,” you roll your eyes, “then I fucked his friend.”

“Oh,” Henry mumbles, looking surprised.

“Yeah and he got jealous. He got all pissed at me because I fucked his friend! He had a girlfriend! He had no right to be jealous, right?”

“Totally not.”

“But then he wanted to fuck me with his friend, how fucking stupid is that?”

“Wait what–”

“I hate men, they are so dumb– no offense.”

“None taken, you’re right.”

“I know, I’m always right.”

He chuckles as he looks down at you.

You run your fingers through your messy hair, trying to sit straight.

“I think I need another drink–”

“No, I really think you don’t,” he says, pushing the half empty glass away from you, “you’ve had enough. You should go home.”

You tilt your head, squinting your eyes as you turn to look at him, “no, I don’t.”

“The bar is closing soon.”

“Oh,” you frown, “well, it was nice to meet you,” you mumble, jumping off the chair, your knees buckle and you almost fall to the ground if it wasn’t for him holding you up, “whoa, you okay?” He chuckles.

A small laugh leaves your lips, you nod, “yeah, thanks,” you mumble, blinking, you feel yourself getting dizzy, “I think I had too much.” You stumble into his chest, “you smell good, is that Dior?”

He chuckles again, placing his hands on your waist, he pushes you back a little.

“Do you need some water–”

“Hey! Get your hands off of her!”

You look behind him, to see Eddie walking towards you with an angry and worried look in his eyes.

“Oh no,” you mumble as a wave of sickness rushes through you, “there is the guy.”

Eddie can’t believe it. He was sick with worry, searching for you everywhere after finding your motel room dark and empty. Here you are, getting cozy with Henry fucking Creel.

“What the fuck, y/n?” He mutters angrily as he stops in front of you, he reaches for you, pulling you away from Henry, he looks down at you, “I was worried about you!”

“Why?” You slur, looking up into his dark eyes, “I’m fine, just hanging out with spiderman.”

He scrunches his face up, the smell of whiskey hits him. The red rimmed eyes and your drowsy state makes him even more worried. He cups your cheeks.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, “how much did you have?”

You slap his hands away, “stop acting like my dad, you’re not my dad. My dad is dead.”

Eddie frowns at your words.

“Don’t look at me like that, Eddie–”

“You’re getting drunk with strangers now?”

“Henry is my friend, he’s gonna give me a tattoo, right Henry?”

Henry shrugs, “yeah sure.”

“Or maybe some nipple piercings,” you smirk.

“What the fuck,” Eddie mumbles.

“Yeah, what the fuck, Eddie? Did you know that he is a tattoo artist and not some scary serial killer?”

He rolls his eyes at you, taking your hand, he squeezes it softly, “come on, I’ll take you home.”

To his surprise, you don’t protest. He grabs your coat and wraps it around your shoulders before he leads you out. He mutters something under his breath as you step into the darkness. Suddenly, you start giggling causing him to get even more irritated.

You lean against the wall, almost stumbling to the ground again but Eddie holds your waist tightly.

“What the fuck is so funny to you?”

You look at the frown on his face, his eye is twitching and his cheeks are red. He is mad.

“Get your hands off of her,” you imitate him with a low voice, “are you worried that someone else will use me for my body? I-I mean, that’s all I am to you, a body, right?”

“What?” He scoffs.

“I’m just a body– a thing to you,” you slur, “that’s what you called me, a pretty little thing, that’s what you called me that one night on the tour bus. And that’s all you ever want me for. You always just wanna touch me and kiss me, otherwise I’m not interesting to you.”

“What?” Eddie repeats, though he doesn’t sound shocked or angry now, just sad.

“Can you bring me home– no, wait,” you giggle again, “I don’t have a home.”

Eddie stares at you with tears in his eyes. Right here, right now, he realizes just how hurt you really are. Despite your laugh and the carefree act you put on, it’s so clear to him that you are in pain and it breaks his heart.

“I’m a wreck,” you say, running your hand down your face, “man, I’m so annoying.”

He shakes his head, stepping towards you, he cups your cheeks. Getting angry at himself for making you feel this way about yourself.

“You’re not a wreck and you are not annoying, Sweetheart and you’re not some thing to me. You’re my girl, my best friend, okay?”

Your glossy eyes widen at his words.

“Best friend?” You whisper.

“Yeah, you are my everything. I’m an idiot, a really big one. I know I made mistakes, too many of them but I can prove you wrong, I can show you that you are more to me than what you think.”

“Please?” You whisper with hope in your eyes.

“I will prove it to you,” he says softly, leaning down, he presses his lips to your forehead, giving you a gentle kiss, “I won’t touch you unless you tell me to. We can start over, okay?”

You nod.

He pulls you into his arms and hugs you tightly. You breathe his scent in, a sense of comfort washing over you. You close your eyes and lay your head on his chest.

“I can be your home.”

“Really?” You mumble into his chest as the exhaustion takes over you again.

“Yes baby,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair, “and please don’t ever hang out with Henry again–”

“Henry is nice.”

“No, he really isn’t,” Eddie mumbles in annoyance.

“Yes, he is, he is a sweet boy.”

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs.

“Let’s get you to bed, Sweetheart.”

He brings you back to the motel room, taking your clothes off and replacing them with comfortable ones. He takes your makeup off and brushes your hair while you brush your teeth. Eddie loves taking care of you, it’s something he never told you before but he does.

Before you, he hated being responsible for others, he didn’t like taking care of other people but it’s different with you.

He manages to convince you to drink a glass of water, hoping that it will make you feel less bad in the morning but neither that or the advil help you. You wake up with a pounding head.

Groaning in pain, you open your eyes, feeling thankful for the closed curtains.

You sit up, burying your face in your hands. You haven’t felt this way in a long time. You don’t drink much, ever. Hangovers are the absolute worst, that’s why you keep it light with the drinks, usually.

You force yourself out of bed, you read the clock, 12:00 pm.

“Jesus,” you mumble. It’s unusual for you to sleep this long.

You find a note and a full water bottle, along with some painkillers on the nightstand.

Please eat something when you wake up and call me.

-Eddie.

You don’t think that you will get anything down right now or today in general.

You don’t call him right away, opting for a shower instead, hoping that it will wake you up and make you feel better. You grab some fresh clothes before walking into the bathroom. Turning the water on, you start taking your clothes off. You turn to look at yourself in the mirror.

Frowning at the puffy eyes and the circles beneath them.

“Wreck,” you mumble to yourself, rolling your eyes, you turn away and step into the shower.

You close your eyes when the warm water touches your skin. You stand there for a couple of minutes before you begin to wash your hair and your body. You don’t think of anything yet, too focused on the headache and your craving for coffee.

You take your time getting ready. You put lotion on your body, style your hair and put makeup on your face, hoping that it’ll make you look less exhausted. You pick out a warm sweater and some dark jeans.

The weight on your shoulder is heavy but some of it was lifted last night after your conversation with Steve and Eddie.

I can be your home

We can start over

Start over. Yes, you both can start over. You can start over. Things don’t have to be this way. You don’t have to be broken and insecure. You can be more than that. You can be okay.

You are surprised by the amount of snow that fell overnight. All the trees and all the streets are covered in snow and it's icy cold outside.

You were meaning to go to the store but it’s too far away to walk in this cold so you stop by the gas station instead, hoping to get a hot drink and a few snacks here.

You greet the very bored looking cashier as you walk inside. Last Christmas by Wham is playing on the radio. The only Christmas song you’ll ever tolerate.

You walk past the drinks and the magazines when something catches your eye.

The warmth that the store provided you only lasted for a moment. Your blood runs cold and your heart drops to your stomach when your eyes fall on the cover of one of the magazines.

“What the fuck,” you whisper as you feel yourself getting sick already.

A picture of your dad is on the cover of one of the magazines. You step closer, ignoring the pounding of your heart. With shaky hands, you reach towards it. Eyes filled with shock as you read the lines on the cover.

HOLIDAY HEARTBREAK

BELOVED LEGEND DIED OF DRUG OVERDOSE, NOT MEDICAL CONDITION. AN INSIDE SCOOP INTO THE MAN WE THOUGHT WE KNEW.

“No….” You whisper with tears in your eyes.

You rush towards the counter with the magazine in your hand, slamming a fifty dollar bill on the counter.

“Hey, that’s too much!” The teen says to you as he looks at you in confusion.

“Keep the change,” you mumble as you leave the store. Not even caring about the cold anymore, walk towards the bench on the sidewalk. Sitting down, you flip through the pages.

Breathing heavily, you try to see through the blurry vision in your eyes as you begin to read the article. Your hands are shaking, you feel like throwing up as the bile in your throat rises.

The Hey Jude singer secretly battled a drug addiction before being found by his daughter on Christmas. Is she following in his footsteps?

You don’t even feel your heart racing any longer, you don’t feel any anger.

You read the rest of it, only growing more scared and confused.

Mentions of your apparent drug addiction only make you feel even sicker.

“What the fuck..”

You stare at it for the longest time, not knowing how to actually feel. Tears begin to stream down your face and you have to hold yourself together to keep yourself from sobbing. How do they know? How did this happen? Who talked? Who said all these horrible things about you?

You sniffle, closing the magazine, you get up.

You never wanted this, you never wanted them to know about what happened to him.

They waited for this day to publish this stupid magazine. You clench your jaw, looking up into the sky, you close your eyes. The pain and the anger and everything else begins to fade into numbness.

You don’t even think about what will happen next but you know that the rest of the tour will be hell for you.

Ever since he died, you have hated this day but now you despise it.

His name is ruined and so is yours.

You walk over to the telephone booth, throwing a coin into the phone box, you dial the number, already knowing that you are making a huge mistake. This person never gave you an ounce of comfort in your life and yet, you call her.

You have never felt so low.

You hold the receiver tightly in your shaky hand, ignoring the tears that stream down your face.

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

The line goes silent and you are afraid that she hung up the phone.

“Mom, are you there?” You ask, not even recognizing your own voice anymore.

She says your name, almost regretfully.

“Did you see?” You ask as you look down at the magazine.

“See what, y/n?”

“The article?”

“Yes.”

Her voice is monotone, strict. She doesn’t care, she never did and it hurts you more than ever today.

“C-Can I see you?” You ask with a shaky voice.

She sighs and you already know what that means.

“Listen, I gotta go–”

“Mom, please,” you beg.

The line is silent for another few seconds. Your heart is racing, your bottom lip is trembling as your body is shaking, not from the cold but from the fear.

“I need you.”

She doesn’t say anything but she hangs up the phone, leaving you alone once again.

You close your eyes as you place the receiver back in place, wiping your tears away, you hold the magazine tightly against your chest as you leave the booth.

How much worse will it get?

“Y/n?”

You look up, not caring about the tears on your face and the ones that are welling up in your eyes again. Even through your blurry vision, you recognize him.

“H-Hi,” you mumble, trying to keep yourself from crying.

He eyes you with concern in his eyes, holding the keys to his truck, he puts them inside of his pocket as he walks towards you.

“Are you okay, kid?” He asks.

You blink, trying to come up with words, trying to come up with a lie but you can’t, not right now.

You shake your head, “no,” you whisper, unable to stop the sob from escaping.

Wayne sighs deeply, a sad look taking over his features, he steps closer to you.

“Come here, darling,” he says as he opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace. He rubs your back softly, holding you as you cry.

Here’s the article

only tagging friends & mutuals! Follow @andvyswritingss and turn on notifications so you don't miss updates!

@prettyboyeddiemunson @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @mysticmunson @aftermidnightwriting @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sherrylyn628 @yearwalker96

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fic #stranger things angst #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine

620 notes · View notes

m1ssunderstanding · 2 months

Text

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 3.1

I thank my lucky stars every night that Yoko eventually got sick of playing secret-keeper.

Paul: I didn't leave the Beatles. The Beatles have left the Beatles . . . John said he wanted a divorce. Alright, so do I. See how they say “Beatles” and they mean each other sometimes?

Derek Taylor on John's position on the break-up: if Paul were to approach him and say “let's do it together again” he probably would; with no more words, he would probably do it. Which is an insane claim to make to a world full of people grieving the greatest band to ever exist unless you are very very sure of that probability. But if it's true that that's all it would have taken, and Paul didn't do it? That hurts my head a little. Do we think he was just hurt too bad to want it back? Do we think he didn't know he had that kind of power? Do we think he was glad to be free of the group?

Ugh my heart can't take it. I'd cry too, John, watching that. I mean look at how they are looking at each other. Look at everything they've lost in a year. I'd bawl like a baby too.

Paul sends John a long, thorough letter, begging for them to legally end their partnership outside of a court. John's run out of cards at this point, but he still doesn't want to lose Paul, so he's just going to play dumb.

This is how bad he doesn't want to lose him, actually: he goes along with Klein in tricking Paul this time. Calls him up and asks him to come to the studio for a jam session, because it'll hurt his case in court. But for multiple reasons – the Eastmans were knowledgeable lawyers, and Paul might not have even wanted to be in a room with John at the time anyway – Paul doesn't come. Which John would've been hurt and angry over, no matter his motives.

"They tell you to stop crying at about age twelve. Be a man. What the hell's that?" I'm so proud of John for his (albeit long and backsliding) journey out of his toxic masculinity and violence. Something I honestly don't see him achieving without Yoko.

And from that quote it transitions to Paul in Scotland, looking like the embodiment of depression, as the opening of “Isolation” plays. It's perfect.

“And don't try to come over here. Or you might get in some trouble.” The way he just froze when he saw them filming him and then the next thing we see is him threatening them? Get ‘em, babe!

John sounds so giddy about this one-upping competition with Paul. I'll scare him and then he'll scare me!

The whole Lennon Remembers era is such a terrible case of diarrhea of the mouth in general, but the amount of homophobic language is quite striking compared to how John talked before and after.

John, talking about George in Rolling Stone: "he was working with two fucking brilliant songwriters and he learned a lot from us." People read that quote and just parrot it like they do with everything John said in this period and act like George had nothing to be angry over. He had every right to be much angrier and hold a much bigger grudge than he did.

And about George's new record, which was phenomenal and brilliant, John is transparently jealous and so cruel. If he'd said that about me and then asked me to play on his new record I'd tell him to go to hell. Why did George do it?

See and everyone who knows John knows how much he loved Brian and to hear him speaking so crassly and cruelly about Brian must've been a sure indication to them to just take the entire interview through that lense of “oh he's just saying shit”. But that's only the people who knew him. Everyone else for the rest of time took this shit as constitutional. And it pisses me off. It should be locked away in a vault somewhere and no one is allowed to listen to it until they've passed some kind of Beatles and emotional intelligence tests.

This crushes my soul. How warped must his definition of love have been by that point that he genuinely believed Phil Spector and Allen Klein loved him more than Paul and George did? It's bonkers.

John in 1967: all you need is love! John in 1971: the point of life is to manipulate people. . . . What the hell happened to you, buddy?

I go back and forth as to who's the smarter PR person: John or Yoko? Because maybe she's right. Maybe they shouldn't divulge that they're master manipulators. But is this one of those times when it's good to be all “look how honest we are about this! We're not hiding anything! We're saying bad things about ourselves too! So you should believe us about everything else!”

Really this documentarian should be hired to make all the music videos for all the Beatles and solo songs. This one for “Too Many People” is perfect. Paul walking into court with a full beard and a confident stride, John and Yoko in bed, Paul horse riding overlayed on Linda's gorgeous face like she's some goddess, designing his fate. All of it is just pure brilliance.

I'm forever laughing at just the title of the song, too. Because to John and Yoko it was so important that they were Weird and Off-putting. Different. Revolutionary. And to say “no. You're not special. There's actually an excess of people like you.” Is so funny to me.

“When she wants an A side, that's when we start fighting.” Oh gosh. Remember how I said he backslides a lot in his feminism journey? Yeah…

Insanity quote Hall of Fame. Yeah, I know he meant to say it's weird to be best friends with a woman. But it sounds like he's saying it's weird to fuck a woman. Which maybe he subconsciously means both idk.

Paul: we need to legally dissolve the partnership because it's the only way we're attached anymore. Ouch. Okay it's true. It's deserved. But that must've stung for the guy who was terrified of losing people. Must've sent him into fight or flight.

I think the point of this framing is to say that if they'd had facetime back then, instead of just crackly phone lines, HDYS would not have been written. Not with those puppy eyes staring him down like that.

Interviewer: the song wasn't even funny though. John: well I think it's hilarious. Interviewer: hmm. Lol I love hearing interviewers talk to John about his lyrics like he's a real guy doing a real job, though. Imagine a music critic now saying John Lennon wasn't clever in his lyrics. You can't, yeah. Me either.

What a slap in the face to Cynthia. Guess she wasn't Cool Girl enough. Should've gone girled him. That would be an excellent fic. Cyn and Jane gone girl their idiot bfs and John and Paul realize they're in love on death row. But anyway, yeah. If Paul would've just pet John's head . . .

Another absolutely bonkers thing to say. That's something the Rockstar’s ex wife says in a documentary ten years after he's dead, not something a songwriting partner says, completely unprompted, in an exiting the band interview.

And then he goes off on what I see as a self-soothing diatribe on Paul the family man. You can see the hoops he jumped through to get himself there. What did Paul want that I couldn't give him? A family. And is that justified? Absolutely not, only pussies and conservatives want families.

Allan Klein: were you and Paul ever really close, then? John: no. John: not that I didn't love him. I did. It's just that every time I let my guard down, he hurt me. Holy shit. At this point, after getting hit in the face with so much of John's Paul-made pain with nothing from the other side but pictures of the happy McCartney family, I'm genuinely feeling quite angry at Paul. Me. An extremely biased Paul girl who knows it's far more complicated and multi-dimensional than this. No wonder the uninformed public fucking hated his guts.

And as they're showing this quote, “I didn't want to hurt you,” plays mournfully in the background. They really are so twisted up in each other there's no separating individual identities.

Okay so he's a psychopath. So what? He's the sexiest man that ever was or ever will be. He's allowed to be a horrible person. No, but really. He's Get Back Paul but healthier. He's done with his depression drinking and he's been spending a lot of time proving he's still useful enough to exist by building fences and shearing sheep.

And this is how Paul talks about George to interviews. John said Klein made ATMP a success but Paul disagrees. "George recorded it all, wrote it all, did it all, wasn't anything to do with [Klein]. It was George's victory, wasn't it?" Compare that to how John does it and tell me again why the hell George is Team John?

What is Paul's obsession with daddies? Actually I know exactly what the obsession with daddies comes from, but we won't get into that here. I do find it interesting that in ‘69 he's saying “we do need a sort of central daddy figure.” And in ‘71 he's deriding John needing one and won't let John's daddy of choice touch him with a hundred foot pole.

I tend to think Paul chafes against authority in general, but that's actually not right. He never had a problem with George Martin. I think it's just abusive authority or authority he doesn't trust yet.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #yoko ono #linda eastman #understanding lennon mccartney #ulm

127 notes · View notes

mountymase · 20 days

Text

i love you, it’s ruining my life

file one - mason mount

a/n: well, hi! i’d like to say that this isn’t my fave work but i’ve been mostly writing poetry lately and i needed to see if i still had my fanfic mojo. hope you like it nonetheless! 🤍

1.820 words

warnings: real angst, brief mention of anxiety, breakup, bit of fluff, harsh words.

It felt more like a ritual, one that you loved dearly - each morning, Lila, your pup woke you up with cheerful and endless face licks, her tail wiggling in the air, her frantic need to get under the covers with you and cuddle like you always did every morning. Your heart warmed with joy as you silently giggled, an arm tugging the two-year-old basset hound closer making her immediately calm down as a long sigh escaped from her.

There was something else about mornings like these: they brought a feeling of normality to the wild, nonetheless extraordinary routine you jumped into since your first book had been published — not your first piece of promising writing, but the one that turned into a giant success that started taking global proportions within six months, forcing you to travel around the globe on a tour to meet countless and extraordinary people.

And also to sign autographs for most of them.

They were boys and girls, mums, teenagers, middle-aged women, single women, and a bunch in long-lasting relationships. It didn’t matter, your writing reached every single one of them and, somehow, they now all had something in common: how much they loved your book.

All of it was still overwhelming to you, though. Coming from a small town where nothing fascinating used to happen, you’d spend your days writing when you weren’t with your regular group of friends from school. Getting used to the big city once you moved to graduate in journalism was difficult — you missed those peaceful days, watching the sunrise when you went for a morning jog, birds singing, and how comforting silence could be every evening. But you were also grateful for all the opportunities given and how unexpectedly great things turned out to be for you.

Moving to London had never been in your foreseeable future, although visiting England was one of your greatest dreams from a very young age when you used to spend hours listening to The Beatles and Elton John with your dad.

When you got a call from one of Netflix UK executives, telling you they’d like to turn your book into a miniseries, you choked on a large croissant bite. It took you a couple of minutes to put yourself together as the executive patiently waited, a low giggle coming from the other side of the line once you took a deep breath and asked if they were calling the right number.

So, from the afternoons of Penny Lane and Benny and The Jets, you ended up officially living in an extravagant flat located in Mayfair, fully paid for by Netflix UK, and dropped the news of your book being turned into a miniseries, officially, on a morning TV show.

If you didn’t have such an impatient dog, who was now staring at you with her best “feed me, human” glare, you would’ve stayed in bed for the rest of the day. The thought of being live in one of the biggest morning TV shows in England, sharing the screen with another famous guest made you feel immensely intimidated, and vulnerable.

But, from the very beginning, he made you feel safe.

Mason.

He was the other guest that day, invited to share more on his success playing for Chelsea FC and the charity of which he was a patron of. During the break, he noticed how you rubbed your sweaty hands against your jeans and how all your blood seemed to be concentrated in your cheeks - half of it wasn’t just the nervousness, though, it was also because of how intense his gaze was.

Mason’s voice soothed your nerves like magic once he caught your attention during those two minutes, and you were wonderfully calm telling Holly Willoughby about the serie’s pre-production, cast choices, etc.

And as expected, once it was all over, Mason asked if you’d like to go out with him for coffee.

The two of you instantly clicked, like magnets completely drawn into each other, so it was easy and fun being around him. His inner circle wasn’t entirely the nicest, but as you grew closer and became extremely close friends, Mason introduced you to his family and you finally had a mother figure to welcome you with warm embraces since yours was miles away.

You were supposed to be just friends, but the beauty of how well you got along despite each other’s imperfections felt like a glitch in a system that led to something magical. In the end, together, you and Mason discovered that true love can arise from the most unexpected and delightful surprises.

That was 2.190 days ago or, more specifically, six years.

Now, you found yourself facing the diamond ring on your finger, glistening under the moonlight.

Mason broke up with you, for good this time, because you were ruining his life. His words.

You, of all people.

You, who loved him the most.

Him, who was simply your whole world, just as much as you were his.

Still watching the engagement ring on your finger, you tried to remember when your relationship started to crumble. Perhaps, it was right after he returned home from the World Cup, even if it had been just a few months that he proposed. Things started to get difficult for him at Chelsea and he was distant, such a stupid cliche. Classic miscommunication, so finding comfort at your own work was the only thing you could do and you isolated yourself at the cottage you bought in Scotland so you could write in peace - eventually, you fell down the same old cycle of isolating, writing compulsively, and just a few months later having to leave everything behind to promote the book.

A book full of personal poems, this time.

Tears rolled down your cheeks and you sniffed when you remembered how Mason spat the words at you.

“How fucking dare you to expose us like this?” He breathed heavily, anger in his eyes like you’ve never seen before. “You never make things easier for me. It’s always all about you,”

You frowned as his words still echoed in the back of your mind - everything you’ve done was always about him, from the moment you two met on that TV show. What was supposed to be a polite talk in the beginning, ended in a heated argument fueled by miscommunication and insecurities and more harsh words from him while you just listened. According to Mason, while he was always including you in his career choices, your commitment to your own career outweighed your commitment to your relationship.

“My career will never betray me,” it was automatic, you didn’t think before saying those words, and you only noticed the damage when Mason’s eyes glistened with tears.

“I would never do that to you, but if that’s what you believe…” Mason sniffed. You watched him shake his head and focus his gaze on the wall - anything not to look at you. “I love you, Y/n. But it’s ruining my life.”

A shy lick on your hand brought you back from painful memories and you were able to smile a bit as Lila watched you with those sleepy eyes.

“It’s just the two of us now,” you mumbled, touching her nose with the tip of your index finger.

Scotland has been your permanent home for the past two weeks since the breakup. You tried to reach him, tried to call him, and even texted his family, but no one replied. Even his friends were gone and it felt like Mason and the life you shared with him were nothing but a dream. The only thing that you still had was the engagement ring, that never left your finger.

Two weeks were also making you realise that, perhaps, Mason was right. You should’ve talked to him, should’ve put him first, and asked how he’d feel instead of making how you felt about everything so public. Even if there were no names, everyone knew that most of those poems were about Mason - the good ones, but mostly, the bad ones where you romanticised all of your struggles.

There was nothing but regret and sorrow for you.

Lila’s lazy and hoarse barking woke you up. At her own speed, she went back and forth from your bedroom to the front door, scratching her nails on it as she was desperate to see who was knocking on your door at three in the damn morning. If you weren’t so sleepy, you’d care more about the marks it was leaving on the wood.

Letting out a loud yawn, you slowly opened the door to find Mason on the other side, puffy eyes and messy hair, with both hands in his pockets.

“You shouldn’t open the door without knowing who it is. Not at this time of the night,” you frowned at his whispered words, not knowing exactly what to say. “Are you going to let me in? It’s cold,”

You quickly nodded, taking a step back so he could walk in and be greeted by Lila. His giggle as the basset hound lazily wiggled her tail made you smile softly - you missed the sound of his giggle. You missed everything about Mason.

“She misses you,” and so do I, you wanted to say. Mason just nodded. “Are you here to take the ring back?”

His sigh was the only sound that filled the room for a few seconds before he let go of Lila to finally look at you. He was a mess, just as much as you.

“No”, Mason replied. A knot formed on your stomach and you suddenly felt the urge to vomit - anxiety always did that to you. “I’m here to take you back.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, but you also felt a slight anger burn your chest and bring tears to your eyes. Crossing your arms against your chest, you watched Mason carefully as he seemed to wait for an answer - he looked absolutely defeated, but he let out a sigh of relief once his eyes caught the diamond ring still on your finger.

“I thought I was responsible for ruining your life.”

Mason nodded. “But you also put it back together, Y/n.”

His words completely disarmed you - arms fell to the sides of your body, but quickly wrapped around his waist. In Mason’s arms, you silently cried. “I should’ve talked to you, Mase. I’m so sorry,” Mason’s hands traveled up and down your back, comforting you, as his lips found your forehead, then your cheeks and your nose, in soft and gentle kisses.

“I overreacted,” you shook your head, but Mason cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “I did, but I hope you can forgive me.”

“If you can forgive me,”

“We’re both forgiven, then.”

A brief interruption, a slight malfunction

(...)

I thought we had no chance

And that's romance, let's dance.

#mason mount fanfic #mason mount x you #mason mount x reader

127 notes · View notes