#starts a drug van --> gets addicted to drugs
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“oh to be a fly on the wall”
59/365
#dsmp#dream smp#dsmp fanart#tommyinit#tommyinit fanart#tommyinnit#tommy fanart#mcyt#starts a drug van --> gets addicted to drugs#finally some angs i can draw#rejoice#c!tommy
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Nobody Needs to Know
Pairing: EddiexFemReader
Request: eddie x henderson fem!reader having sex and dustin catches them 🫣
No worries. Dustin doesn't see anything. I could never traumatize that sweet kid like that. He just surmises what happened after the fact. I took a little liberty with the story since this was all I had to go on. 😉
18+ ONLY
Your fingers wrapped around the folded piece of paper that had been slipped into your locker, a tight lipped smile crossing your face, knowing exactly who had slipped it in there. You unfolded the lined notebook paper, reading the handwriting that had become so familiar these past months.
Meet me in the janitor’s closet
Eyes darting around you to make sure no one else noticed, you slammed your locker shut, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. Your feet hurried, heart pounding, your body eager to get there even as your head was telling you this was stupid. You were going to get caught. You couldn’t keep sneaking around with him like this, but fuck if it didn’t make it that much hotter.
You glanced around once again to make sure no one was around and pushed the door of the closet open. It was pitch black but you were hesitant to turn on a light, not wanting the beam to shine under the door and give away that someone was in here. You paused, holding your breath, wondering if you’d made a mistake when a hand shot out, grabbing onto your wrist. In one swift motion, your other wrist was grabbed, hands pinned above you, your back pressed against the door.
“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy in that little skirt, princess,” a low voice rumbled in your ear and you pressed your thighs together as desire pulsed through your center. “Sitting there in math class, tapping that pencil, crossing your legs…all that skin…”
“That sounds like your problem,” you managed, attempting to sound more in control than you felt at that moment. “Maybe you need to work on your self control, Eddie. Don’t you have enough girly mags at home to help care for your poor little male urges.”
“Oh, we’re mouthy today, huh? Let’s shut you up, shall we?”
His mouth collided with yours, a mashing of tongue, lips, and teeth as he circled your wrists with the fingers of one hand. The other was sliding up your skirt, along the skin of your inner thigh. You moaned, pressing toward him and he chuckled.
“Not so mouthy when it’s your urges that need taking care of, are you?”
“For the love of Christ, shut up. All you do is…” you muttered but were quickly cut off by the whimper that fell from your lips as Eddie’s fingers dipped under the side of your panties, running teasingly along your slit.
You and Eddie had been sneaking around for two months, meeting in his van, the drama room, the janitor’s closet, the spot in the woods where he always met people to make his sales. It started as a drunken mistake and spiraled from there because no matter how much you told yourself that this was bad idea, that you needed to stop, your body fucking craved him. He was a drug and you were hopelessly addicted.
Two of his fingers pressed into you and you bit your bottom lip hard to keep from announcing to the whole school that you were getting finger fucked by Eddie Munson. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were in the band. You were top in your class. You had big plans to go to law school after graduation, having gotten into one of the top colleges in the country. Eddie was a horrible distraction you didn’t need but damn it, you wanted it. Not to mention he was your brother, Dustin’s, best friend and that was just awkward as hell. Dustin would never shut up about it if he knew what was going on.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? No insults to throw my way,” Eddie teased, curling his fingers, making your legs shake. “No. You can put me down all you want, princess, but at the end of the day, you keep coming back because you want this. You love all the dirty little things I do to your body.” His tongue painted a line along the side of your neck, his thumb making circles around your clit. “You want my fingers pressed inside you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you admitted, chest rising and falling with heaving breaths.
“You want my mouth all over your skin…”
“I do…” you whispered, your head falling to the side as he licked and nipped at the flesh on your neck and collarbone.
“Yeah, you do…” His fingers left you and in the pitch black, you heard the sound of his belt buckle as he undid it. You heard the familiar crinkle of the condom wrapper and something deep within you coiled tightly in anticipation. Eddie hooked under your knee with his arm, opening you fully to him. “And you fucking love when my cock is buried deep within this pussy. Come on, princess. Use that mouth to tell me how badly you want this.”
Your breath caught, body wound like a goddamn rubber band, just ready to snap. You didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction but damn it, you wanted him. You wanted him to take you hard and fast in this closet and he knew it. Eddie had caught on pretty quickly that you wanted this just as badly as he did.
“I mean…if you don’t want it…” he said slowly, his arm slipping out from under your leg.
“Fuck…I hate you,” you growled.
“You might hate me but you don’t hate the things I do to you.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, picturing that little crooked smile.
He had no idea how right he was, how many times you’d laid in your bed imagining it was him touching you. He had no idea how often you snuck glances at him throughout the day, drumming his pencils and doodling in class, his loud antics in lunch, the way he sauntered through the hallway, all that wild hair billowing behind him. Eddie Munson had consumed you in a way you didn’t think was possible.
“Fine, you want me to say it?” you relented. “I want your cock, Eddie. I fucking love your cock and I want you to fuck me right up against this door until I can’t walk straight.”
“My pleasure, sweetheart.”
He held your leg and slammed into you forcefully, rattling the bottles on the shelves. You let out a cry of pleasure before remembering you were in school. Eddie’s free hand clamped over your mouth as he sent your body smashing against the wood of the door again and again.
“Is this what you wanted?” Eddie demanded and all you could do with his hand over your mouth was nod. “Yeah. You put on a show for everyone else, the sweet good girl who never breaks the rules but you only let me see the real you, don’t you? The dirty, feral little beast inside that wants to break loose.”
You’d been with guys before but none of them had ever been like Eddie. They went through the motions, fumbling with your bra, fingers prodding you but never finding the right spots. Eddie found the right spots every damn time. You worked so hard to be what your parents expected, what your teachers expected, what this whole damn down expected. The only time you really felt like you could let go, like you could stop trying so hard, was when you were with him. He brought out a side of you that you hadn’t even known existed.
Your eyes rolled back in your head as he lifted your leg higher, allowing him to go deeper. He slowed the pace, keeping you on the edge but not quite letting you tumble off just yet. Your leg shook beneath you and you gripped Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling to the floor.
“Come on princess…it’s just me and you in here. You don’t have to pretend with me. Let that freak flag fly, baby. Just let go for me,” Eddie urged. “Come all over my cock, pretty girl.”
A scream clawed its way from your throat, the only thing stopping it from ringing through the hall of Hawkins was Eddie’s hand muffling the sound. Your nails dug into his flesh as your orgasm ripped through you, sending shockwaves of pleasure from your head to your toes that had your whole body humming, vibrating with ecstasy and relief.
“That’s my good girl,” he praised, never ceasing his thrusting, his hand leaving your mouth to grip your other hip, helping you stay upright as he followed, fingertips leaving marks on your skin. “Fuck…”
Eddie slid from inside you and you heard the thunk of the condom as he tossed it in the trash can. You moved to reach for your panties but he was already there, pulling them up your legs. His hands came to either side of your head, caging you in.
“What the hell are you doing?” you asked. “You got what you wanted.”
“Nah, not everything,” Eddie replied and his lips were on your skin again. But this was different. It wasn’t urgent and demanding. It was soft and affectionate, completely throwing you off balance.
“Seriously…” you said softly, a nervous laugh bubbling up within you. “Eddie, what are you doing?”
“Go out with me.”
“What?”
“Go out with me,” he repeated. “Look, I know all this cloak and dagger shit has been fun, but I want more. I want to take you out for a damn burger. I want to see a movie with you. I want to hold your hand and kiss you and leave you notes in your locker that aren’t just meetup time for secret sex. I mean, I still want to do that too but I want more than just this…what do you think?”
“I…Eddie…” you began, your brain struggling to catch up to what was happening.
“Just forget it,” he huffed, pushing off the door and away from you. “I get it. It’s fun to have the freak as your dirty little secret but you don’t actually want anyone to know you’d sink that low, right?”
“No. That’s not what I…”
“Seriously, it’s fine. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Of course the perfect little straight As princess doesn’t want to get dirty dating the drug dealing loser.”
He wrenched open the door, almost knocking you over in the process. You darted after him but you both stopped at the sight of Dustin Henderson. He was leaning against the wall, a shit eating grin on his face as he took in the sight of the two of you, hair probably a mess, coming out of the janitor’s closet together.
“Holy shit! I knew it!” he yelled, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I mean, I didn’t but I knew something was going on! You two have been so weird lately! Wait! Were you two…oh gross!”
“Shut it Henderson!” Eddie growled, shoving past him.
“Eddie…” you began but he was flying down the hall, moving as quickly away from you as he could.
“Oh damn…did I interrupt a lover’s quarrel or something?” asked Dustin.
“Or something…” you muttered, grabbing your backpack from the floor of the closet and trudging off to History, needing to get away from your nosy ass brother before he could give you the third degree. It felt appropriate because that was what you and Eddie appeared to be now, history.
#eddie munson#eddie the banished#stranger things eddie#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fic#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x femreader#eddie munson x henderson!reader#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#smut requests#request
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Might be too much in line with I'm on fire.. but what about classic a classic motorcycle riding drifter.. that is more than meets the eye... maybe more monster than man and that's why he drifts... idk if that's enough maybe he's drifted into small town USA and he meets reader at like a Truckstop/ Diner that's across from the one hotel in town and over days of her waiting on him (EDS) they strike something up... spicy.. if you will.. maybe he finds her delectable and she finds him mysterious & charming idk just spit ballin
The Drifter
missed connections
out on the highway
monster!drifter!Eddie x dinerWaitress!Reader
18+ONLY, smut, blood, oral (f receiving), mention of drug and alcohol addiction, mention of physical abuse by an ex, mention of PTSD, emotional trauma, 2 lost souls finding each other, a killing, monsterfuqqing, but it’s also a really sweet, fluffy story if that makes sense. wc: 4.2
A/N: I was so excited to get this ask! I had to really pull back on the length of this story because I could've kept writing it forever and will most likely bring back Eddie The Drifter again in some oneshots. I did a quick re-read, but sometimes I just need to post these before I obsess over them for too long.
(Also, when Eddie is thinking about how "damaged" they both are, that is his perception, not mine. I think they are both perfect.)
Eddie had been drifting for a while. He didn’t want to know anyone, and he didn’t want anyone to know him. He hadn't been the same since the physical and emotional trauma he’d suffered in The Upside Down. Steve took him by the arm once and told him he understood what he was going through—that they all understood—and that he wasn’t alone. Eddie knew Steve and the rest meant well, but they couldn’t understand, and he was convinced no one ever would. Trauma affects everyone differently and for Eddie, it started to turn him into his father, and that was what scared him more than anything. Dark and brooding with a short fuse, there was a beast living inside of him that had not been there before the ordeal with Vecna; or perhaps, it had just been sleeping.
He lost his temper with Dustin once, and at the time, he thought he was having a very normal reaction to the situation. It wasn’t until he recognized the fear in his younger friend’s eyes–the way he backed away from Eddie and put his hands up as if he needed to protect himself—that Eddie knew he had to go. After years of silent struggle and becoming a hermit more and more, he decided to hit the road.
He started out in his van, sleeping in it, getting odd jobs wherever he went, staying in town just long enough to make some money, and then he was in the wind again. He called Wayne from payphones and sent postcards back home to Hawkins once in a while, but not often. In his mind, they were better off without him.
The second year he was on the road, he ended up getting involved with a biker gang and doing some jobs for them that paid well but were on the wrong side of the law. Before the Upside Down, he’d been more of a lover than a fighter. Sure, he had to defend himself a few times, especially from his old man, and he never took shit from people without giving it back, but ever since he almost died, he’d acquired some type of superhuman strength. There was a transformation that happened in him now, fueled by the adrenaline of his rage, and in the past decade, he’d been paid to hurt more people than he could count. The problem was—he’d started to like it.
Eventually, he was able to trade in his van for a Harley FXS 80, and he carried most of his early possessions with him. He put the rest of what he owned in a storage unit in Oregon, and he’d planned to circle back there again one of these days to get it all when he decided to settle down—but years later, he was still on the road. He’d been using his bedroll to sleep out under the stars the past couple nights, but the clouds told him it was about to rain, and he decided he could use a shower and a real bed for the night.
Red River Junction was less than a dot on a map, a truck stop town with a place to eat, a place to sleep, and a place to pump your gas, set right plop in the middle of nowhere. You’d grown up in a town not too far down the highway, and you were still there, in the same trailer your mother left to you when she passed. You worked at both the Sundown Motel part-time, and at Margie’s Diner, and in your free time, you dreamed about leaving town and never coming back.
You heard the rumble of his motorcycle before you saw it; chrome pipes growling to a stop as the rider found a place for his bike in the lot. A motorcycle, or even an entire MC, pulling into the junction was nothing new. You were the only stop for gas and food for a good fifty miles.
You were staring for so long out the window as he dismounted and took his helmet off, that you overflowed the coffee cup you were refilling and the elderly customer scoffed at you. He had long, curly hair tied back in a ponytail and bangs that had grown out just long enough to tuck behind his ears. Black leather jacket, and leather chaps over his jeans. Your attention was immediately drawn to his jewelry: the small hoop piercing in his ear and the chunky rings across his knuckles. My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels played softly from the jukebox while you made your way to the front to greet him. The kitchen was slammed with only Big Joe behind the grill, and Leslie was the only other waitress, but she was on a smoke break.
You fumbled the big plastic menu in your hand when he took his sunglasses off to nail you with those star-flecked eyes. “Just one for lunch?”
He tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt and looked around. “You still serving breakfast?”
“All day long,” you assured him. Seats at the counter were all full, so you offered him a booth, and he slid in without another word or glance in your direction, taking the menu from you with a grunt. You tried not to stare at his scars: the angry, purple one on his neck, and the deep white slash across his chin. His hands were also flecked with scar tissue from various fights, and punching through mirrors every time he hated his own reflection.
50 year old Leslie was tying her apron and chewing gum when you moved behind her to grab a cup and saucer for his coffee. “Another grumpy one,” you whispered over the sound of clinking silverware and scattered conversations.
Leslie raised her eyebrow a few times, resting her elbow on the counter. “Hell, he can get grumpy with me any day.”
Eddie didn’t say much while you waited on him, and you didn’t think he was paying any attention to you, but he saw the way you splashed a bit of vodka into your soda can behind the counter. He also caught the way you used that same liquid to toss back a couple pills you scooped out of your apron pocket just before you turned to grab some hot plates from the kitchen hatch. He didn’t judge you for it or think it was odd being that he’d spent the past ten years trying to find ways to dull his pain.
He thought you were too beautiful for this deadbeat town; too sweet, too kind. He noticed the bruise on your forearm and the vacancy in your eyes and he felt an instant kinship with you: the damaged recognizing the damaged.
When you came to clear his empty plate, he asked you if the Sundown Motel was a decent place to stay. It was the only motel for miles and he didn’t care how decent it was, he just wanted a reason to keep talking to you.
“Sure, it’s great,” you shrugged. “If you like bedbugs and carpets that look like a violent crime took place recently.”
He met your eyes, and there was a moment of levity there that lightened both of your spirits if only for that moment.
“I’m cool with bedbugs,” he brushed his tongue between his lips. “It gets lonely on the road, it’s nice to have some company.”
He told you his name was Eddie after he read yours off of your name tag, and when you came back from seating a table full of seniors who were on a bus tour to the casino, he was gone.
He left you a generous tip, though, and after hours of getting tipped in quarters and loose change, it felt good to have some solid cash in your pocket. His motorcycle was gone too, and you wondered if he’d decided to hit the road or stay the night.
You told yourself to forget about him, that he was just another drifter you’d never see again, but the evening had other plans for you.
You were supposed to have the night off from both jobs, but Susan at the front desk of the motel begged you to come down and work the check-in desk for an hour while she went to pick her kid up. You wished you could say you had some big plans, but that was absolutely not the case, and so you rolled your car up to the back lot behind the dumpsters and changed out of your orthopedic shoes and into something less drab.
You thought it would be an easy hour to space off and read a book, but ten minutes after you clocked in, two guests locked themselves out of their room. It was a two-tier motel, and as you made your way up the concrete steps with the husband and wife in question behind you, fumbling with the keys, you caught sight of Eddie a few rooms down, and your heart jumped into your throat.
He was sitting in the plastic chair in front of the door to his room, smoking a cigarette, stripped down to jeans and a wife-beater. His hair was still wet from his shower, hanging down his shoulders, showcasing the patchwork of scars that covered his flesh.
He didn’t make eye contact, but he saw you. In fact, he knew you were on your way a few minutes before that, because he heard your voice, and it made him stay and light another smoke. He flicked his ash and waited for you to let the couple into their room.
On your way back to the stairs, the soda and snack machine blocked your view, but once you rounded the corner, there he was again.
“Is your room satisfactory, sir?” You put the keys in your pocket and stood tall, pretending to act professional.
Eddie met your eyes then, staring up through his lashes, and one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Disappointed I haven’t found any bedbugs.”
You coughed a laugh, swaying on your feet. “Give it time. They come out at dark.”
Eddie didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he’d also learned never to miss an opportunity with how transient his life was. His attraction to you was not purely physical, which was a rare occurrence for him.
He shifted in his seat, a silky curl of gray smoke passing from his lips. “Are you free later tonight? Can I buy you dinner?”
Suddenly shy and baffled as to why he’d have any interest, you lowered your chin and shuffled your foot.
“I-I’ve got a boyfriend,” you cringed as you said it. Tony had cheated on you and left you more times than you could count. He took off a couple days ago after he knocked you around, and you had no idea where he was, but you continued to hold onto this strange sense of loyalty for him. Perhaps it was because you were convinced he was the best you could do.
“Did the tough guy do that to your arm?” Eddie asked in a low mumble, his eyes lingering on your bruises.
You covered the marks with your other hand, reflexively. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately,” you always felt like such an idiot when you defended that loser, but you didn’t know how to stop.
“Well,” Eddie smashed the butt in the ashtray by his chair and stood up to full height. One nipple under his white tank was hard, but the other one seemed to be missing. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
You were too stupefied to move, you just stood there holding your arm, waiting for him to go back into his room.
But Eddie paused in the doorway and turned to give you one last look. “You deserve a lot better, sweetheart. If he puts his hands on you while I’m around, I’ll fucking kill him.”
—------
You thought about Eddie’s words for the rest of your shift. When it was over, you drove the ten miles back to your trailer, took a shower, and found yourself driving back to the motel, as if your will was no longer your own.
“What are you even doing?” You hissed aloud to yourself as you parked behind the Sundown in your usual spot. It was dusk now and you accepted the possibility that he’d probably invited a different woman out to dinner by then, but any amount of reasoning couldn’t stop you. You checked the scene first, looking up from the main parking lot to catch the flicker of the tv in his room to let you know he was, indeed, still up there. His motorcycle was safe in its place, too, and you realized you hadn’t even prepared what to say. You were an anxious mess, but you were also hungry for him in a way that was foreign to you.
You hadn’t known much comfort or safety in your life, but you felt those things when you were around Eddie.
After standing at his door for a good 5 minutes, you finally found the courage to knock.
Eddie opened the door while your knuckles were still on the wood. His eyes looked you over, offering a buck of his chin in appreciation. “Well, well. You are a gorgeous bedbug.”
Your cheeks burned hot at the complement. “I had some free time, so I thought I’d just check and see how you were doing, if you have everything you need.”
Eddie braced his shoulder against the door jam, giving you a squint. “So, you came to check on me while you’re off the clock? Damn, that is good service.”
You flexed your hands, forcing a laugh, trying your best not to just turn around and run away.
“Are you hungry?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to come in? Cause we can —”
“I’m not hungry.” You answered, bolting inside of his room when he extended his arm as an invitation, before you lost your nerve.
“Neither am I,” Eddie agreed. But, he was craving something else.
He locked the deadbolt and made sure the curtains were closed.
—-----
There were very few words left to be spoken as your lips collided with his, meeting with equal levels of urgency. You kept trying to kiss him deep and desperate while your hand palmed him through his jeans, but he held you off a bit with soft pressure. He cupped your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb while he kissed you, giving individual attention to your top lip and then the bottom one. He kissed down your neck, flicking his tongue out every so often to taste you, making you gasp—you’d never been worshiped with someone's mouth before.
Breathing heavy, he started to unbutton your shirt. “Is this okay?” He asked, wondering how far you wanted to take it.
“Yes,” you gulped. “Please.”
Once you had his shirt off, you bent down to kiss and lick his scars—it was an unspoken act of acceptance that made Eddie’s cock twitch. You weren’t used to being cared for in bed, and Eddie could tell by the way you hurried to push your jeans down and bend over so he could take you from behind.
“Not like that,” he whispered, using strong arms to lower you to the bed while he shimmied your jeans off. He got on his knees and scooped up your hips, nudging your pussy through your underwear with his nose, and then he planted kisses across the wet spot and along your inner thigh. The animal inside of him loved your scent; he wanted to bury himself in it, and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him.
You fell back on the bed and covered your face with one hand. “Wait, I’m—not many people have done that—I’m not sure how to—”
Eddie finger pulled your underwear to one side, exposing your slippery lips for his tongue to flick. “Do you want me to stop?”
You arched back at the sensation of his mouth on you. “No, no, please don’t stop,” you urged, putting your hand on his head to gently cup his ear, the one with the silver hoop.
He moved away just long enough to pull your underwear all the way down your legs and off, maintaining eye contact with you. He didn’t rush, he took his time, and kissed his way back up your legs to the prize.
The gentle and precise way he swirled his tongue on your clit had you stammering his name with a few curses in between. As his attention to your bundle of nerves built your arousal and it spilled down your slit, he dove his mouth down a few times to taste it and drink you, shivering at the pleasure it gave him. He couldn’t help it, he had to reach down to grab his cock so he could fist it while his mouth brought you closer. The taste of your hormones in your slick had pre-cum wetting his tip already.
Tony had only gone down on you a few times, and he never really seemed to enjoy it. But Eddie was one of those who could eat a peach for hours, as they say.
“Right…there…” you hushed, startled as you felt the wave of an orgasm rise. Eddie zeroed in on that spot with just the right pressure, fluttering his tongue as he sucked. His other hand milked his cock in long strokes, taming the beast from cumming too soon, moaning warm breath against your cunt.
“Eddie!” You cried out just as the release took you and wracked your body, like a spring popping out of a tight coil, unraveling. Eddie pressed his mouth closer to lap you up, feeling your body vibrate as he held your hip in place.
He only broke the seal made by his mouth once you were too sensitive, and your limbs dangled off the bed for a minute, unable to move.
It didn’t take long for you to start coaxing him up on top of you, spreading your legs out, begging for him to be closer. He met your kiss with deep, soul-searching need, and you whined at the sensation of his tip sliding up and down your slick. But, then he hesitated, and pulled up to meet your eyes.
“Inside of me,” you begged, nodding. “I need you inside of me.”
And yes, that was what Eddie wanted too, but now there was another problem.
Eddie’s ears pricked at the sound of footsteps outside the door. He sniffed the air, trying to identify the presence. He slid off of you and stood, watching the door while he pulled his jeans up and zipped his stiff, aching cock into place behind the denim.
Shuffling up onto your elbows, you were about to speak, to ask what was wrong, but Eddie silenced you with a finger to his lips. He tossed your jeans over and motioned over his shoulder for you to put them on in the bathroom.
There was something about the whole situation, and Eddie’s sudden silence, that unnerved you, and so you scampered off the bed as quietly as you could and did as he asked.
There were no lights on in the room, except for the infomercial on the mute TV, but the bright moon illuminated the walkway outside enough for him to catch sight of someone pacing out there.
Finally, there came a heavy knock and a voice.
It was Tony, and he shouted your name. “ARE YOU IN THERE? HUH? You fucking whore!”
You buttoned your jeans and all of the blood ran from your face. Eddie turned his head to look at you. The adrenaline of pure fear pumped through your body as you froze in place.
Eddie put his hand out, motioning for you to stay right where you were, behind him.
Tony pounded on the door again. “YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME! One of my guys said he saw you go in here with some fucking dude. IF YOU’RE FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE I’LL KILL YOU, you goddamn bitch!”
By “one of his guys” Tony meant one of the other drug dealers in town, who were generally crawling all over the motel, leeching off of the clientele. Eddie looked deceptively calm as he stood at the end of the bed, breathing slow, and you walked over to grab his arm, to warn him that Tony was a crazy motherfucker, and you’d just go with him so Eddie wouldn’t get hurt.
But Eddie motioned for you to hide, so you did.
“Hold up, man,” Eddie was moving now, heading to undo the deadbolt and you cringed, pushing back as tight as you could between the wall and the bathroom door.
Once the door was unlocked, Tony stood there heaving, looking Eddie up and down. Tony was big in a stocky way, but not big like Eddie, and he enjoyed that flash of fear that lit over his adversary’s eyes at first glance. Sure, the guy had some obvious prison ink, but that didn’t mean shit to Eddie.
“Where is she?” Tony demanded, pushing in.
“Where’s who, man?” Eddie was being so casual about it, and you were trying not to scream.
Eddie shut the door and quietly locked it behind him
Tony’s eyes darted around the room, and then he spun on his heel; his eyes were pinned and doped-out. “Don’t act dumb, man. My fucking girl. Someone said they saw her come up here.”
Tony walked up to Eddie and started poking him in the chest. “Tell me where that fucking whore is before I make you my bitch.”
Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next—for the transformation and the carnage. You witnessed it all through the crack in the bathroom door as if you were watching a horror movie.
Eddie changed, in an instant; the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged, the teeth in his mouth turned jagged and sharp, and his eyes went completely black. His massive, clawed hand wrapped around Tony’s throat, lifting him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground.
You muffle a scream with your hand, watching Tony gargle and spit, his limbs flailing.
Eddie’s lips stretched to speak around his fangs. “She’s not your girl anymore,” he growled.
Eddie strangled Tony with one hand until he lost consciousness, and then he threw him to the bed like a rag doll, pouncing on top of him. He proceeded to rip his throat open with his teeth; blood squirted on the wall and across the door where you were hiding, misting you in the face.
When he was finished, you made your way out of the bathroom.
Eddie was still a monster as he got off the bed at the sight of your approach. His clawed hands twitched at his sides, his hair dripped with blood, and his skin from nose to chest was bathed in crimson. His black eyes assessed you, waiting for you to scream or try to run—-but you didn’t.
You got close enough to touch him, to run your hand up his chest to feel the blood between your fingers, and then brush some bloody hair behind his ear.
Eddie frowned, wondering why you weren’t afraid of him, wondering why your desire for him didn’t seem to falter.
You parted your lips, watching the red drool drip from his teeth. “Are you okay?"
Your mouths found each other again, tasting the tang of your own blood as one of his fangs pricked your lip. You each did frantic work of unzipping each other’s jeans as Eddie scooped you up to lay you on the floor.
While the last few pumps of blood shot from Tony’s artery, monster Eddie spilled his seed inside of you, throwing his head back with a howl.
Now, there really had been a crime committed in that room, and Eddie would need to be on the road again, gone by daylight.
Maybe this time, you’d be going with him.
#Eddie Munson#Eddie munson fic#Eddie munson monster#monster!Eddie#drifter!Eddie#requests#biker!Eddie#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson x reader#diner au#truckstop au
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LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. two
(chapter one) (chapter two)
PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader
SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.
WORD COUNT: 8.7k+
SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). not a slow burn; it’s pretty hot and heavy right off the bat. eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.
CHAPTER TAGS: unexpected tears. some woeful reminiscing. wisecracking siblings. how Rick and Eddie met. flirting in front of a moody bartender. Eddie has a penchant for being self-deprecating but he tries to be funny about it. oversharing. dehydrated!Eddie 😉 (there’s a tease of f!rec oral here). even more cockblocking. a tinge of tension at the end.
TAG LIST: @babybatlover
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chapter title: Nobody, That’s My Name
Packing up had actually taken three hours, mostly because you were so undecided on what to bring.
Your stomach was in knots with the realization that you’d have to leave some things behind. You wished you could just transport your entire room as it was to Hawkins.
This had been your sacred space since childhood. You were only two when your family made the move from Chicago to Fresno, so this house was really all you’d ever had memories of.
Your room had grown up and changed alongside you, a non-sentient appendage and an outward expression of every new trend and month-long hobby you’d picked up along the way.
“Bean, you good?” Rick’s voice called out from the other side of your closed door.
You’d been seated on your bed — it could have been for a few minutes or half an hour, you weren’t sure. You hadn’t noticed the wet line that rimmed your bottom lashes until you turned to look at your brother as he stepped inside your room. When you blinked, a tear broke free and rolled down your cheek.
“My face that ugly? You gotta cry when you look at me?”
You choked out a laugh, bringing a hand up to wipe your eyes dry. Leave it to Rick to try and lighten the mood. It’s what he’d been doing his whole life – never taking anything too seriously, refusing to get hung up on any emotion other than those aligned with happy hedonism.
You’d always wondered if there was a secret storm that raged somewhere deep inside of him.
“All my stuff isn't gonna fit inside your stupid van,” you said, not bothering to explain further.
You didn’t need to. Rick could read between the lines.
This was going to be the first time you’d left the only home you’d ever known for longer than a sleepover at a friend’s house.
The residence itself would never win any awards for being the greatest of places, but your bedroom, on the other hand — that had a surefire shot.
It was here where your dad had first read you the The Hobbit, the precursor to your love of fantastical tales.
It was here on the floor where you made your first prank call with Cynthia Toomey, your childhood best friend. It was to a teacher whose number had been written on a stall in the girl’s bathroom. It didn’t strike you as odd then why a twelve-year-old would know a much older male teacher’s phone number, but after the man had gotten arrested a few years back for soliciting a minor at a park, it all started to make sense.
It was here where you’d heard Janis Joplin for the first time, a record Rick had mailed you for your fourteenth birthday. Her deep crooning voice scratched at parts of your soul you didn’t even know were itchy.
It was here where you’d first taught yourself how to sew a patch onto your backpack; where you’d first tried on the lipstick and eyeshadow you’d stolen from the vanity in your parent's bedroom, something that resulted in a week's worth of extra chores (according to your mother, it was to teach you "the consequences of petty theft" or whatever); where you’d first experimented with a girl while watching Happy Days, soft tongues and even softer fingers exploring every inch of uncovered skin as Fonzie’s signature “Ayyyy’s” mixed with her breathy moans and your rapid heartbeat.
“I didn’t think I’d care that much about leaving,” you admitted, voice shakier than you’d hoped it would be.
Rick watched you from the doorframe, giving a knowing smile in an attempt to mollify you. “Y’know, you might not believe it, but I couldn’t sleep the first three nights after I left. Kept thinkin’ about how much I missed my bed and the noise the air conditioner made that I used to think I hated.” He quieted momentarily, observing his surroundings. Overflowing plastic bags and opened suitcases stuffed full of clothes, books, vinyls, and random knickknacks were scattered across the floor. “It’s still home, even if we never really wanted it to be.”
Rick walked over to one of the cases. He bent down to zip it up, having to put a foot on the grip to shut it enough so it closed completely. “But you’re gonna make a fuck ton more memories in Hawkins, Bean,” he pledged, grabbing the handle and pulling it towards the door. “We are. Okay?”
You chewed your lower lip and allowed yourself a few more moments of wallowing before heaving a sigh, slapping your thighs with the palms of your hands as you stood.
“Okay. You sap.” You snatched as many full plastic bags off the ground as you could. “The first memory’s gonna be about how much weaker you are compared to me.” You looked down at the single heavy suitcase he was carrying, scoffing lightheartedly. “Only one, Richard? Really? You have another hand. Use it.”
And he did, by bringing his free one up to flip you the bird.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
Although your brother had a spacious purple-painted 1970 Ford Econoline the pair of you could have comfortably slept in, the back of the vehicle was currently filled to the brim with all of your luggage.
Any time the side door had to be slid open for whatever reason, an ample amount of contents came pouring out.
One of your "haunted-as-shit dolls," affectionately dubbed by Rick, had fallen victim to the concrete ground outside of a gas station in Colorado. Its glass eye had popped out and shattered, its arms detaching from its tiny body. You’d gasped in horror at the doll’s demise, smacking Rick on his chest for being so careless.
It was safe to say neither one of you were going to be getting anything from the back of the van until you’d made it to Hawkins to unpack, or else Rick would be forced to face your wrath.
Your possessions were prized, goddammit.
So, one motel stay and thirty-two hours after leaving the WELCOME TO FRESNO sign behind, Rick finally pulled into the driveway of his boathouse.
The orange neon lighting of the van’s dashboard clock read 10:13AM.
You’d been soundlessly sleeping for the last hour of the car ride, having dozed off shortly after Rick had put in a Talking Heads cassette, the G Major melody of This Must Be the Place lulling you into a dreamless nap.
Rick suddenly had the brilliant big brother idea to grant himself the honor of becoming your own personal wake-up alarm.
Putting the car in park, he switched the Talking Heads cassette out for Bad Religion’s How Could Hell Be Any Worse? He skipped to a track titled In the Night, cranked the volume to the max, and started to head-bang and sing along wildly off-key.
You startled awake immediately, arms flailing at nothing as you tried to rapidly blink your eyes open.
When you found Rick performing his solo concert, way too committed to the bit, you refused to laugh at the sight, even if it was your gut reaction. The last thing you wanted to do was encourage him. “Noooo, is this what you’re gonna be like the whole time?” you instead asked with faux abrasiveness, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music.
Rick grinned wide, never faltering in his seated moshing, not until the song came to an abrupt end a few seconds later, when you’d finally had enough and reached a hand over to eject the tape.
“I didn’t want you to have an aneurysm,” you told him plainly with a shrug, in response to his offended look. “I could hear your little brain rattling around up there in that thick skull. I got worried.”
Rick shot a hand up to cover his heart, as if he’d been stabbed. “You wound me, little sister. Deeply and completely.”
He pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped outside, hurrying to the passenger side of the van to slide open the back door. He tried with both hands to stop the cascade of your belongings from spilling out, but failed miserably, clothes and books landing in messy heaps on the driveway.
“Hey, what the fuck!” you called out, hopping down from your seat to start picking up what you could from the pavement, pulling your items to your chest. “Don’t you have any grace?”
Rick pretended to ponder this before saying, “Grace, huh. Think I dated that girl in high school. Don’t have her anymore, nope.” That earned a snort and an eye roll from you.
Rick remembered a time when your brattiness would have annoyed him to no end. He knew it would again, and probably soon, but he was surprised by how fond of it he was right now, how much he missed having you around.
“Once we get all this shit inside,” he started, grabbing two suitcases, filling both hands so he didn’t have to hear you comment about his carrying capabilities (or lack thereof) again, “you can unpack, and we can shower and relax. But then I’ve got plans for tonight.”
He’d begun walking to the front door, you trailing off behind him. “So you’re ditching me the first night I’m here?” you scolded, albeit playfully. You honestly wouldn’t have minded some alone time, being able to start decorating and acquainting yourself with your new abode. Still, you wanted to keep playing the part of bitchy baby sister, a role you hadn’t been able to play in so long but a role you fell right back into, as easy as riding a bike. “That’s very rude, Rick. What a horrible host you are.”
“Not a chance, Bean. Plans for us tonight. You’re comin’ with. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
He’d told you that he was taking you to some bar called The Hideout. It sounded sleazy, and you’d told him as much. He didn’t argue that, just said there’d be food and drinks and live music. And some guy there he knew that was in the same grade as you.
You didn’t know this, but Rick had a plan for Eddie Munson. He was going to barter with his young metalhead friend: be the lookout for his little sister when Rick wasn’t around, and he’d heavily discount the bulk weed and other goodies Eddie bought from him for the foreseeable future.
“What’s this guy’s name again?” you asked, moving to kick your feet up on the dashboard before Rick swatted your legs down. Again.
He’d told you several times already that sitting like that was one of the most dangerous positions to be in if he got into an accident. Said that your legs would snap and your bones would jam through your body. You thanked him for the visual, then kept doing it.
“Eddie," he answered.
“And what exactly does this Eddie look like…?”
You tried to breach the question with as much nonchalance as you could muster, but the intent behind your inquiry was still obvious: was Eddie attractive?
“Off-limits.”
“Hmm. That’s a weird physical description of someone.”
“I’m serious, Bean. Don’t.”
It wasn’t that Rick didn’t like Eddie.
It was quite the contrary, actually.
Rick had met Eddie the summer of ‘84, outside one of Al Munson’s many, many court hearings, after the elder Munson had mistakenly asked both of them for a ride home.
As an apology, Al invited both Eddie and Rick over to where he was currently freeloading at some guy’s apartment, to smoke a few bowls (that ended up coming from Rick’s personal supply) and order Chinese (that Eddie ended up paying for).
At some point that night, Al had mentioned to Eddie that Rick was the go-to guy for weed and weed-alike.
“Oh, shit, man – you’re Reefer Rick?” Eddie had asked after a particularly rough coughing excursion, having hit the piece a little too harshly.
“Reefer Rick? That’s what the kids are calling me?”
Eddie nodded, handing the bowl off to his dad. “Yeah, you’re kind of like a celebrity. Or a unicorn?” Rick’s brows furrowed deeply at this. Eddie laughed before explaining, “Meaning I very confidently thought you didn’t exist. Figured you were just who the posers from school said they got their shit from as a red herring, so they didn’t get in too much trouble when Hop took their stash.”
“Hop, like, Hopper? Beer-bellied fucking pig asshole Jim Hopper? That motherfucker knows I sell?”
Hopper had been a thorn in Rick’s side since just about the day he’d moved in.
Jim had been pulling Rick over for minor traffic violations almost weekly by that point, and if Eddie was telling the truth, the hard-on Hopper seemed to have for him now made a hell of a lot more sense. The cop was probably trying to catch him with something on him.
Eddie grinned like he was letting his company in on a joke. “Well, he knows Reefer Rick sells. You're just Rick Lipton, my friend."
From that night on, Eddie would stop by Rick’s house twice a month to re-up on his stock. The pair would sometimes get stoned around the fire pit in Rick’s backyard after they made the deal, and Rick soon found out that Eddie was not at all like the hardcore persona he projected to the world. And he definitely wasn’t a magnet for mayhem like his old man.
At heart, Eddie Munson was a total fucking nerd.
He liked mythology and board games and doodling and passionately debating which conspiracy theories he thought would stand the test of time. He often marveled at Rick’s comic book collection, standing at the shelves for an hour or so at times, just browsing the titles that stood out to him. Eddie’s favorites to flip through were Rick’s copies of Twisted Tales and Creepshow.
Rick had briefly thought a handful of times that you and Eddie would probably get along great if the two of you ever met.
But then the thought of just how great you’d possibly get along would get Rick irritated with Eddie for the non-existent relationship the boy didn’t have with a sister he didn’t even know Rick had.
On their last meet-up, Eddie had told him that he and his bandmates would dress up as pirates and paladins and go to the Ren Faire twice a year.
The band. That was another reason Rick was wary of introducing the two of you.
Being in the scene for as long as he had been now, Rick knew many musicians, and he wouldn’t trust nearly any of them around his baby sister.
They weren’t all like Eddie, though. Rick had to admit that.
Sure, the boy was a little rough around the edges, rowdy and flamboyant, but Rick remembered being kind of the same way as a teenager – and he hadn’t ruined the lives of any girls, had he? Not that he knew of at least, or at least not intentionally.
He’d been a bit of a relationship hopper, just desperate for attention when you got to the bottom of it, but Rick had never been disrespectful of women. He’d never forced himself on anyone, never pleaded to turn a “no” into a “yes,” never verbally or physically accosted any of them. Rick couldn’t bring himself to even imagine doing anything like that. He couldn’t imagine Eddie doing any of that either.
Despite cringing at the idea of you and Eddie maybe catching something more than just friendly feelings for one another, Rick still couldn’t think of another person he’d trust more to keep tabs on you when he himself wasn’t around.
But Rick could still at least try to persuade you to see Eddie in just a platonic light.
“He’s a dork, Bean. His favorite talking point is why Gollum is just a misunderstood victim. Doesn’t shut up about how they do the special effects in those gory B-horror movies, ruins the whole fuckin’ movie yapping. Plays lame board games with his little weirdo degenerate friends.”
“First of all, Rick, did you ever even read Lord of the Rings?” you started, throwing your hands up in disbelief, and Rick was sorry he even opened his mouth. “Sméagol is totally just a misunderstood victim. I mean, sure, whatever, he bit off Frodo’s finger, but he was basically the reason Sauron was defeated! It’s all the Ring’s fault. It was evil. It possessed everyone.” You huffed, settling back against the seat as you watched Rick pull into a parking space at what you assumed was The Hideout. “Also, are these things supposed to make me want to talk to this guy less? 'Cause if that’s the case, you’re really good at doing the exact opposite of what you intend.”
Rick gave a classic you move, rolling his eyes.
“Just don’t flirt with him, Bean, damn. Please. It’s, like, my only rule. He’s my… friend. He’s my friend. So just don’t.”
You pushed your lips to the side, stepping out of the car before Rick turned off the ignition.
Did your brother know nothing about you? Being told you weren’t allowed to flirt with this stranger, to even go as far as saying he was ‘off-limits’? You now knew exactly what your plan was for the rest of the night: try to break Rick’s only rule.
Isn’t that what little sisters were for?
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
You knew Rick had said there would be live music, but you definitely weren’t expecting four young men about your age on stage singing nearly spot-on covers of Slayer and Iron Maiden songs.
Rick had gotten the two of you a table towards the back of the bar. He’d bought you a vodka pineapple – which he wasn’t initially intending on doing, at first telling you a Coke was all you were getting, something you were not willing to accept; after a hefty amount of prodding, he moped off to buy you the fruity alcoholic beverage just to get you to stop being so fucking annoying about it.
You were nursing the last few sips, sucking the liquid noisily through the small black straw, when the cute lead singer with the mess of black curls brought his mouth to the microphone.
“You guys have been great, really, all five of you, couldn’t ask for better fans,” he spoke to the sparse crowd. No one clapped or cheered or anything, which made you laugh out loud at the one-sided interaction. “This’ll be our last song for the night – ”
“Freebird!” someone in the audience called out.
“Vince, I tell you every time, we’re not fucking playing Freebird, man — it’s never gonna happen,” tall, dark-haired, and handsome sniped from the stage.
Familiar chords started to echo out from the bassist, the moppy haired drummer hit his wooden drumsticks together in a steady rhythm, and the small-town rockstar began singing Enter Sandman.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
Rick had been chatting with a handful of other bar patrons throughout the duration of the band’s setlist. A few of them — older, biker-looking men — occupied your table as the band on stage started to descend, done for the night.
You heard the jukebox start up, playing some Dolly Parton song, a hilarious juxtaposition from the heavy metal music that had just filled the bar.
Your eyes searched for the lead singer, spotting him heading over to the bar alone, the other boys in the band disappearing off backstage with their instruments in tow.
“Hey, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” you announced, but Rick just nodded and waved you off, in a deep conversation with one of the bearded men about something to do with Special K. The cereal? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care to stay long enough to find out.
What you wanted to do was to talk to this Kirk Hammett lookalike that poured his heart out on the stage of a hodunk bar like he was performing in front of hundreds of thousands of people at Madison Square Garden.
His back was to you when you approached, black ringlets of hair falling down past his shoulders, frizzy from the indoor humidity.
You put your now empty drink down on the bar-top, the clinking sound pulling his attention over to you.
Oh, wow.
He was nice to look at from afar, but even nicer to look at up this closely. His face was flushed, likely from the hour-long show he’d just put on, a small smattering of light chestnut freckles peeking out over alabaster skin. His big brown eyes widened as they took you in, as if he couldn’t believe you were staring at him.
“You were great up there,” you started, not able to contain your smile. “Made me forget I was in Hawkins. Thought I was at Whisky a Go Go or something.”
He looked surprised. Whether that was from your compliment or just from you talking to him in general, you weren’t sure. “Yeah?” he prodded, voice deep and raspy, obviously a bit blown out from the seven or eight songs he’d just belted.
You nodded eagerly. He grinned wide, chest puffing out a bit now. Boys plus ego stroking equaled checkmate, one of your favorite mottos.
“Can I, uh, buy you a drink? Whatever you want… whatever that was,” he pointed to your empty glass, “I can buy you another one of those.”
“Nice try, Munson,” came the voice of the bartender. Your new friend — Munson, supposedly — shot him an annoyed look. “I know you’re only twenty. You can have water or a soda. That’s it, kid.”
The raven-haired metalhead turned his attention back to you, face a bit chagrined. “Foiled by the barkeep. Sorry. You want a soda? Best in the Midwest. You’ll never drink another Coca-Cola like this ever again.”
You laughed. “Sure, I’ll take a Best in the Midwest soda. Coke with grenadine, light ice.”
“You heard the lovely lady,” Munson said to the bartender, obviously enjoying that he now got to order the man around a bit. “Coke with grenadine, light ice. Hop to it.”
“Lucky the boss likes you, you little shit,” the bartender was grumbling, but Munson didn’t seem distressed. Amused, if anything.
You watched as his eyes drifted up to the top of your head. “Now those are cool,” he acknowledged, pointing with a ringed finger.
Your brows furrowed in confusion before realization struck. Oh, yeah! You’d forgotten you’d put on a tiny little headband before leaving for the bar. It was black, but had two small red devil horns poking out on either side.
“Why, thank you,” you said, bringing a hand up to touch one of the points. “Although I wasn’t really going for cool. More along the lines of wicked or evil, maybe. Sinful. Be the reason everybody in here’s thinkin’ all those shameful thoughts.”
Had Eddie been anywhere else, or at least not high from the adrenaline he ran on after performing, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to fight off the blush from your comment. That, mixed with the heavy-lidded stare you were currently fixing on him, he’d have been a goner.
Thankfully for him, he was able to continue to false bravado his way through this conversation, as he’d just spent two-ish hours channeling his inner Eric Adams from Manowar. He could act like a big shot for a little longer. “With a face like yours, I don’t think I can call you anything but an angel.” He surprised himself with his flirtatious evenness, but he tried not to let it show on his face.
He watched as your eyes softened a smidge, but the moment was ruined when the bartender shot forward your glass.
“Coke with grenadine, light ice, for the lovely lady,” he mocked, his hard stare never leaving Munson’s face.
When the bartender turned away, Munson glanced at you, then shot a look over his shoulder at the moody man as if to say, What’s this guy’s problem?
You couldn’t help but laugh at his colorful expression before you brought your straw to your lips, taking a sip.
“Oh, fuck!” came the expletive from Munson. “Sorry. Here I am, buying you drinks and calling you an angel, and you don’t even know my name.” He fixed himself into a relaxed pose, leaning his side against the edge of the bar-top. “Hi, there. I’m Eddie.” He offered what he hoped was a beseeching smile.
Eddie… Eddie… where had you heard that name tonight? You knew you’d heard it from somewhere…
Oh! Eddie! As in, Rick’s off-limits, total dork of a friend, Eddie. This had to be him, right?
How lucky you were. You didn’t even have to go searching for your fun for the night. He just strolled off the stage, practically falling right into your lap. He’d even bought you a drink!
Achieving your goal of breaking Rick’s only rule might be a lot easier than you’d intended.
“Ooooh, so you’re Eddie,” you bemused, taking another small drink. “Of course you’re Eddie.”
A worried look overtook his previously collected features. “You’ve heard about me?” he asked. His voice now wasn’t as confident as it had been before. It was tinged with uncertainty, maybe a bit of anticipatory disappointment. “What d'you mean, 'Of course I’m Eddie’?”
“No, no, it’s nothing bad,” you cooed, bringing a hand to rest on his forearm. You could feel the solidity of his muscles beneath your fingers. You fought the urge to squeeze. “All good stuff, actually. Meeting you’s just adding to the intrigue. I promise.”
That seemed to put him more at ease. He nodded slowly, eyes briefly darting down to your hand which was still grazing his arm. You took it away, wondering if he wasn’t appreciative of it.
You’d read it wrong. He was.
“What’s your name?” he asked, finding your stare again.
Should you have told him?
It probably wouldn’t have hurt.
But you were afraid maybe Rick had already gotten to him, told him to steer clear of his little sister. Name dropping yourself might make Eddie back off, and you did not want that.
“You said you can’t call me anything but an angel,” you replied with puckish modesty. “So, let’s stick with that.” You put your free hand out, the one that had previously taken space on his arm. “Hi, Eddie. I’m Angel.”
You were a little bewildering, kind of cryptic, and super fucking hot. Eddie was a big fan of all three. He didn’t want to pressure you into giving an actual name if you didn’t want to. He could live with Angel. It wasn’t like the moniker was inaccurate.
“Okay, angel,” he granted, taking your hand in his. “It’s an honor.” He brought his lips down to press lightly against the skin of your fingers, eyes never leaving yours. He relished in the tiny bite you gave the corner of your lower lip at his action.
The bartender cleared his throat loudly. Both you and Eddie rolled your eyes simultaneously, turning your attention to him again as you pulled your hand back.
“You two mind? No one wants to come up here and drink with the both of you making Fuck Me eyes at each other. Scram.”
“You’re mean,” you admonished.
Eddie laughed at your accusation, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing at it under the heavy weight of his hair.
“You smoke?” he asked.
“Smoke what?” you countered.
Eddie grinned. “I was gonna suggest a cigarette, but maybe you’d be interested in something a little… greener?”
Your brows shot up in intrigue and you nodded, sucking the rest of your soda down in three long sips before slamming the glass back down on the wooden surface of the bar.
“Show me the way, rockstar.”
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
“So, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you around here before,” Eddie started, leading you out the door of The Hideout, heading into the parking lot.
You’d quickly scanned the crowd for Rick before exiting, wanting to make sure he was still otherwise occupied and wouldn’t catch you sneaking out with the one person he most definitely didn’t want you sneaking out with.
No longer was he talking to the biker bros that had basically accosted him at the table. Now he was sitting so close to a pretty purple haired girl that you were sure their foreheads were touching. His hand was on her cheek, and he was smiling goofily at her.
Good. He should be busy for a while now. Thank you, lavender loc’d lovergirl.
“'Cause you’d remember my pretty face if you’d seen it before, is that the rest of your sentence?” you teased.
Eddie grinned a bit bashfully, hand moving to rub at his neck again. You acknowledged it was probably a tell for when he was nervous or bordering on embarrassed. Good to know, perhaps an essential quirk to tuck away for safekeeping.
“Yeah, something like that,” he admitted with a laugh. “But really. You’re not from Hawkins, are you?”
“I am not from Hawkins, no. I actually just moved here today, if you can believe it.”
“Wow,” Eddie said, voice taking on a bantering tone. “Less than 24 hours here and you’re already walking alone at night with some stranger who many have dubbed a sinister cult leader. I may just be Indiana’s very own Satan incarnate. What ever will your parents think?”
“Well, lucky for you, I happen to be the offspring of a high-level Duke of Hell,” you countered, fully thinking of your mother when you spoke. “Guess it’s a match made in… Inferno?”
“My favorite kind of match,” Eddie confessed with a grin as you approached the brown and cream Chevy Beauville you figured belonged to him.
You paused for a beat as Eddie pulled open the side door before asking, “Do people really think that? That you’re a cult leader?”
“Oh, yeah,” he responded, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. When he spoke next, he took on a theatrical guise, words laced with performative shock. “When I walk down the street, men can’t help but to scoff and glare; women clutch their purses to their chests; mothers cover their children’s eyes before their children can shriek in horror; dogs bark and wolves howl and the whole Earth opens up beneath my feet.”
You found yourself watching in utter amusement at his sermonizing, your focus unwavering on his expressive hand motions and his demonstrative body language, your ears attuned to every shift in infliction of his voice.
Rick was right.
Eddie was a dork.
But such an endearing dork. A stellar storyteller. A winsome wordsmith. And it was like he wasn’t even trying. Like this ingenuity came to him as easy as taking a breath.
He reminded you a little of your father -- the eagerness to put on a show, the effortless spellbinding nature. The similarities filled your chest with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Too much?” Eddie asked, cringing a little at your silence.
You shook your head slowly, smiling. “Not at all.”
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
Eddie had a multicolor Afghan spread out on the floor in the back of his van, one he informed you was made for him by a past girlfriend of his Uncle’s.
He apologized profusely that the interior wasn’t more appealing, mumbled something about how he should maybe think about getting actual seats installed, but when you sprawled out wordlessly on the blanket, back plush against its scratchy softness, and positively beamed at him, he shut up.
He sat down next to you after finding a half-smoked joint in his middle console, offering it to you for the first hit.
“Where'd you move here from?” he asked after a few moments of peaceful silence, nothing heard but the sizzle from the lit Rizla and the steady stream of cars from the busy street outside.
“Fresno,” you replied, passing the joint to him as you held in your hit until the smoke burned your lungs.
“A California city girl in little ole Hawkins?” he bemused, taking a deep drag. “You must feel pretty out of place here, angel.”
With a shrug, you said, “Dunno yet. It’s only been less than a day, remember?” You took the joint as he extended it out to you, taking a smaller hit this time. “Ask me again after school on Monday.”
“You goin’ to the community college or something?”
“No, I’m still in high school. Senior. I think it’s just called…”
“Hawkins High. Yeah, I uh, I go there too.” That hand rubbing at the back of his neck again. “Um – Paul, y'know, that mean bartender, he… said something about me being twenty? I dunno if you heard. But, yeah. I got held back a few years, so…”
Turns out the hand thing was a sign of embarrassment.
“Eddie, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you told him, moving to position your weight onto one side, leaning against your elbow. “Everybody’s on a different path. Besides, high school is such bullshit. It’s basically hardwired for you to fuck up or fail. Believe me, I know.”
You took another hit, this one bigger, wanting to feel the lightheadedness of the high sooner rather than later, especially breaching this subject. It always warranted a lament from you.
“I’ve had specialized learning plans since forever,” you continued, passing the joint off to him. His brows furrowed in concentration as he listened. “I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was little. Like, five or six. I could never sit still in class, and I always needed way more time to take tests than everybody else, and I'd forget whole chunks of paragraphs that I’d just read the second I finished reading them.” You sighed, slightly frustrated at the memories, but the weed was beginning to work its magic. Your muscles felt like they were relaxing, tension drifting away, and your head felt a very good kind of heavy. “But then I got on medicine, and it helped. Still helps.” As an afterthought, you added, “When I remember to take it.”
Eddie considered this for a few moments before sticking the joint in his mouth, inhaling. “Shit. Maybe I have ADHD,” he surmised, exhaling a thick cloud into the air.
“Maybe,” you suggested. “I’d say you could talk to my mom, 'cause she’s a psychiatrist, but she’s actually a huge fucking bitch, so nevermind.”
Eddie laughed, not expecting you to say that, and he'd been in the middle of another inhale so he ended up choking and coughing hard on the smoke.
“Oh, no!” You hurried into a sitting position. “Are you – are you okay?” you asked, and you felt bad, but you couldn’t help the little laughs that were escaping your lips at his now bright red tomato face. You were stoned. “D'you – do you have water in here, somewhere?”
Eddie nodded, having a brief break in his hacking fit, pointing to the front of his van. “Y-yeah, shit,” cough, cough, cough, “o-over there. Fucking fuck, man.” Cough, cough. That last one sounded like it hurt.
You scurried on your hands and knees to the front of the van, scanning the dashboard for some kind of drink. The high made it seem like your eyes could only move in slow motion. Finally spotting a half-drank bottle of blue Gatorade, you snatched it, crawling hurriedly back over to where Eddie sat hunched over, trying to control his breathing.
He took the drink, spun the cap off, and quickly downed most of the contents in an attempt to soothe his raw throat.
“Goddamn,” he rasped out. He realized he was still holding the joint in his hand. He definitely didn’t want anymore now. He looked to you, offering it silently, but you shook your head, rejecting it. He stubbed it out in an ashtray that was laying at his side. Bringing the Gatorade back to his lips, he dipped his head back, finishing it off.
Without really thinking, and weed always loosening your already pretty loose inhibitions, you brought your hand to rest on his cheek, your thumb stroking a small path back and forth on the smooth skin under his eye. “You good?” you asked, the ghost of a laugh twisting at your words.
Eddie’s breath caught in his throat at your touch. He was happy he’d swallowed the Gatorade or else he probably would have started choking on that, too.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a careful caress like the one you were currently giving him. It was simple, but it felt so good. So soft. And – fuck – you were straddling one of his thighs with your legs, and he didn’t even think you noticed. But he definitely did.
Even though his skin was covered by denim, he could still feel the heat from your center warming him. His cock gave an appreciative jerk in the confines of his tight jeans.
Your eyes finally drifted down to the sitting arrangement you found yourselves in. Slowly lifting your gaze to meet his glassy, doe-eyed stare once more, you tilted your head to the side in quandary, hand not dropping from the curve of his face.
“Should I move?” you asked, voice a pitch louder than a whisper.
“Please don't,” Eddie answered, unblinking.
You let your weight rest fully down on his thigh, shifting your hips once, watching as his eyes rolled back at the contact. He was so receptive that it made your cunt clench around nothing, and you took that moment to pull his face closer to yours, pressing your lips to his almost hard enough to bruise.
Eddie groaned at the feel of your mouth, his tongue eagerly and immediately trying to pry open your lips. You grinned into the kiss, giving him what he wanted by allowing his hot tongue access to slide slippery against your own.
He thought you were sweet and citrusy, like sugared oranges, and a little tart, like ripe pomegranate. He thought fleetingly that if he could, he’d bottle you up and drink you with every meal.
You thought he was fresh and sharp, like spearmint gum, and heady, like expensive sativa. Your tongue fought with his for dominance, each moan from either one of you spurring on the other, greedy mouths working hard to stake their claim.
When you finally pulled away, you were a little out of breath. “God, Eddie, you kiss like you’re thirsty.” Your hand moved from its resting place on his face to tangle in the curls at the back of his head.
He groaned when he felt you tug at the roots of his scalp, bringing a hand up to cradle just under your chin, fingers stretching out over the expanse of your neck. A lazy grin curved at his lips.
“You wanna see thirsty?"
With that, he flipped the both of you over so you were on your back, Eddie positioning himself between your spread legs. You were happy for the padding of the Afghan, knowing the cool steel flooring of the van would have pinched your skin unpleasantly.
He wasted no time in pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking quick but harsh at your supple skin.
You moaned wantonly, lolling your head to the side to give him better access. Your legs moved to wrap around his slim waist, your hips moving up to feel as much of him against your center as you could. Eddie couldn’t help but give a thrust down against you, his persistently hardening cock straining taut against his jeans.
“Can I taste you?” he asked against your skin, pressing softer kisses to the tiny marks he’d left just moments ago with his lips and teeth.
A strained whimper escaped your lips at his request. You nodded, feeling more drunk than high, arching your hips up again to try and garner more friction from him.
“Say it,” he demanded, bringing a hand up to grip at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “‘I want you to taste me, Eddie.’ Tell me.”
“I want you to taste me, Eddie,” you repeated lewdly, ad-libbing after with, “please, Eddie, want you to make me feel good.”
His pupils blew dark and wide, and he slid the remainder of the way down your body, burying his head under your skirt. Without removing your underwear or even pushing them to the side, he pressed his mouth to the damp fabric, his open-mouthed kisses continuing there. A desperate sound came from him as he sucked you through your panties, the deliciously honeyed scent of you enveloping him completely.
In this moment, he felt like if he died with his face buried in your heat, it would be a very happy and welcomed death.
“Eddie, take them off,” you demanded, shaking your hips around in a frustrated movement.
He laughed at your impatience, but moved to grant you your wish. He hooked his fingers under the sides of your panties, just about to pull them down… before a loud pounding was heard on the outside of the van.
“Hey, Ed? Hate to interrupt you, dude, but my mom’s gonna be pissed if you don’t get me home by 10.”
Eddie groaned loudly, the noise sounding almost pained. It seemed like it took a lot out of him to have to move his head out from under your skirt. He glanced over his shoulder to the clock on his dash, the LED numbers reading 9:35PM.
“This dream just turned into a real fucking nightmare, angel,” he grumbled, biting down lightly at your inner thigh.
You jolted at the feel of his teeth, and couldn’t help but give a frustrated whine at his sentiment, wholly agreeing. Your entire body was thrumming, wanting so badly to be touched and given a release.
“Eddie…?” came the voice again.
“Yeah, Doug, got it. Give me a minute, man.”
Eddie took one more longing look at your clothed cunt, studying the wet spot made from his spit and your arousal. He gave a salacious lick of his lips before dragging his eyes up to meet yours.
“That’s my bassist,” he begrudgingly informed. “His mom’s like your mom. Huge fucking bitch, but don't ever tell him I said that. I have to drive him home or else she’ll forever forbid him to play another show.”
You offered him a placating smile, moving your hand to brush a few of his longer bangs from around his eyes. “It’s okay. I mean, it really isn’t, 'cause I’m so fucking horny right now, but I get it.” Eddie gave another groan at your admission. He cursed the universe for shit fucking timing, and for totally inconsiderate bassists who didn’t have their licenses.
“Can I see you again?” he asked, voice bordering on timid.
It was shocking to you how he could go from dirty mouthed amateur porn star to red-cheeked virginal teenage boy in the matter of minutes. The duality was enticing. You briefly wondered just how far you could push him to either end of the spectrum.
“I’ll give you my number,” you said, but then remembered, “oh, wait, I don’t know my number yet. Um. You can give me yours?”
Eddie nodded fervently, moving to a kneeling position as he reached over and started looking through a pile of stuff on his passenger seat. He pulled out a pen from the mess and ripped off a small piece of paper from an old report card, quickly scrawling down his digits.
“Here,” he said, moving to hand it to you. He did a quick once over though, realizing you didn’t have pockets, so he slid the folded piece of paper under the front hem of your panties. He patted it with his fingers and gave a pleased grin before saying, “C'mon, I’ll walk you back inside.”
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
By the time you’d made it back through the front door of The Hideout, Rick was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, obviously in search of you.
“What the fuck, Bean!” he scolded, marching his way up to you when he spotted you walking in, not even glancing at Eddie. “I don’t pay attention for two minutes and you disappear for an hour?!”
“Two minutes, Richard, really?” you laughed out, the sound incredulous. Because, really, Rick’s timeframe was way, way off. You knew he wasn’t the greatest at math, but damn, right now he was straight up delusional. “You’ve been talking to everyone but me since we got here! You weren't paying attention for way longer than two minutes.”
“So not fuckin’ true,” he said, but his tone was quieter now as if he figured that, yeah, it might actually be true.
Rick’s eyes finally drifted to your side, observing Eddie’s presence. You’d taken great care to fix the boy’s hair and his clothing, making sure he didn’t look disheveled for this very reason – you could tell Rick was sizing the younger man up after finding out the two of you were off somewhere together. Alone.
Eddie looked like a lost puppy, glancing between you and Rick, trying to figure out what the fuck the dynamic between the two of you was. You tried your hardest not to look so amused at his sweet, utterly confused expression.
“Oh, yeah, I ran into Eddie while I was outside smoking,” you explained away easily. “He told me you guys are friends. I figured he’s who you brought me here to meet.”
Eddie side eyed you, unsure of where this was heading. He definitely did not tell you that he and Rick were friends. Eddie didn’t even think him and Rick were friends. He hoped they were, he wanted them to be, but he didn’t think it’s how Rick would have classified their relationship.
Rick turned his apprehensive gaze on Eddie. “Is that true?” he asked, eye contact steady and unblinking.
Best go along with it, Eddie thought.
“Couldn’t be truer.”
The older man seemed to consider Eddie’s response for a minute before a familiar silly grin etched itself across his pierced face.
“Cool!” he exclaimed, clapping Eddie on the shoulder.
Rick had been planning on propositioning Eddie tonight about being your watchdog, but after downing a few drinks and having basically driven around for the past four days straight with little sleep, he figured that conversation could wait a little longer. “You wanna come over tomorrow night, Munson? Hang out with me and the little sister for a bit?”
Eddie’s brows furrowed, shaking his head slowly in uncertainty. “Sure, but... who’s your little sister?”
Rick’s smile slowly began to fade in skepticism as his attention moved from Eddie and back to you standing beside him.
“Me, silly,” you admonished, bringing a hand down to grab at his, concealing the contact behind your back so Rick didn’t see. You stroked the skin on his thumb in a wordless apology for the whole not-being-totally-honest-about-who-you-were thing.
Eddie’s eyes widened at the reveal, still a little too stoned for the realization that he’d just had one of the hottest make-out sessions of his entire life with… Reefer Rick Lipton's… little sister…
Shit.
“Remember? I told you outside?” you were pleading at him with your eyes, still trying to make it not appear obvious that you were lying your ass off to your older brother.
Eddie indulged, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the rage of Rick if he found out what had just gone one in the back of his Beauville.
“Oh, yeah! Right, right!” Eddie tried to play it off. “Sorry, man, I’m just – totally fucking stoned.” That part was relatively true. This whole interaction was making him feel even higher than he thought he was in the first place, actually. Eddie gave Rick what he prayed was an easy-going grin.
You released Eddie and stepped in between the two of them, forcing out a wide yawn. “Rick, c'mon, I’m getting tired,” you brought your hand to your brother’s arm, starting to tug at him, pulling him toward the door. “Let’s go home.” You stressed the last word, hoping that by you referring to his Hawkins residence as that, it would soften and distract him.
It did.
Rick relented, figuring he was probably just looking too deeply into things, understanding his paranoia sometimes got the better of him. Nothing probably happened between you and Eddie. He was probably just being an overbearing older brother. Probably.
“Right. 'Kay. Lemme just go find this one girl and say bye.” He disappeared off into the dwindling crowd, and you assumed he was off to bid adieu to the same purple-haired girl from before.
You took this as your chance to turn to Eddie.
Eddie, who was currently staring at you a little too warily for your liking.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” you implored, fingers finding his hand again. He didn’t make a move to pull away, so you took that as a good sign. “Just come over tomorrow night, okay? We can talk about it.”
It kind of freaked you out how much you didn’t want this – whatever this was – between the two of you to be ruined so quickly.
Since your dad left, you knew things in your life had gone a little downhill, and you also knew you’d been acting a bit belligerently in your attempts to try and ignore it. You’d been making irresponsible, rash decisions all over the board – from school, to home, to friendships and relationships. Nothing seemed to be sacrosanct from your newfound self-sabotaging behaviors.
From this, you’d encountered quite a few willing partners, of both the opposite and same sex, to occupy your mind and time since last summer, and not a single one of them was someone you were interested in getting to know more than just carnally.
Eddie was the first person in a long time you felt you actually clicked with on more than just a physical level, and that was evident from your discourse at the bar, your rendezvous in the van, and now with the realization that you may have screwed it all up by not being truthful to him. You were starting to get a stomach ache. This was so not how you’d planned on the night ending.
Across from you, Eddie seemed to weigh the entire situation as you just had, his dark brown eyes studying your face as he did so. Maybe to find a glimmer of further deceit? Of an ulterior motive? He was used to those things. It wasn’t often people wanted him just to want him. It was usually to get something from him.
However, he could find nothing but honest anticipation in your eyes. His fingers squeezed yours briefly before Rick made his way back over, your brother’s heavily tattooed arm sliding around your frame as he pulled you away.
“See ya tomorrow, Munson!” Rick called.
At the last moment you could, right before the door to the bar closed, you looked back over your shoulder at Eddie. He saw you smile at him. Your intention was to silently ask for the possibility of forgiveness, or at the very least, understanding.
Eddie watched the door you’d exited through for a minute or two longer. Blinking back to reality, he realized he was tired, at first thinking it was just from the weed, but then remembering that Corroded Coffin had literally played a show tonight.
That seemed like days ago at this point.
Being in the van with you had felt like a lengthy escapade, definitely more than just roughly sixty minutes spent together.
Eddie’s palms started to sweat.
He hadn’t known you before an hour ago, but now that you weren’t next to him anymore, talking and teasing, he’d felt more alone than he had in a long time.
Exiting the bar, Eddie headed back to his van.
The whole trip to Dougie’s house and then on his ride back to the trailer park, he was fake scenario-ing all the different ways tomorrow night at Rick’s could go.
Maybe he was bound to be screwed over by you eventually, fucked royally in a not-so-fun way.
But Eddie, ever the opportunist, would likely let you as long as that meant he got to go along for the ride.
#eddie x reader#eddie x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson smut#billy x reader#billy x you#billy hargrove x reader#billy hargrove#billy hargrove smut#mungrove x reader#mungrove
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Actual dsmp lore bits that I don't think we talk about much
- Sally was never retconned, it's been two years and STILL it is canon that c!Wilbur fucked a fish and somehow Fundy was born
- c!Sapnap is c!BBH's son
- c!Dream has a hidden bunker under c!Tommy's old hillside base (which is honestly creepy as fuck–)
- It is also apparently canon that c!Wilbur reproduces asexually and birthed c!Fundy from his toe (don't ask–)
- c!Tommy just wanted the Egg to tell c!BBH to swear
- c!Tommy made his own therapy business once and I don't remember how it went tbh but I'm guessing not well
- c!Fundy is canonically trans (although that might've been retconned idk– I hope not though–) (update: yes it was retconned)
- cc!Purpled was late to the L'Manburg duel stream because he was out eating a burrito and everyone started streaming "War!" but traffic caused him and his (brother? sibling? Idk whoever drove Purpled to the burrito place) to get home late
- people in cc!Jack's chat called him Jack L'Manifold in his first dsmp or first L'manburg stream which is an epic pun
- mexican dream's ghost is just in a cursed class by himself. I remember watching that stream after a driver's ed zoom meeting at my aunt's house and being like "what the fuck what is going on"
- c!Puffy sued c!Jack for hotel ownership (Puffy being on Tommy's side, but of course now the hotel got fUCKING BLOWN UP– WHY MUST EVERYTHING ON THIS SERVER GET BLOWN UP HHHH)
– c!Sapnap was addicted to blaze powder and was actually one of the drug van's best customers
- DreamXD is a huge c!George simp
- c!Fundy said he read the Warrior cats books and asked c!Schlatt and c!Quackity if they knew what they were (ty to @echolocati0n-art for letting me know the warriors thing was real)
#dsmp#dreamsmp#wilbur soot#c!wilbur#c!wilbur soot#dream smp#not an incorrect quote#purpled#captain puffy#mexican dream#jack manifold#c!jack manifold#c!captain puffy#c!badboyhalo#badboyhalo#sapnap#fundy#tommyinnit#c!sapnap#c!fundy#c!tommyinnit#sally the salmon#c!dreamwastaken#dreamwastaken#dreamxd#antfrost#c!antfrost#c!georgenotfound#georgenotfound#cursed dsmp lore
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Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [36]
chapter thirty-six, act five: the ballad of me and my brain
masterlist
little Author's note /TW before this act begins. There's going to be alot of talk of drug use and addiction within the chapters coming, if you're not comfortable with these kinds of things please don't read.
January 14th 2017
Tommie yawns, one big loud yawn as she shuffles through her house to the front door.
Gabby grins when it’s opened and tugs her little suitcase in behind her. “Hey, babes.”
“Gabs? What are you doing here?”
Gabby sighs, “I miss my best mate, is that a crime?” She asks kicking her shoes off and lining them up neatly besides Tommie who quickly shakes her head and opens her arms for a hug, “Haven’t seen you since Christmas, I missed you.”
Tommie smiles, breathing in slowly as she accepts the hug from her friend. “Okay, I have so much planned for us, tonight is movie night, tomorrow I���m driving us to Cardiff and we’re having a shopping day, monday we’re going to go to the cinema, I haven’t decided on tuesday yet, struggling between a pamper day and a trip to a beach, but that might be too cold now I’m thinking about it.”
“Okay, let’s start with movie day-”
“Okay, but I’m picking. I cannot watch Fantastic Mr Fox again.”
“But it’s my favourite.”
“It’s the only film you watch besides Revenge of the Sith.”
“They’re good films.”
⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾
The flashes are bright, too bright and she’d forgotten her sunglasses to protect herself from them.
The bag on her shoulder weighs her down more than everyone else, her laptop, books, writing books, hoodie and a pair of shoes she couldn’t fit into her suitcase make their weight known against her muscles.
Ross’ body blocks some of the light, but when he’s moved over by Jamie and towards the side her shield is gone.
The screams of teenage girls are too loud as they push against the old creaking barrier to try and get closer to Matty, he’s upfront, sunglasses and leather jacket on looking like a guy out of a Corey Hart song.
He revels in the attention whereas Tommie hates it, shying away as much as she can, hiding into the darkness of her hoodie as her hands fumble with the strap of her bag.
Then someone is breaking over the barrier, she can’t tell who gets over first, the fan or the rogue photographer.
They both shove each other, the poor teenage girl is on the floor, Tommie’s standing there above her, photographer’s camera in her face.
Without thinking she’s shoving the camera away, it clatters and smashes on the floor, hitting the girl who’s being helped up by other fans.
“Tommie! Tommie!”
Hands are gripping her from both sides of the barriers, the walkway hasn't been made big enough. Strangers are touching her and she holds her breath not to be sick right there.
“Tommie! Matty!”
Someone gripped her and pulled her into them, arms wrapped around and guiding her into the van, straight into the back.
George sits beside her, holding her hand in his lap as the rest pile in, Matty coming in last after signing a few screaming fans shirts.
Matty raises his brows as he peers over the drummer, but George shakes his head, wraps one arm around her, tugs her into his side and blocks her from the singer’s view.
“Tom.”
“Leave her be, Matty.”
“You alright?”
He ignores George and moves his arm to brush his knuckles across the top of her head, reaching around the back of George awkwardly to do it.
“Matty-”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
George elbows him, giving him a look that he once again ignores.
“I’m fine, Matt.”
Her tone is sharp, and he leans back, taking his arm away and resting his hands in his lap. “Okay, I was just asking.”
“You’re always just asking.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ross looks between them slowly, the tension has been building between them for weeks and no one knows why.
Adam gives one harsh look to Matty and he’s pausing, shrinking back in his seat and mumbles an apology. “I jus-” He cuts himself off before he can finish the word, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾
February 21st 2017
“Just be honest with me, Jamie. Be brutal. It’s bad.”
Jamie sighs, “It can easily be fixed.” He assures, “I’m sure Matty will do something bad next week.”
She sighs and leans forward, head in her hands, Adam moving to rub up and down her back, “God, this is bad.”
“It’s fine, it’ll blow over.”
“Yeah, but I-”
“So what? Have you seen the way the Gallaghers act? Or any other mildly popular artists? People have done worse.”
She looks at the newspaper on the table. An article about her blowing off the fans at the airport, talks of assault as she’d accidentally shoved someone in a hurry to the awaiting car.
The truth was the flight had been bad, she’d been seated beside Matty, the pair still haven’t talked since he showed up at her house, and with the show after show after show routine she’d already been on edge.
It’s all falling apart. Something she used to be so good at, touring endlessly with no rest, is no longer her strong suit.
And to top it off, she hasn’t seen Button in two months, the dog has been staying with her grandparents back in South Wales to give her a break from moving around.
Usually articles like these would mean nothing to Tommie, she’d brush it aside with a half-arsed shrug.
But it's the fact they’re dragging Caleb and his band down with her, knowing the 1975 are far too popular around the world to be touched by a little article they’ve targeted Dirty Delights.
She knows they probably won’t see this. It’s a European news outlet, there’s no chance, right?
Nope.
Caleb had called her the moment it came out.
That’s why she’s panicking.
She doesn’t want to ruin Caleb’s career before it’s even begun.
George sighs, finally sitting down, “It’ll be forgotten next week. They’ll start talking about Taylor Swift again or a shitty Kardashian boob job or something, don’t worry.”
She sighs, “What if this ruins Caleb’s career?”
“What career?” Comes a snort from across the room.
Ross smiles, but it's quickly dropped when he sees the glare that Tommie is sending to Matty across the room.
“I can’t be the reason his band fails before they’ve even had the chance to start.”
“They’ve had plenty of chances, they’re the ones who's fucking up. I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”
“Matty-” Adam tries but Tommie’s standing now.
“You’re forgetting you guys were in a band for ten years before you got the chance.”
“Yeah, but we had fans. People who’d turn up to our gigs-”
“Oh, you mean your groupies who’d give you money to suck you di-”
“Alright.” It’s Gabby who’s breaking them up, brows raised as she looks between them weirdly, she sighs as she moves to Matty pushing him back down, “Shut up.” She tells him as she moves to sit on the other side of Tommie, bringing her back down to rub her arms.
“Give it a few days, ignore it, don’t comment on it. You get things like this all the time.”
She shrugs, picking at her jeans as she nods, “I know.”
“Never usually bothers you like this.”
“I know.”
Matty’s jaw wiggles as he watches his girlfriend comfort Tommie quietly, arms around her with Tommie resting her head on her shoulder.
The door opens then, Caleb steps in, eyes falling to his girlfriend who sits up quickly. He smiles walking over to greet her and she stands as he hugs her.
He mutters a ‘don't worry about it all, we’ll talk later’ and she nods quickly.
Then Jamie's standing too, “Come on, five minutes and you’re all on.”
On her way out he grabs her hand, “I’ll sort it.”
“Thank you.”
⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ
“I’m sorry.”
Caleb shrugs as they enter their hotel room in London, he sheds his jacket hanging it on the chair and starts unlacing his shoes.
“It was all too much, everything, I-”
“Babe.”
He turns, holding his hands out for her and she slowly accepts it, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault, I know how you get.”
“How I get?”
He nods, wincing at his words of choice, “You know what I mean.”
“No, no, I don’t.”
“Well, you’re… different, Tommie.”
“Different?”
He sighs, bowing his head, “I’m not winning this no matter what I say so whatever it is you’re building up to just get it out with.”
“I just want to know what you mean.” She says, knowing full well she does in fact know what he means, and she also is in fact building up to say something.
She sighs looking down, “I’ve always been called different, Caleb, but what does that mean?”
He sighs slowly, “You’re just… not like everyone else.” She raises a brow and he sighs, “It’s not a bad thing.”
She nods, then steps back shedding her blouse and jeans to put on her pyjamas.
“Tommie.” He says, watching her carefully, “You’re just a little more… I don’t know, sensitive I guess.”
“Sensitive?”
“Yeah. But also weirdly emotionless at the same time.” He says looking up at thought.
“I’m not different.” She says, as she glances up over his head at the mirror hanging on the wall to stare at herself. Picking apart everything, her straightened hair, the makeup still on her face, the gold necklace he got her for her birthday, the bags under her eyes, the little scar on her eyebrow from when she hit her head as a kid. It’s not her. It’s Caleb.
Straightened hair because he likes it like that, makeup left over despite how hard she’s scrubbed her face because she put so much on to hide the bags given to her by sleepless nights made no better by his comforting hands, a golden necklace replacing her favourite silver one because he caused an argument when she didn't wear it. The scar on her eyebrow he points out way too much, that he avoids touching when his fingers trace her features.
“I’m just me.”
Caleb watches her as she climbs into bed and hangs his head, “Tommie…”
“Goodnight, Caleb. Big day tomorrow.”
taglist
@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora, @procrastinatinglikeapro
-let me know if you want to be added :)
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my camp half blood oc ^_^
YALL SHES ADORABLE
her name is odette van schmidt and she’s a child of dionysus 😇
her story is actually rlly funny tbh. makes me crack up a bit. so here it is
basically dionysus met her mum (a rich socialite) at a party she was throwing for the opening of an art gallery, and it was getting late so everyone was going home. odettes mum looked over at dionysus and was like ‘omfg these old geezers r soooo boring. wanna hit the club?’ and dionysus was like ‘have my baby’ SO SHE DID.
9 months later she gave birth to odette van schmidt: the lying, unstable (possible future addict), drama queen JOY of dionysus.
by the time odette turned 14, her mum was like ‘right. this girl needs to get her ass to boarding school’ bc she could not stop CAUSING A RUCKUS. she was a menace during important parties and events- not because she wasn’t good at parties; but because they weren’t fun. while her mum agreed with her, she had grown out of her party girl phase and had to settle down.
well, odette didn’t fight her mums decision to send her to boarding school. after all, that’s where the craziest shit happens, doesn’t it? especially in new york.
so imagine this: odette van schmidt, the pretty girl with weird eyes and designer clothes CHOWING DOWN ON SPECIAL BROWNIES WITH HER ROOMMATE WHO LOOKS LIKE HOMELESS MAN IN A PRETTY GIRLS BODY.
odette could NOT stop getting into trouble. always sneaking off with her friends, partying her weekends away. by the age of 15 she had developed a pretty bad habit of taking a shot of vodka every sunday morning to get through the preachy ass mandatory services.
odettes mum had enough when she found out her daughter wasn’t taking her meds everyday at 8:00, and was instead lighting up at 4:20.
odettes mum had to call her baby daddy and tell him to pick her up for the summer. odette heard this call, and jumped to the conclusion she was getting sent to REHAB. so she ran.
she ran fast and fast and fast and fast. all the way from manhattan to queens.
ofc odette always saw weird shit. but she just always chalked it up to sleep deprivation, adhd, maladaptive daydreaming, and later in her teens: drug induced hallucinations.
after walking around new york aimlessly for 3 hours to escape rehab, her mum gave her a call.
“hey odette… can you come back home? bc ur lowkey a demigod and I WONT SEND YOU TO REHAB BABY IM SORRY I WONT ITS FINE YOU WERE ONLY SMOKING WEED ITS OKAY BABY-”
BOOM. hellhound right in the middle of the dingiest 7/11 in all of queens.
odette booked it- already terrified by what her mum said, and even more so by this terrifying dog thing.
she ran down at alleyway, hoping to escape the gross mangy dog, but she wasn’t fast or sharp enough to lose it or outsmart it. the hellhound attacked her from behind, ripping through the back of her shirt and leaving a scar that ran across the length of her back.
like that shit was BIG. like, from her neck down to her hipbone.
odette was vengeful thoguh. she was more angry than she was in pain, so she took out her pocketknife and started stabbing and punching that thing away. LIKE. HOW WOULD THAT EVEN PROTECT HER FROM A HELLHOUND??? but then the mutt started chasing its tail and howling like crazy, making it easier to put it down like an old dog.
and poof.
into thin air.
“alright what the fuck”
so there she lay- sitting and panting and wheezing in an alleyway, bleeding out. so she decided to pray,
“god i’m sorry for drinking on sundays! i’m sorry for using bible pages to roll! i’ll do anything to make it up to you!”
“girl, it’s fine.”
all of a sudden, there was this middle aged guy in front of her with the same eyes as her and the worst fashion sense she’d ever seen.
“i didn’t know jesus shopped at h&m…”
“jeez, you sound like ur mother.”
after 10 awkward seconds of silence, odette passed the fuck out. bc her back is a war zone. obviously.
when she woke up the next day, she was at the most rank hospital she’d ever been to. but all the doctors were cute. they were all blonde and spoke like poets and had such gentle hands. but they were wearing the most atrocious orange shirts.
good thing I’VE got STY-
odette looked down at herself. “are you fucking kidding me.”
orange was not her colour. it was purple.
after she got all healed up, two blonde 13 year olds who looked just like her arrived at the infirmary. “hiiiiii welcome to rehabbbbbbb”
“oh my god i’m actually going to kill myself”
castor and pollux eventually cleared up mostly everything about camp (after fucking around with their new older sister a bit more, of course), and proceeded to take her to get some food in her tall ass stomach.
she ate. and then she ate a bit more. and then she complained. and then she asked if her mum has her ‘crazy meds’. and then she asked for new clothes. and then she called her mummy and asked her for new clothes or perfume or anything. and then she walked over to the big house to complain about something again.
and as soon as she walked through the doors, screaming about how she can’t party with a torn up back- she was claimed.
“oh my gods odette. we have your stuff. its fine. it’s cool. you’re my daughter btw. and no drinking at camp.”
“… why would my mum fuck a guy who shops at h&m?”
“I DO NOT SHOP AT H&M, I AM A GOD-“
odette blanked. she wasnt really good at faces. much better with names. that’s what u get for being a history buff who can’t make eye contact i guess.
“… which one, sorry?”
“… dionysus?”
“oh. that checks out.”
#pjo#pjo oc#pjo ocs#percy jackson#pjo fandom#pjo series#dionysus#child of dionysus#dionysus kids#cabin 12#cabin 12 oc#odette van schmidt#odette
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ruby – eddie roundtree
part two (part one, part three, part four)
pairing: eddie rountree x fem!oc (may change to x reader)
warnings: drinking/drugs (billy/daisy's addictions)
word count: 1.5k
author's note: please bear with me in this, if there's a few time mix ups just with the order of things, please do let me know but i'm trying to find an equal balance between the book and show and it's a little difficult lol
BILLY DUNNE: At one of our gigs we were talking to Rod Reyes, he gave us some pointers, told us what to do and what not to do, and then he told us to go west. We were all out of school by then and decided maybe it was the best option for us.
ROD REYES (tour manager, The Six): The band had the look they needed, Billy was a natural born rockstar, the long hair, the deep voice, that deadpan look when he doesn’t get his way. Juliet had the rockstar look down, she had this long hair, big hair too, and dark makeup that she never really learned how to use properly. The girls wanted to be her and the guys wanted to sleep with her. And her voice.. she had this raspy voice that she never seemed to tire out. I told Billy, I told him, get her out from behind you, get her out of singing back up, sing a song or two with her, mix things up, people’ll get bored of just hearing you. Most importantly, I told them to get the fuck out of Pittsburgh.
GRAHAM DUNNE: The six of us decided to move out to L.A..
–
The Six settled into life in Los Angeles, renting a house in the hills of Topanga Canyon. They prepared to begin recording their debut album. Teddy, along with a team of technicians, including lead engineer Artie Snyder, set up shop at Sound City Studios, a recording studio in Van Nuys, California.
The band, Camila alongside, started getting their name out there. They played gigs at clubs and bars, doing near-anything to make a name for themselves on the Sunset Strip. Not too long after, they decided to record an album.
“I feel fully content with my decision to not take your bedroom, Warren,” Juliet hummed in response to Warren’s bragging over having the only bedroom with a bathroom, “Very few people would consider a stray toilet in the corner of your room to be a bathroom, I am proudly not one of those people.” Eddie waltzed into the kitchen, where the group was situated getting ready for the day.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, taking a seat next to Juliet, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “We need a new name, The Dunne Brothers isn’t cutting it for us.”
“Thank you!” Karen yelled, propping herself up against the counter to face the rest of the group.
“I agree, but let’s be realistic,” Juliet reasoned, “you’re never going to get six people to agree on a name.” She leaned against Warren’s shoulder, who was contributing little to the conversation due to how stoned he was.
“We could take the easy way out,” Graham piped in, “The Six.”
“The Six,” Warren hummed, nodding blissfully at the suggestion.
–
JULIET OPAL: The Six. [Smiles] Warren admitted later that he only liked it because it sounded similar to “The Sex,” I don’t think that was a big part of it for anyone else.
EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Julie really liked the name, that was a big part of it for me.
GRAHAM DUNNE: We finished the album, we were going on tour, we needed a real name, it felt right. Plus it was kinda my idea. [Smiles]
–
Karen and Juliet were draped across the living room carpet, attempting to escape the California heat as the fan that was weakly shackled to the ceiling rotated above them. The girls were taken out of their silent daze with a yelling and laughter radiating from the porch as the rest of the group made their way inside mumbling something about a wedding.
The girls sat up, exhaustion dissipating from their bodies when Camila announced that she was pregnant and her and Billy were getting married that night. They jumped up, Juliet hoisting Karen up from the rug and her sleep deprivation-ridden state, and ran over to congratulate the couple, pulling Camila away from the group and to her closet to pick out her dress.
Later that afternoon, Juliet stood in the dimly-lit backyard, and strung pieces of aluminum foil through the various trees and rosemary bushes speckled across the yard. Eddie crept up behind her, grabbing her wrist, which ultimately led to her dropping the wad of foil into the grass, and spinning her around to face him.
“Eddie!” She looked down at her spilt decorations with a lackluster expression, though a grin was pulling on the corners of her mouth, Eddie made sure not to miss that.
“No, eyes up here,” he lifted up her chin with his other hand and smiled at her, grabbing her other hand and intertwining their fingers as he started to dance with her, “I need practice for tonight, don’t want to make a fool of myself on the dance floor. What time is the minister getting here?”
“I’d hardly call it a dance floor, it’s the same bed of grass you passed out on last week and Warren puked on yesterday,” he laughed, spinning her and then pulling her closer as they continued to dance, “He’s supposed to be here in 40 minutes, but it’s L.A., no one is ever on time, it’s anyone’s guess.”
“Well,” he licked his lips and cleared his throat before continuing to speak, “then you have plenty of time to finish decorating once we’re finished.”
“Nuh uh, I need to help get Camila ready too, pre-wedding jitters. You’ll understand someday,” she leaned her face in closer to his before whispering, “that poor woman.”
“You wound me, Julie, you really do. But alas, a woman’s job is never done,” he stopped moving and let go of her hands, “I’ll finish up here, make her feel real pretty.” He smiled, she quickly ducked down and scooped up the mass of foil and handed it to him, before scurrying inside.
–
INTERVIEWER: What can you tell me about that night?
EDDIE ROUNDTREE: [Smiles]
JULIET OPAL: Oh, I don’t know. What’s the maturity rating on this?
–
“Smile for me,” Warren teased, positioning himself for the perfect shot of Camila and Billy, “I need a nice big smile, Billy, knock off the frown, it’s the happiest day of your life!”
“Your lens cap is on!” Camila leaned forward, pulling it off and tossing it to Juliet, who caught it with one hand and handed it to Warren, who stuffed it inside of his pocket and immediately returned to trying to get the couple to pose.
–
WARREN ROJAS: Mescaline is a powerful drug.
–
Juliet laughed as she watched the numerous failed attempts at photographing the wedding and muttered something about how maybe Warren should stick to music, before she was tapped on the shoulder. She turned around and was greeted with Eddie smiling at her, his hand extended towards her.
“May I have this dance?” He smirked, raising one eyebrow at her.
“Oh, of course,” she took his hand, tilting her head to the side and smiling, “if not all of your practice will have been for nothing.”
He pulled her away and the two of them found a position only a few dozen feet away from the rest of the group, who was still struggling to take photos. They danced, her head resting on his right shoulder and his hands around her waist, before one of them got the courage to break the comfortable silence.
“I can’t believe they’re gonna be parents,” she marveled, “I still feel like I’m new here and my biggest concern is trying to make him like me. When did we stop being little asshole kids who bummed garages off our parents for practicing space?”
“I’d like to think when we left Pittsburgh, but I think we still are,” she laughed, leaning her head into him.
“Do you think you’ll ever be like that?” He raised an eyebrow at her, “I mean like, ready to settle down? If we get to where we want to be, if we’re as big as we came out here hoping to be, is it even in the cards for us?”
“I think it’ll be tricky, but it always is, whether you’re leaving for a 30 city tour the morning after you get married, or if you just don’t know if you can do it with the kid staying in one piece.”
“I guess so,” she got quiet, swaying to the humming of the music until Eddie eventually decided it was time to rejoin everyone else.
The next morning, Juliet loaded her bag into the van, crawling into the passenger seat next to Eddie behind the wheel. After finalizing her spot, she climbed out and walked over to Camila, throwing her arms around her and leaning into her ear.
“Don’t be a stranger,” she looked at the tears welling up in her eyes before continuing to speak, “I’ll watch out for him for you. Call me if you need anything, I’m serious. I’ll drive back to California from Boston to bring you orange juice if you run out, I’m here.”
Camila hugged her back and Juliet shielded her from the group as she wiped the tears from her eyes, then she climbed back into the van, a stoic expression taking over her face. Eddie noticed and placed his hand over hers on the console, bringing her attention to his face. He nodded and gave her a weak lipped smile. As the group piled into the car, the energy lightened and Eddie let out a “alright, let’s get out of here,” before pulling onto the road.
–
JULIET OPAL: And then we were off.
#eddie roundtree#eddie roundtree x reader#eddie loving#eddie roundtree fanfiction#eddie loving x reader#eddie loving fanfiction#daisy jones and the six#daisy jones fanfic#daisy jones and the six fanfiction#daisy jones and the six fanfic#daisy jones x reader#warren rhodes#warren rhodes x reader#warren rojas x reader#warren rojas#billy dunne#camila dunne#karen sirko#graham dunne#eddie roundtree x oc#eddie roundtree smut
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The Last Great American Dynasty: Chapter 1
This Was The Very First Page
Series summary:
Addiction, deadlines, a nasty divorce. In an effort to shed your skin and find yourself again, you pack up and move to a historic seaside home across the country. It's all a blur, you're hurting and spinning your wheels in a big house all alone. Until Frankie shows up on your doorstep.
Pairing: Frankie Catfish Morales x AFAB Reader
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Word Count: 1709
Warnings: allusions to former drug use, mention of divorce, not too much to warn of yet we just getting started bby
Notes: I hope we all have a marvelous time and I don't ruin everything 💀 I've been gone for a long ass time, taking baby steps getting back into things.
Also much thanks to @pr0ximamidnight for helping flesh this out (aka letting me rant at her until it came together) and @mydailyhyperfixations, @joelsgreys, and @mylostloversbookmarks for also listening to me ramble 😂 lub u 🩵💙
Chapter One Playlist 🎶📻⚓🌊⛵🎶
This was the very first page
Not where the story line ends
My thoughts will echo your name
Until I see you again
It feels pretentious to drive across the country like this when you don't have to. In fact it was a struggle to do so - insisting and arguing with everyone that you wanted, no - needed to. You could feel the eyes rolling behind your back, hear the sarcastic thoughts unspoken.
Who does she think she is, Kerouac?
Truthfully you just wanted the white noise of wind, pavement, and your Spotify playlist of guilty pleasure pop songs, too occupied by operating a motor vehicle to check the deluge of emails and texts that had been pouring in for months.
A Tale of Two Addicts
Best Selling Author Loses Control of Her Own Narrative
Authoring Her Own Disaster: Detox and Divorce
How could you blame them when the headlines practically wrote themselves?
“So let me get this straight. Not only am I not getting new pages, you’re putting this project on hold to move to the east coast so you can - what? - live out some whimsical seaside fantasy?”
You sat in your office chair, surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes, pen hovering above the signature line of your divorce papers like a memoir you don’t want to take ownership of as your editor sighs at you over speakerphone.
“I’m doing what they told me to do in therapy, Miles. I’m changing the scenery, starting over. It’s difficult to write any pages for you if I’m too catatonically depressed to get out of bed. Take it as good news, a strategic move. Literally.”
The house has a history. That’s the reason you’d chosen it, frankly. You’d discussed the listings with your realtor over the phone, clicking through the pictures as they recounted the amenities and specs of each property.
“And then there’s the Harkness house…”
If her goal was to intrigue you she’d accomplished it tenfold, having you on the hook for every sordid detail as she regaled you with the story of a widowed heiress making a splash of scandal through the coastal town with her extravagance. She leaned into the impropriety of it all, trying to sell you with gossip, but all you heard was the story of a woman who had reclaimed her life after losing love. Perhaps the house held that energy in its foundation. Maybe if she did it there, so could you.
Pulling up the winding driveway you almost feel a page turn, a fresh start. Then the moving van crunches gravel behind you and your phone pings with a missed call from your lawyer, breaking the spell of your daydream.
It’s been a long day already, an endless stream of delays and snafus. Missing parts and tedious tinkering with finicky engines has left Frankie a mess of sweat, grease, and frustration. The sigh of a long day finally finished whistles out as he climbs the stairs to the office, ready to hand in a few leaves of paperwork and drag himself home when the sound of muffled conversation gives him pause.
“She’s ruining everything, we’ve all but flown in the film crew and we hardly have half a film without that house in it!”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ray, she could be perfectly cooperative. We don’t know-”
“It’s for fucking NETFLIX, Tim. I won’t be made to look foolish by some scandalous, self important, Hollywood-”
“And you won’t. Let’s just give her the packet, for all we know we could have signed papers come Monday morning.”
That’s all Frankie hears before the desire to get out of there steers his body back toward the stairs. I can turn these in on Monday, not worth the hassle...
Before his steel toe can touch the second step, though, the door swings open and a booming voice sounds behind him.
“Ah! Mr. Morales! Good timing, son. You pass the Harkness house on your way out of here, don’t you?”
The question is moot, the offices and hangar located along the coast such that there’s practically no choice but to pass the seaside estate if you want to reach the town and its modest sprawl of surrounding neighborhoods.
“I do, sir.”
“Then it’s meant to be. I’m sure you’ve heard that it’s newly occupied and we have a…welcome packet of sorts…for the new owner but the courier’s service is closed. Would you mind dropping this off on your way home?”
Tim, the more even keeled of the two executives that frequent these offices, hands over a manilla envelope without waiting for an answer, traces of engine grease still clinging to Frankie's skin leaving faint fingerprints on the hefty packet. The man cuts in again before Frankie can open his mouth to speak.
“Is the jet ready for takeoff in the morning? We’re expected in New York by eleven.”
Frankie studies the name on the envelope for a long moment before looking up to meet the impatient gaze of the man in front of him.
“Ah, yeah- Yes, sir. She’s ready for takeoff. Pilot’s ready for you anytime after eight, should you decide to leave earlier.”
He only receives a slight nod before both men push past him and he’s left alone outside the office door, eyes drawn back to the neatly printed label with your name on it. Why does it sound so familiar?
Lost in a daze of curiousity, Frankie’ feet carry him down the stairs, through the hangar, and out to his truck. He’s so distracted by the strange feeling in his gut that he starts his drive with his steel toes still on and the work orders still stacked along with the mystery packet in his passenger seat.
It's been a week and you're still staring at, discovering, stumbling over boxes.
How the hell does one person accumulate this much stuff?, you think as you sit on the sofa and nurse the soon-to-be bruise on your shin from the cardboard cube you'd just rammed into rounding the corner into the living room. The house in LA had seemed so desolate when Trevor had moved out and now you sit surrounded by a sea of what now feels like junk.
Even in this vast expanse of square footage and seaside it seems the walls might close in on you at any moment.
Thoughts manifesting into reality, you begin to feel too hot seemingly from nowhere. Pulling at the collar of your worn t-shirt, you go to crack open the nearest window when a blue pickup truck rounds the bend and pulls up to your gate. Before you can take too long to squint and guess at who the hell would be at your gate on a Friday evening, the driver presses the call button and your phone begins to ring.
“Hello?”
The phone crackles lightly and a deep, dulcet voice answers you.
“Yes, ah- I've got a delivery here. Is this the new owner?”
From the window you can see the figure in the truck cab lift an envelope to read it and he confirms your name.
“Yeah, that's me. I'll buzz you in.”
“Thanks.”
You hang up and press the button to let him through, watching as he winds up the drive and stops in front of the house.
Had you forgotten to sign something? He asked about being the homeowner, so it can't be another addendum to Trevor's many demands attached to the divorce. Your confusion and curiosity gives way to a flustered state when you open the door.
The first things you notice are the rich brown orbs looking back at you, brows, lids, and laugh lines working to form a frame of sincere apology, like he knows it's unorthodox for him to be standing on your front step at this hour. The rest of him is just as entrancing - plush lips beneath a gorgeous nose, a broad frame just as soft as it is strong, and a rueful smile that has your cheeks flushing as he adjusts his Standard Oil cap to lend you a peak of soft brown curls.
“Hi there,” he interrupts your stupor and you wonder just how long you've been staring.
“I'm here to deliver this. It's from the Standard Oil offices, ah…courier service is closed and it's pretty important I guess.” He holds the envelope out for you to take, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck in what seems like a nervous habit. You can see the faint grease marks on his fingertips, a matching set of smears on the paper in his hand.
“Oh, um. Thanks. Any idea what it's for?” You take the packet from him, eyeing it curiously. It's simply addressed to you with no further indicators on the outside.
“Something about the property I suppose, not really clear on the details. Lot of history in this house, ya know?”
“So I'm told.” You smile softly, toying with the metal fastener, more intrigued by the messenger than the message at this moment.
After a brief silence he shakes his head, seeming to come back to the present, and you wonder where his mind had drifted to. “Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Sorry for the interruption.”
“Not at all. Thanks again.” You wiggle the packet lightly in your hand.
He cracks another smile and you're certain his eyes roam over you before he mutters a goodnight and turns to go back to his truck. You stay stagnant for a while, watching as he gets into the cab and pulls out of the gate, and a few long moments after that as well.
Finally closing the door, you pad into the kitchen and pour a glass of wine to sip while you open your mystery packet. As you set it on the island countertop a few stray sheets slip out from beneath the envelope. Picking them up, you notice they don't seem to have anything to do with you or the house. In fact they look like order sheets of some kind, a list of mechanical sounding items listed with costs and quantities scribbled next to them.
Next to a black smudge to match your packet and the stranger's fingertips is a carefully printed name on a line marked ‘authorized by’. You read the name aloud and your stomach flutters at the way it somehow feels familiar to say.
“Fransisco Morales…”
More to come soon, let me know in the comments or my inbox if you want to be tagged for the next chapter 😬
#last great american dynasty#frankie x reader#francisco morales#marry me frankie#frankie catfish morales#she had a marvelous time ruining everything
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Crayons and Cassettes
Chapter 2: Johnny Appleseed and Iron Maiden
You are a kindergarten teacher. Eddie’s daughter, Sage, is in your class. Eddie is trying hard not to get too close.
warnings: shot mention of a previous relationship involving abuse. this fic will be 18+ in later chapters- minors DNI!! no use of y/n. (please let me know if I missed anything)
a/n: sorry for the long break! I was traveling over the holidays but now updates should be more consistent! thank you for all the love on chapter 1! please let me know in the comments or my asks if you’d like to be added to the tag list! :)
word count: 2.5k
Chapter 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 || 11 || 12 || 13 || 14 (coming soon!)
Eddie has never really been a crier. He had to toughen up early on; having a drug addict dad and a nonexistent mom, along with becoming the town freak because of his music taste made him develop a thick shell. But, as he’s aged, and as his daughter hit huge milestones, he softened. He allowed himself to cry every once in a while. It was cathartic. He cried when Sage took her first steps. He cried when she colored him a picture of the two of them and Wayne sitting on a picnic blanket under a sun that was purple. He cried when Alice signed over complete custody to him. And now, he was sitting in his old beat up van, crying because she started kindergarten. While his little girl is still little, it’s hard to see them grow so quickly.
Eddie took a moment and wiped his eyes, chuckling at himself, feeling a bit ridiculous for crying at all. He flipped down the visor on his van, sliding open the mirror to check how he looked. His eyes were a little puffy, but it would probably go away in five minutes. He turned on the air conditioning in his car to dry his face, then turned on the radio to try to get his mind off of the subject. He’d see Sage in a few hours. No big deal. After a minute, he pulled his gear shift into drive and started off on his way to work.
Since he graduated high school, Eddie worked in the local Hawkins record store. The owner was someone who actually grew to like him after getting to know him, which was a relief for Eddie. Not many people in this town gave him a chance to even have a job with his reputation, so having a boss that had grown to treat him like family was wonderful. The old man, Mr. Atkinson, had softened a lot to Eddie after he’d had a kid, and even more after the whole custody arrangement with Alice. He’d often let Sage hang out in the back of the shop, giving her a coloring sheet while Eddie finished up his shift. Mr. Atkinson didn’t have a wife or any children, so he’d said that he planned on leaving Eddie the shop once he was gone. Hopefully that would be in a long time from now, but Atkinson was getting older, and he always told Eddie, “Gotta face the reality of it, kid.”
Eddie pulled into his parking spot behind the shop, then went in through the back door. He clocked in, said hello to Mr. Atkinson, and got to work doing inventory.
Around two thirty, Eddie was let out of his job to go pick up Sage. Normally, he’d be going in earlier to be able to leave at this time, but Mr. Atkinson knew today was her first day of school—he’d bought her a sparkly pink pencil to bring with her—so he let Eddie keep his hours short today.
Eddie finished the transaction he was working on, clocked out, waved goodbye to Joe, then walked back out to his van.
He was so excited to hear all about Sage’s day, he was practically vibrating. He wanted to know every detail he could get from her. He drove to the school, then waited in the car line until they released the kids. Because he was there pretty early, he was the 4th car in line. He sat in his van, listening to a mixtape he’d made a year or so ago, but deciding to keep the volume lower than he would have preferred in order to not cause Sage any trouble.
Once the bell rang, you walked your class out to the car line. The children who rode the bus followed another teacher out. You smiled, having the kids line up and following you. Once outside, you had them sit along the wall as you, along with a few other teachers, helped pile kids into their respect cars. You walked up to a van, smiling when you saw Mr. Munson.
Eddie cranked his window down, “Are you just here for Sage or do you have another child as well?” You asked him, unsure if Sage was his only child.
Eddie smiled, “Just Sage. How was her day?” He asked.
“Let me go grab her and I’ll update you in a second!” You called, walking to the kindergarten line and telling Sage her dad was there. She smiled and started to run to the van, but you caught up and slowed her down, taking a moment to explain why running in car line was dangerous. She nodded, then walked with you to Eddie’s van. You opened the door for her, “She did great today! Excellent behavior- she was helpful to others and engaged with the lesson.” You told Eddie with a big smile as you helped Sage buckle her seatbelt, seeing that she was struggling. “I’m sure she has a lot to tell you about though.” You said, closing her door and walking back to the front passenger window.
Eddie smiled, “That’s great. Thank you for being kind to her.” He said.
You raised an eyebrow at that, “Why wouldn’t I be? She’s a great kid.” You smiled. Sage made a silly face at you and you scrunched your nose with a small smile back.
“Well, you must be new in town. But.. yeah. Thanks.”
You were a bit confused as to what he was talking about, but you nodded anyways. “You’re welcome. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow Sage! Tell me what book you read tonight!” You smile, waving the two of them off.
Eddie pulled out of the parking lot, chatting with Sage on his way home, feeling elated that she’d had a great day. She talked his ear off for the entire drive home, on their way into the house, and right up until dinner. That night, Sage got her breakfast for dinner and her favorite ice cream before being tucked into bed. Once she was asleep, Eddie eased out of her bed and slowly walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible. He felt like the proudest dad in the entire world.
Throughout the next few weeks, Eddie would see you at pick up. You’d always update him on Sage’s progress, and she was doing great. By about the 5th week of school, she was able to write her name without mistakes and knew a lot of her sight words. Throughout your interactions with Eddie, albeit short, he seems to have gotten more comfortable around you. He opened up a little more, making jokes when you’d help Sage into his van. You couldn’t tell for sure, but you thought a few times he flirted with you. You’d always been bad at figuring that stuff out, but you could’ve sworn he had. You’d wanted to talk it through with someone, but you still hadn’t made many friends that weren’t five year olds or other teachers in their sixties.
One Saturday afternoon, you were digging through your box of cassette tapes for your students. You had a few songs that you would sing with them in class- ones that would help them learn their numbers, days of the week, etc. You were looking for your Johnny Appleseed tape. It was an audiobook that included sound effects and songs. You remember your kids loving it at your old school. You had a unit coming up relating to it, but you couldn’t find the tape anywhere.
“God, where is it?” You groaned, frustrated. You swore you packed it in your move. Maybe you’d left it in your old classroom. You sighed, deciding to go to the local record store you’d seen on your way to get groceries the other day to see if they had it, or at least something similar to it. You grabbed your purse, scribbled down the tape name on a notepad, and grabbed your Walkman off of the counter before tossing both items into your bag and heading out the door.
You drove across the small town you’d quickly become acquainted with, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. It was cool enough to wear jeans, but still warm enough not to need a jacket. You had your hair tied up, so you’d decided to roll the windows down and turn up the music on some local radio station that didn’t play anything by Hanson or Aqua. You pulled up to the store and quickly made your way inside, moving your sunglasses to rest on your head as you looked around the store, scanning quickly to find the cassette section.
You walked over and started looking through the tapes, searching intently for the correct one.
“You know, it’s weird seeing you not completely surrounded by kindergartners.” You heard a voice say behind you. You turned and saw Mr. Munson standing there, holding a small stack of records.
“Ah- hi Mr. Munson.” You smiled up at him, giving a small chuckle, “Yeah, believe it or not, I don’t sleep at the school. I do have a life.” You joked.
That made him laugh, warm and real. “Why did we all think teachers lived at the school when we were little?” He asked, turning around to start organizing the records into the bins on the opposite side of the aisle.
You shrugged, “I’m not sure. I think it’s a rumor the first graders pass down every year.” You responded, going back to your search.
“Whatcha looking for?”
“A Johnny Appleseed tape. I lost the one I had in my move.” You half mumbled, staring intently at the available cassettes.
“I can look it up for you in the Rolodex if you have the name of it.” He offered, which made you turn again.
“Yes, please, that would be very helpful.” You smiled, following him to the front counter. You pulled out the notepad you had, “I’m pretty sure this was the name of it, but anything close to it would be good.”
Eddie nodded and started flipping through the cards, “So.. why did you move to Hawkins? Most people move away from here if they’re as smart as you are.”
You rolled your eyes jokingly, “First of all, Mr. Munson, I’m not some genius- I teach the alphabet and two plus two. And secondly, I think Hawkins has a charm to it. I like small towns- everyone knows everyone and it’s very neighborly.” You smiled, “But, uh, long story short, I moved here to avoid an old relationship. It wasn’t safe back home anymore. Here, I can do what I love and not feel scared to get groceries, you know?”
You paused for a moment, then gave him a worried look, “Sorry if that was an overshare, Mr. Munson.”
“Eddie.”
“Hm?”
“You can just call me Eddie. Mr. Munson is too formal.” He said with a small smile, “And it wasn’t too much. I asked.”
You nodded and he found the right card, “Ah- I think I found it. It’s in the back, so I’ll see if I can find it. Feel free to look around, I might be a minute.”
Eddie disappeared into the back to go look for the tape and you looked around. You had a record player at home still, but you mainly used your Walkman nowadays. You looked through more tapes, seeing a few that looked good. You grabbed the new Iron Maiden album, an older Beatles one you didn’t have yet, and a couple others. You didn’t tend to stay within one music genre- you just listened to anything that made you happy. You started looking through the records as well, finding an old Elvis record.
Eddie walked out of the back with a tape in his hand and he looked over to you, watching you for a moment as you flipped a record around to look at the songs on the back. He couldn’t help but notice how pretty you were. He’d always thought that, but something about seeing you in casual clothes, outside of school, just going about your day made his chest feel tight.
After a second, he called, “I found it.”
You turned around and smiled at him, walking up to the counter, “You, sir, are a life saver.” You sighed with relief, setting down your findings on the counter as he handed you the tape to inspect, “Perfect- this is the exact one I had.” You said, placing it on top of your pile.
“You ready to check out?”
“Yep.” You smiled, “Sage is going to love this tape. I’m sorry if she comes home singing the Johnny Appleseed song.”
“She unfortunately did not inherit my musical ability.” He chuckled, ringing up your items. “Iron Maiden?” He asked, looking up at you with a raised eyebrow.
“I liked the guitar in Maiden England and I haven’t heard this album yet. Also, your musical ability? Do you play an instrument?”
Eddie looked shocked, “You know Iron Maiden.”
“I don’t just listen to Johnny Appleseed all day.” You quipped. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“But you- miss rainbows and sunshine- know about Iron Maiden. This is news.” He said, in awe.
“Eddie, I don’t live at the school, remember?” You laughed, “And I just listen to whatever music makes me feel something—happy, sad, angry— music is a good way to process your feelings. But once again, you have yet to answer my question.”
“Yeah yeah, I was in a band back in the day. Guitar and singing and all that. Had to stop once Sage came around so I could focus on being a good dad, blah blah blah.” He said, waving his hand as he rang up your last tape, “But wow. I mean, I’m shocked. Do I really want my baby girl being taught by a teacher who secretly lives a double life as a rockstar?” He teased.
You groaned, “What’s my total?”
He laughed, “You know I’m just kidding.” He said, breaking the theatrics, “It’ll be 20.57” he said, putting your items in a paper bag. “But we do have a lot to talk about. I don’t know if you can tell by the, ya know, everything about me, but this kind of music is my life. I’d be happy to give you some recommendations.”
You nodded, “That would be nice.” You smiled. He handed you the bag carefully, making sure not to damage any items. “I’ll see you at pickup?” You asked. He nodded and you walked out of the store, offering him a kind wave as you left.
Jesus, she likes Iron Maiden.
Tag list: @mcueveryday @bebe0701 @emma77645 @edsforehead
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson#stranger things#dad!eddie munson x reader#singledad!eddie munson#singledad!eddie munson x reader#dad!eddie munson#slow burn#teacher!reader#strangers to friends to lovers#em#non canon
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A Perfect Moment: Neron 'Creeper' Vargas x Reader
Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @est1887 @mysoulisasunflower @drabbles-mc
Neron had never expected you to walk into his life. He didn’t expect a lot of things. His existence had taught him that expectations were a waste of time, that they could be dashed within a single moment. At least that was his experience.
He’s been a junkie; he’s been an addict. He’s done with all that now. Still there are times when he craves a drink or a fix, his fingers twitching when there’s a moment of quiet. He knows it’s best to keep himself occupied, which is why he carries around a sketch book, it’s A6, a tiny little thing that resides in his back pocket along with a black fineliner. He used to draw comics back in L.A. before the drugs took hold, stupid little things that he’d experienced in his daily life. The homeless man that he sat down with in The Valley, the hooker on the street corner smoking a cigarette and waiting for a john. He’d recreate them in his own style, the bold black and the stark white bringing them to life on a page.
He's picked it up again since he’s got sober this time around. It’s this third go but he’s determined it’ll stick; things are different now than they were before. He knows he can turn to Riz if he’s having one of those nights, if the cravings start to take hold, if the pressures too much. He knows Bishop will put him to work, keep him busy. That Coco will talk shit out with him if he needs it. The others. They’re there too, each in their own way. His support network is bigger now, more robust. He’s more resilient these days, he’s done the work, had the counselling, he knows what his triggers are. He knows that that temporary high doesn’t solve the bigger problem, that it’s a false economy.
It's the periods of silence that get him, it’s why he plays music all the time in the van. When his mind is unoccupied, it wanders so he gets out his little sketch book and he draws. He likes the way the pen feels on the page, the drag of it, the way the shades fill in the space. He could spend hours like this, locked over it, creating the things he sees in his head. He has thousands of them in his apartment, all neatly set aside in storage boxes.
When he sees you standing next to Hank outside the community centre, your skin covered in that beautiful expressive ink something happens. He’s not sure what it is, it’s like a switch flicks inside of him and suddenly his world is blossoming in colour. It’s overstimulating in a way, too rich and too saturated, he wants to switch it off, but he finds he can’t. Although it’s a real feeling, he’s never experienced it before. He’s not sure how to combat it, if it actually needs combating.
He watches you through the window of the van. You’re poetry in motion, a flurry of hands and impression as you step up against the blank wall and gesture to the open space. Hank looks back down at the A4 sketchbook in his hands before nodding and jotting something down.
It takes Neron a second to realise who you are. He’s never met you before, but he’s heard about you, he thinks you must have crossed paths a hundred times, but this is the first time he’s actually laid eyes on you. He’s heard your voice through an open door down a corridor, he knows the timbre of it, the lilt of your accent. He remembers thinking it was beautiful, it makes him think of steel cutting through silk.
You’re one of the tattoo artists Hank qualified with, you have a shop a few doors down by Felipe Reyes. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s been past it, it always catches his attention. There’s such vividness in the colours you’ve used to decorate the storefront, it’s eye catching and subtle at the same time, like you he thinks. He doesn’t realise he’s stepping out of the van until his boots hit the ground, it’s almost a compulsion. His feet are moving on their own accord towards you and Hank. He’s not usually so brazen, underneath his bravo he’s shy, especially when it’s about something he cares about. That thought surprises him because formally he hasn’t even met you yet, but he’s decided he cares. He cares about what you think, about who you are, he wants to get to know you. He’s not sure where that comes from.
You greet him a smile as he approaches and fuck if it doesn’t feel like there’s a fucking sunbeam blossoming in his chest. It’s like that moment you step out of your house and into the sunshine or the first time you see a rainbow on a rainy day.
“Neron.” He introduces himself when he takes your hand.
He notices that your fingertips are stained with paint, Hues of red, orange and yellow licking up your skin. They’re warm colours, he feels their heat as they brush over his flesh.
When you say your name, he smiles because it’s perfect. It flows off his tongue as he repeats it, like it was always meant to roll from his lips. Hank must sense something because he excuses himself, the left side of his mouth twitching up.
Neron finds himself sitting on the wall that lines the community centre, alongside of you, hips nudging as you both study the blank canvas in front of you. You describe your plans for the mural, show him the designs that the kids have been working on, explain how you plan to incorporate them. He admires your creativity, your drive to complete something that will show what San Padre’s all about in the aftermath of the poverty caused by the Galindo Agra Park project falling through.
He notices you squinting a little as you study the whitewashed wall because the way the lights refracting off it, so he hands you, his sunglasses. And fuck if they don’t look like they’ve belonged on you all along. As he sits there under the sun, talking creative shit he feels at peace.
It’s a perfect moment one he treasures for the rest of his life.
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Broken World: Chapter Fifteen
Everyone got into the vehicle they would be riding in and we left. While the rest of us turned left, Morales turned right. Dale was in the lead in the rv, Rick was behind him in Carol's Cherokee. Lori, Carol, and the kids were with him. T-Dog and Andrea were in the church van behind them, then it was Daryl and I with Shane behind us. “This is such a stupid idea,” I mumbled. Daryl grunted beside me, he had one hand on the wheel and was leaning on the window with his other arm. I'm surprised he responded at all. “Better than going off alone,” he said. I shrugged, “I don't know, Daryl, I think Morales was smart not to come with us.”
“O'course you'd run off. You're good at runnin’ off,'' Daryl mumbled. I rolled and scoffed. “I left because I had nothing in that town to keep me there. My family didn't want me. Hell, they didn't even notice when I moved out of the house. I left so you wouldn't have to look at me every time you came to the bar or saw me on the streets. I had no family and no friends in that town, there wasn't anything or anyone, for that matter, holding me back.” He scoffed again and mumbled something under his breath. I wasn't in the mood to even have this conversation with him.
“I didn't do anything to ya to make ya leave.” My head snapped to look over at Daryl. “You called me a fucking pig, Daryl! I was doing my job. Your brother knew the victim, he was seen with him the night he was killed. I don't know why you idolize him so damn much. He's a drug addict, he's racist and sexist. He does nothing but put you down. You're a better man than that Daryl.” He scoffed at me, “You don't know a damn thing about me or my brother. So keep your damn mouth shut!” I just shook my head and looked out the window. “Why the hell did you want me to even ride with you? I should have just gone with Shane.” I didn't get an answer for that question. Dale honked his horn and we all pulled off onto the side of the road.
Jim wasn't doing so well; he wanted us to leave him there. He was coughing up more blood, his fever was insanely high, and he was having delusions, but he was clear headed enough at the time to know what he was talking about. Rick didn't think it was right to just leave him there. He was so set on the CDC still being up and running. He had way too much faith in them having a cure. In his mind all we had to do was get there and they could help Jim. But that's not the case. Jim would die before we got there and he would turn. It was the best decision for the group and Jim knew that. Rick and Shane helped him up the hill and sat him against a tree. Everyone said their goodbyes and we got back into our vehicles to continue our trip to the CDC.
“Had your chance to go with Shane,” Daryl mumbled as we slowly pulled back onto the road. “Yeah, well, although I don't like you at this very moment, I still feel safer with you. Shane gives me the fucking creeps with the way he watching Lori and Rick.” Daryl hummed in agreement. The rest of the ride was in awkward silence. The sun was starting to go down by the time we got to the CDC. Just like I had told Rick, the parking lot and the road in front of the build was littered with dead bodies. The smell of rotting was intense and flies swarmed around them. “Like I said, this place is a bust,” I mumbled.
I reluctantly walked with everyone towards the front doors. We zig-zagged through the dead laying on the ground, taking care of any walkers that got too close. The smell was so intense my stomach churned. I didn't like being this close to the city at night. I always tried to avoid going out into the city when it got back. I kept my light to a minimum while inside and stayed in the breakroom with the door shut and barricade. It wasn't the walkers I worried about getting it, there weren't any on my floor. I was more worried about people finding me. I got lucky with Glenn, but there were a lot of bad people out there roaming free, and the good people would turn bad. You'll do anything when it comes to surviving.
When we reached the front doors, the building was locked down tight. The metal gates were pulled down over the doors and there was no opening them from the outside. Night had started to settle in and more walkers were starting to slowly creep towards us. The children whimpered and held onto their mothers. “Rick, there is nobody here. We need to go now!” I hissed at him. “This place wouldn't be locked down if there weren't people inside.”
“Those people could be fucking dead for all we know. They work with very deadly shit, Rick! We need to go now! We can not be this close to the city at night,” I told him. Shane grabbed ahold of him and started to drag him away. Daryl, Glenn, and T-dog were taking out any walkers that got too close. “The camera…it moved! The camera moved!” Rick said, breaking free from Shane and started to pound on the door. “You're seeing this, man,” Shane told him, trying to drag Rick away from the door.
Rick was begging for whoever he thought was in there to let you in. “We have children, hardly any gas or food!” Shane was able to pull him away. “You're killing us! You're killing us!” Rick yelled. Walkers were getting closer, more showing up from all the noise that had been created by Rick banging and yelling. Shane tugged on Rick, pulling him away from the doors. We started to make our way back to the vehicles, taking out any walkers close by. The kids wrapped themselves around their mothers, soft cries and sniffles could be heard from them. Then the doors opened, halting us in our tracks and a bright blinding white light streamed out.
#daryl dixon fanfic#the walking dead daryl#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl fanfiction#twd daryl#daryl x reader#daryl dixon fanfiction#the walking dead daryl dixon#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead fic#the walking dead#twd fanfiction#twd fic#twd#twd andrea#twd tdog#twd michonne#rick grimes#carl grimes#lori grimes#shane walsh#carol petelier#sophia peletier#dale horvath#twd Jacqui#beth greene#maggie greene#glenn rhee#hershel greene
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Chapter 6: I wanna show you something
The van starts to slow down as you try and take in some surroundings as to where he’s taken you. Pulling over the side of a dirt road he turns off the engine. Turning to you to smile taking in you & the sight of the moonlight upon your face he offers you his hand. “Trust me?” he asks you tilt your head and smile “sure why not” Eddie runs to the passenger side to open the door for you stepping out into the night breeze shutting the door behind you Eddie takes your hand and turns back to you “You ready?..” you nod in response before you can take a second to think what he could possibly be up to he’s taking off running with you in tow into a field you decide on kicking off your sandals to keep up as he pulls you along through a field of wildflowers. Giggling and running with each other as the ground below tickles your feet you’ve never felt more alive then you do in this moment so carefree & with the most gorgeous man in the world nothing could make this more perfect. Stopping at a small clearing you noticed a flannel blanket already laid out with a book and a bottle of wine to the side. Eddie looks at you with such a look of admiration the moonlight lighting his face in the most magical way making him look like an angel come to earth just for you. “I figured I’d take you to one of my favorite places I come here to be alone sometimes something about the stars here just makes your problems feel so small when you’re looking up at what beauty the night sky has to offer.. not as beautiful as you that’s for sure but a close second now come lay with me & let’s just take in everything” you smile you can’t believe how sweet he is you would’ve never guessed he was the type to even show emotion let alone have it radiating off him. You both lay on the blanket your head nestled in the crook of his shoulder gazing up at the constellations 🌌 when suddenly a shooting star streaks it’s way across the night sky you both gasp in shock & excitement. “Make a wish princess make it a good one” you both close your eyes making a wish not realizing you both made a similar one. But you both don’t say because you know it’s bad luck to do so. Giggling drinking wine and speaking of life and music Eddie introduces you to one of his favorite books the hobbit & pulls out an extra blanket for you both covering you both from the chill. He reads you chapter after chapter you could stay like this forever. Before you both know it the sun is starting to rise you both sit up not wanting to miss the beautiful sky with hues of pink and orange turning to smile at each other you place your hand over Eddie’s locking your fingers with his. Eddie rests his forehead against yours before leaning in to touch his lips on yours fitting together like 2 pieces to a puzzle. You both melt into each other his hands cupping your face while one of your hands makes its way through his beautiful hair and the other against his chest where you feel his heart pounding almost as if you both are beating in sync like your hearts are drumming the same song of love and longing. Parting for some air he looks you in your eyes noses touching “I never want to this to ever end will you… go out with me.. again??..” you smile resting your arms around his neck “Eddie I’ll go out with you everyday if that’s what you want” he smiles and lays you down onto the blanket snuggling into your neck whispering sweet nothings in your ear you don’t think you could ever get enough of this enough of him. Like a drug your addicted to him in every way his smile his eyes his scent you wanna drown in him for as long as he’ll have you in the back of your head your insecurities start to creep telling you that he’s too good for you & that you’ll never be enough for him especially if he wanted to get more intimate in the future you didn’t even like being naked alone let alone in front of someone. You’re not virgin but with the experience you did have wasn’t one you’d cherish that’s for sure. You were taken to prom as a joke by the captain of the baseball team not knowing he had a bet with his teammates…
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“I’m so f**king excited for this, Loony! Our first Daddy-Daughter date in ages and it’s at a horse race! You’re finally gonna see how sick they are and we can bond over being horse girls together!” Blitz was barely containing himself as he crossed 6 lanes of traffic on the freeway.
“Yeah, whatever. So, long as you give me the $50 at the end of this, like you said you would.” Loona lazily scrolled through Sinstagram on her phone, used to all the jerkiness of Blitz’s driving, “It is a little weird though. I’m not seeing anything about this event online. And wouldn’t an event like this more likely take place in the wrath ring? Why would it be happening in Pride?”
“Now, Sweetie, it’s not very nice to stereotype people like that. There are horse lovers all over hell. And so what if they don’t have any social media accounts, a website, or even an email address? Youth nowadays clearly just doesn’t understand the classiness of a good letter.” Blitz swerved off the freeway.
“. . . wait, what?” Loona said, suspiciously. She had assumed he had found out about this online and she just wasn’t seeing it, or maybe a billboard or something. It wasn’t uncommon for them to get horse related junkmail, though, so she shrugged it off.
Fewer and fewer cars were around as they got closer to their destination. Blitz threw the car into a parking spot, taking up 2 spaces. They got out of the van to see a big convention center building, totally abandoned of people. No other cars were in the parking lot, and no other people were around save for one guy in a hoodie by the front door.
“Wow, we’re the first people here!” Blitz said as he marched towards the hooded figure with the biggest grin on his face.
“Shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, at least a sign about the horse race here? And the building looks like it’s a hang out for local drug addicts. Half the windows are boarded up!” Loona was starting to get more and more unsettled by this whole thing.
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear your pessimism over the sound of your soon to be equine related delight!” Blitz was happily in his own world.
“Two tickets, my fellow horse enthusiast.” Blitz said, and began handing the hoodie guy a thick wad of cash.
Loona stopped him, by putting a hand on his shoulder, “Wait, Blitz. How much were the tickets?
“I will spare no expense for the opportunity to bond with my daughter over our soon to be mutual love of horses!” The guy accepted the cash, as Blitz placed his hands on his hips.
The hoodie guy’s face was in shadow and their hands were in gloves, completely hiding themselves. They were counting the money in their hands, when they felt the glare of a tall hellhound piercing daggers into them, “Uhh- student tickets are half off?” came a gravelly voice as they handed back some of the bills.
Blitz, unaware of the glare from behind him, “Yep! She’s a student. Totally a student in school, studying scholarly things at a totally real place. Have a nice day!”
Blitz grabbed Loona’s hand and skittered inside, “Haha! We totally scammed that guuuuuyy . . . woah.” Blitz stopped just beyond the threshold as both their mouths fell open, taking in the scene. Rose petals were scattered along the long walk way, muscular imp statues and giant flower pots lining the path. Pink chandeliers hung periodically from the ceiling, causing the room to be bathed in a fuschia light. All were pink save for the one in the center of the room which was three times the size of the others and sparkled silver. Beneath it was a round table, covered in an ornately laced tablecloth. A candelabra sat in the middle, and two cushion seats, their backs shaped like hearts, were across from each other.
“What ambiance! Come on Loony, let’s take our seats!” Blitz happily began marching over to the table.
“Wait, isn’t this, I don’t know, weird for a horse race event. I’ve never been to one, but for one thing we’re indoors, and there’s only one table in the center of the room that looks like it’s a tacky set up for an old married couple’s date night.” She followed behind him.
Loona’s ear twitched as she heard a muffled voice from far away start to shout, “Tacky-?!” She quickly turned in the direction of the sound but only saw a black tinted window, with big bushes on the other side.
“Nonsense! Plenty of horse events happen inside. Usually it’s a indoor horse arena, but I don’t think they have many of those in Pride, so they probably just had to make do. As for the decor, well, they’re obviously just setting the mood for watching muscular mares speed past us, dripping in sweat.” Blitz pulled out the seat for Loona, who sat down, reluctantly.
“Please don’t make this any weirder than it already is. . .” she trailed off as she peered around Blitz’s shoulder to see the bushes outside rustling, unnaturally. And was that a . . . tail sticking out?
“I’m gonna . . . find the bathroom. I won’t be long.” She said as Blitz looked up from the menu that was on the table.
“Oh, okay. But don’t blame me if they start while you're in there.” He went back to cheerily pursuing the short list of options.
Blitz didn’t seem to notice or that Loona went straight back out of the building; way too wrapped up in the prospect of watching horses. Loona heard loud whispering the moment she stepped outside. It sounded like two people arguing over each other, but she didn’t recognize them. She turned the corner and saw a seam down the middle of the now clearly fake enormous bush. Grabbing the seam, she tore the back half off and two people came tumbling out.
Find out who on The Pompous and the Prick:
#blitzo#fanfiction#helluvaboss#blitzxstolas#fanficromance#gayfanfic#stolas#loona hellhound#helluva boss loona#helluva loona#loona#stolas helluva boss#helluva boss stolas#blitz x stolas#helluva stolas#stolitz#stolas x blitz#blitz helluva boss#helluva boss blitzo#helluva boss blitz#helluva blitz#blitzo helluva boss#blitzø#helluva blitzo#blitzoxstolas#helluva fanfiction#helluva boss fanfiction#ao3#ao3 fanfic#quotev
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