side blog for gazstations

Your eyes shift over to your friend’s tupperware washed and awaiting pick up on the counter. So, maybe you’re only responsible for one other person tonight, and it’s hardly an arduous task—she mentioned she would swing by on her way home to pick it up herself. 

You’re sliding a frozen pizza into your preheated oven with one hand and taking a sip from your (second) very large glass of wine when the doorbell rings. 

You shoot your cat a major warning glare as you make your way to the door, not wanting your poor friend to walk in on the scene of a crime (murder in the first degree) when all she wanted to do was to pick up her favourite tupperware container. 

You fling the door open, ready to warn her of the serial assailant and let her in to retrieve said containers when you nearly choke on your sip of wine. 

Because it is decidedly not your friend standing on the other side of your wide open door. 

And now today has turned into one of those days; after an already grueling day at work, you get home, strip your pants off, free yourself of your bra, all but chug one large glass of wine and pour yourself another before flinging your door open to a young man who’s looking at you like you just shouted a slur at him. 

“Oh,” is all that manages to leave your lips. 

People often talk about fear responses: fight or flight. And by God do you wish your instincts told you to slam the door in this—albeit rather pretty—man’s face and hope he comes back never (or at least when you’re clothed) instead of standing here, partially clothed, gaping at him like a landlocked fish. 

The guy’s fully clothed—the bastard—and white knuckling a clip board in front of him which he’s now using to shield your bare legs from his line of sight, refusing to blink lest he be accused of not making anything but perfect eye contact with you at all times. 

The two of you stay in some kind of half-naked, silent standoff. Or maybe it’s more of a game of chicken; whoever draws attention to your distinct lack of clothing first loses. 

A game he’s clearly playing to win. “Steve.” 

Your brows raise. “I beg your pardon?”

He winces, moving to correct himself. “Harrington! I- shit. Steve, I’m Steve. Harrington. Steve Harrington.” 

You nod slowly. “Okay, Steve Harrington.” You bring your glass to your lips and give him a once over—something only one of you can do without being called a pervert. “What exactly can I help you with?” 

Steve Harrington seems to shake himself out of something, looking down at his clipboard and then letting out a pained sound when it forces his eyes down towards your naked legs. 

“Right! Yes, well, uhm, you see. I have a little league team? Not, like, own it or anything. But, like, run it? No, coach! I’m the coach. I coach a little league team.” 

“The point, Steve Harrington?” you all but beg, flashing your elderly neighbour a tight-lipped smile as she walks by shooting you a look of disdain. Your entire apartment complex is going to be talking about the half-naked chick in unit 303 who entertains men with an open door by morning. 

“Yes! Right, okay.” Steve collects himself. “My team is hosting a barbeque next weekend to raise money for their end-of-season tournament. We’ll be selling hotdogs, hamburgers, veggie burgers, street corn, as well as tickets for different raffle prizes, and– well, yeah. That’s pretty much it. Barbeque. Raffle. Raising money. Baseball.” 

You both take a deep breath at the end of his speedrun spiel.

“Great,” you say on an exhale.

“Yep.”

The two of you continue staring at each other, and you honestly have to hand it to Steve. His eye contact game in the face of bare legs, women’s underwear, and pert nipples really is superb. He should get a trophy. Do they make trophies for that? If they can make trophies for squeaky voiced little league players, surely they can make them for gentlemanly men. 

“Is that all?” you manage.

Steve shakes himself again, ripping a sheet from his clipboard and thrusting it in your direction while busying himself with admiring the brick facade of the wall above your door frame. 

You accept the flyer, giving it a brief perusal before lowering it in an attempt to protect your modesty. Just as quickly you’re ripping it away from yourself when one of your neighbours nearly trips over his feet when he assumes you're entirely naked from the waist down. 

“Great. Just- yeah. Great. Thanks, Steve Harrington. Anything else?”

“Steve,” he blurts. “Just, uh, just Steve.”

You offer him the most genuine smile you can muster. “Okay, Steve. Well, I’m going to go put more clothes on-” His gaze briefly flickers down before those doe-shaped eyes dutifully make their way back to your own “-and die of embarrassment, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he huffs, managing a small chuckle disguised as clearing his throat. “I, uh, hope you can make it to the barbeque.” 

“Right,” you laugh. “I’ll make sure to wear more clothes.”

“Might be best, you know, with the kids and the PTA.” 

“Right.”

“But…” His blush has migrated to the tips of his ears and down the neck of his shirt. “This seems like a nice way to spend an evening if- uhm, if you ever consider inviting company, I’d love a flyer of my own.” 

With that, he taps his knuckles twice on his clipboard, flashes you a devilish smile completely at odds with the pink of his complexion, and turns to leave you gaping on your doorstep. 

You’re only startled out of your stupor by a fur-lined body rubbing on your ankles which prompts you to slam the door, your ears ringing as you blink at the woodgrain. 

A wet nose presses into your calf. 

“Not a fucking word,” you hiss at your feline companion.

It's been a month since Johnny stood you up on a date, leaving you at the table feeling confused and angry.

But, you have nothing to do but to move on. Working as the Fantastic Four's assistant requires unwavering focus and dedication. You don't have time to worry about him.

It's no shocker to anyone that you've distanced yourself with Johnny, in contrary to the others.

You walk into the Fantastic Four's establishment with new schedules that you put together for them, considering their hectic lifestyles.

"Thank you." Reed praises, taking his document from you. Susan does the same.

When you get to Ben, you give him the rest of the papers so that you won't have to interact with Johnny.

You politely address Ben before exiting the room.

Ben waits until you leave to speak quietly.

"Sheesh, what did you do to her?"

Johnny carelessly tosses down his paper, knowing exactly what he did.

___________________________________________________

Johnny stares off into space on the living room couch as the others are present. He's placed back into reality when Ben throws a pebble at his forehead.

"What's the matter, toasty? You've been acting weird all day."

"It's nothing."

"It's got to be somethin'. You know who won't even look at you anymore."

"Do I need to give my brother a good whacking?" Susan butts in.

"Maybe a real good one." Ben jokes.

"Alright, just make fun of me." Johnny says, throwing his hands up.

"Really, Johnny. What happened?" Susan asks.

"Well...a month ago, she and I were supposed to go on a date. Then something came up...with us. It was super last minute and I couldn't get to a phone. The mission was so tense and lasted longer than I expected. And she was left sitting there and now... She hates me."

"Have you tried talking to her?" Ben asks.

"You really are a dumb rock, you know that?"

Ben gets up from the other side of the couch, then stands in front of Johnny.

"Say that again, I dare you."

"You. Are. A. Dumbbbb. R-o- c-k." Johnny spaces out his hands with each enunciation.

Ben grabs him and holds him up by his shirt.

"Alright, Ben don't kill him." Susan says, holding back a laugh. "You need a way to grasp her attention. To make her stay."

"Maybe flowers." Reed adds, not even looking up from his crossword.

"I tried. She told me she'd put them at my gravesite."

Ben doesn't even attempt to hold back his laughter.

"Laugh it up, big guy." Johnny sulks.

"Johnny, you can't be soft with her. Sometimes you have to be a bit... assertive as a man."

Johnny tilts his head to hear Ben out.

"You need to tell it like it is, then grab her and kiss her before she can say anything. She's upset because she cares."

"Don't do that, she'll punch you in the face." Susan says.

But Johnny's already made up his mind.

"Yeah... I'm Johnathan Lowell Spencer. I got this... I got this. I won't let her- her pretty face intimidate me."

"Yeah, Johnny you got it." Ben eggs on.

"This is predicted to fail terribly." Reed says.

"Just watch, nerd." Johnny answers cockily.

___________________________________________________

The next day, you approach Johnny's door because you unfortunately have been ordered by Reed to call him in for a last minute meeting.

You take a deep breath, then knock a couple of times.

Johnny's not expecting you, so when he opens the door to you, he short circuits.

"Mister Richards would like everyone to join in the living room for a meeting."

You're already prepared to turn on your heel when Johnny asks you to wait.

"We need to talk." He starts.

"If it is not about work then it is inappropriate, Mister Storm."

"Come on, don't do that." He gets up from his chair. "What happened to calling me Johnny?"

You really want to talk about things, but your pride and hurt won't let you.

"I expect you at the meeting." You cut shortly, walking off before he can say another word.

___________________________________________________

The emergency meeting is quite tense, and even though you're not apart of it, you feel immersed in it.

"We need to figure out a way to stop Earth from facing a horrible fate. I have thought of every possible outcome, every solution I can-"

"I'm not giving up our son!" Susan defies.

"And I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn't ever have to happen."

"We can't trust this sleaze to not hurt Franklin. We need to do something now." Ben adds, smacking his hand down on the table once.

"If it comes down to it, I'll do whatever it takes to keep Franklin with us." Johnny cuts through, his resolve serious and grim.

Everyone including you pauses.

"Johnny-" Reed starts.

"No. We're family. I do anything for family."

"Johnny. For now, we do the best we can. Don't do anything desperate." Reed places a hand on his shoulder. "Promise us."

Johnny looks around at his family, and contemplates.

"Okay. I promise."

The quartet begins occupying themselves in their own contributions to the mission.

The short lived meeting has your heart racing.

You can't believe you're finding yourself in front of his door again. You bury your pride to knock on his door. He opens quickly before you can even prepare yourself mentally.

"Is there something else?" He asks. His voice is different from the last time. It's short and clipped.

"No. It's us."

"I thought there was nothing for us to talk about. You've pretty much made up your mind about me."

"Can you really blame me, Johnny?"

"It's not like you ever have any patience to hear me say otherwise."

"What excuse could you possibly have for standing me up that night? For not even bothering to call- and for letting me sit there for an hour, Johnny?"

"I got wrapped up in a mission. I swear it was supposed to take only a few minutes. Then it got worse. I couldn't get to a phone, not even after things were done. I already knew things looked bad for me so I..."

"You ran away. You let me run away."

"I tried making it up to you, I did. But you're so stubborn."

"I don't want apologetic flowers, Johnny. I want your time."

"It hasn't seemed like it for a month."

You swallow the lump in your throat. You aren't sure what to say without this turning into another back and forth.

"Forget any of this ever happened between us, Johnny." You say.

You turn and walk out of his doorway, the sounds of your steps clacking against the floor.

Johnny freezes.

You called him Johnny.

___________________________________________________

The quartet are having an unusually tame dinner after you went home for the night.

Ben looks around at everyone, and decides to break the ice.

"So, Johnny. How's things with your hot date? Did you lay down the bricks?"

"Oh the house is on fire, Rocky. She called me Johnny."

"In that case, I've got the hots for you." Ben chuckles.

"But this is real. This is the Johnny we're talking about."

"So you put your foot down?"

Johnny ponders. "No, actually. We kind of uh. Exchanged words. Kind of mean words-"

"Ah, man when are you going to do less talking and more action-ing?" Ben grumbles.

Susan and Reed watch in amusement.

"You wait and see, Ben. She'll be all over me by tomorrow afternoon."

___________________________________________________

The next morning, you mentally brace yourself to head to the Baxter Building.

You've been hearing distant crushing and crumbling noises, but you disregard it as construction.

You're surprised by the sound of your phone ringing.

"Hello?"

"Hey, are you headed to the building? You usually come in early sometimes."

Johnny.

"My shift isn't due for another three hours, Johnny. If this is another attempt to get me to talk to you, it sure is a shitty one."

"Don't come to work today. Stay home."

Johnny sounds rushed and panicked.

"...Why?"

"I wish I had all the time in the world to explain, but I don't. I'm sorry for everything."

"Johnny, wait-"

The line shuts off. You try calling back.

Nothing.

You know exactly what's happening. You remember the day of the meeting. How determined Johnny was to put himself in the line of fire for his nephew.

You're driven by an unstoppable force within you to venture out and head for Johnny.

"Damn you, Johnny." You mutter to yourself, racing to collect your things and power up your car.

___________________________________________________

When you arrive to the Baxter Building, everything around it is damn near ruined.

Luckily, thanks to Johnny's suit design, the quartet stand out like sore thumbs. Thankfully, you see every member.

"Uh, toasty. Your girlfriend's back." Ben mumbles, making Johnny turn around.

"Mister- Johnny!" You're stomping towards him so hard that your heels are clacking against the pavement. "I thought you died!"

"Well uh, I was about to until this alien woman threw herself into a black hole for me. Sent Galactus's rocky ass back to wherever the hell he came from."

"...Alien woman? You blew me off so you could hang out with an alien woman?!"

"I literally never said that!"

The others feel their exhaustion melt away at the humorous sight of you and Johnny arguing like a grumpy married couple.

"Well- I'm here to work anyway." You lie.

"I told you not to come. You could've been hurt-"

"Well I'm here now." You take his helmet.

"We'll need to relocate at our other establishment across town. For now, we can guarantee the safety of the people." Reed says.

"I have the public statement you all helped me put together. I can speak it to the public. I think you've all earned some rest."

"We would love that, thank you." Susan smiles as Franklin babbles in her arms.

"I think we should give it." Johnny says with a smirk.

"How about I give you a black eye?"

___________________________________________________

Notoriously, you ended up giving the Fantastic Four's statement alongside Johnny (who pretty much never gave you a chance to argue, anyway.)

"Excuse me, ma'am? What can we expect from the Fantastic Four in the near feature?" A reporter asks.

Johnny decides to take the question for you.

"The Fantastic Four will always represent a stable support to the community, on and off screen. We're laying low, but we're not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry, we're running out of time for questions. Thank you all for joining us for the public statement today."

Cameras flash and reporters rally behind you all like flies before you finally get out of their reach.

"We should head back before nerd gets jittery." Johnny says, opening the car door for you.

"For once, you are a gentleman."

___________________________________________________

Returning to their secondary establishment, you see that everyone seems to luckily be in their rooms. After that exhausting situation of dealing with the press, you couldn't imagine having to handle with more tasks being thrown at you.

Johnny puts a finger over his lips, then grabs your wrist gently to pull you to his room.

He quietly closes the door behind him.

"A picture of yourself in this bedroom too? Seriously, Johnny you are an egghead."

Ben's voice rings in Johnny's head.

"You need to tell it like it is, then grab her and kiss her before she can say anything. She's upset because she cares."

"Go out with me." He blurts.

Your brows furrow. "What? You can't just put me through all of that then order me around! Who on Earth do you think you are?"

"I'm Johnny Storm. And you can't talk to me like that."

I hope she doesn't kill me for what I'm about to do.

"You arrogant, selfish, firehead-"

Before you can spew another insult, his hand at the small of your back pulls you in for a kiss that lasts way longer than you expected.

Whatever you were about to sputter at him gets lost in your throat.

"7 o'clock tomorrow night. You, me, and that fancy ass Italian restaurant that everybody's been talking about." He says, staring at you.

You look him over for a bit.

"... Okay."

"Yeah?"

"But Johnny Storm, if there's one thing you should know- if you're going to kiss me like that, you'd better finish what you've started."

Johnny's hair flickers for a split second before he calms himself down.

"Well, who am I to keep a lady waiting?"

When you’d grown tired of just twiddling your thumbs, you finally called Jaxon’s sister, Suze. The phone rang for nearly a full minute before you heard, “...Hello?” She sounded groggy.

“Hey, Suze, just making sure you made it in.”

“Wh—Huh?”

“Jax told me about coming to pick you up, so I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“He told you what? Sorry, I’m still half asleep—I haven’t seen Jax today.”

You sighed. Honestly, you should’ve known. 

You muttered off apologies to Suze—Sorry, I think I got mixed up, goodnight—before hanging the phone back on the hook so aggressively it rang out in the quiet studio. 

Peeking through the glass into the booth, you watched Eddie, the frontman of the band, pick at his guitar. You couldn’t hear him, but you could tell by the papers crumpled up at his feet and the way he seemed to be singing softly to himself that the new song wasn’t coming along as smoothly as the band had been hoping for.

You heard Gareth and Jeff grumbling about the track as they left earlier. It seemed they were at a stalemate. 

You flopped back onto the sofa, snatching the Rolling Stone magazine from the coffee table. Of course, it was Corroded Coffin’s 1989 issue. You had this exact issue in your apartment, sitting on your coffee table too, actually, but you couldn’t help but drink in the cover like it was the first time you’d seen it.

Eddie stood in the middle, looking down at the camera. His chest was bare, showing the expanse of his pale skin littered with black ink. His guitar rested against his lower half, partially blocking his pants, but the shine of the leather was still noticeable. His fingers, adorned with rings, of course, gripped the neck of the guitar. One eyebrow was quirked slightly beneath his bangs; his lips were parted gently. You could see his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek.

Jax, Jeff, and Gareth were around him, posed similarly, albeit more clothed—almost every rock band of the era was going for this look—but there was something about Eddie that kept drawing your eyes back to him. He oozed charisma and sex appeal, even through the glossy pages. 

You guessed that was why he was the frontman.

You flicked through the magazine, attempting to read the stories but inevitably skimming through them. You’d just read it too many times.

Not long after, the door clicked open and Eddie emerged. 

His hair was sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it (he probably had been). Despite it being just a studio day with no planned public appearances, he still wore a studded belt and rings on nearly every finger.

He blinked at you, stuttering out your name. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here. Jax said you had to go pick up Susan—”

“He,” you corrected, flopping the magazine back atop the table. “He went to get Suze.” You put airquotes around the latter part of your statement. Jax’s behavior wasn’t exactly a secret, so what was the point in even pretending?

Eddie’s forehead wrinkled like he was holding back a wince. “Shit, I’m sorry—and he just what? Left you here?”

“Said he was coming back to get me, but I guess he got too lost in whatever groupie’s pussy—” You sighed, scrubbing your eye with a fist as heat rushed to your face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He shot you a small smile. It was laced with something close to pity. “I mean you have every right to be mad, sweetheart; he—” He raised a ringed hand to scratch above his eyebrow. “Honestly, I thought you were done after the Layna incident.”

Layna was a well-known Corroded Coffin groupie. Around a year ago, she’d totally disappeared from the scene, then reappeared three months ago with a baby, claiming Jax was the father. Too bad Jax admitted to fucking her before the paternity test came back negative.

You don’t think you could ever forget the way his face fell when he heard the news—like he’d wanted to be the father. You’d left for around three weeks before coming back that time.

It wasn’t even that you still had feelings for Jax. It’d be impossible for that at this point. It was more so just routine, and sure, maybe it was selfish, but you enjoyed hanging around with the band.

Drinking and hanging out with Jeff’s girlfriend, Livie, at concerts; dinner with Gareth and his wife, Aleah, on Sundays. Sure, you could’ve still hung out with Livie and Aleah without being Jax’s girlfriend, but you wouldn’t have had an excuse to see Eddie anymore. It’d dwindle to only seeing him on paper or grainy television screens.

You couldn’t imagine he’d hang out with his bassist’s ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah. Me too, to be honest.” You sighed. “How’s the song coming? It sounded good earlier.”

Eddie sighed back, moving to plop next to you. He let his head fall back against the top of the couch, his eyes closed. “It’s, hah, I dunno.” He turned to look at you. “Missin’ something, I guess.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You wrung your hands together in your lap, giving him a small smile.

Sitting on the couch like this, your faces were close. You forced yourself to keep your gaze on his nose and above—no glancing down any further. 

But Eddie didn’t abide by this rule. His eyes darted down to your lips. He must’ve not meant to do it because he sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and successfully hiding his face from you. He cleared his throat.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked.

You raised your eyebrows, but before you could answer, he sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions again. “Sorry—I’m sorry. I dunno why I—” He ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know why I asked you that. ‘M being unfair.”

“It’s—You’re fine.” You tried to keep your voice steady despite the confusion that was rising within you.

“Can I ask you something?” He was looking at you again.

“Sure.”

“Why are you still with him?”

You blinked. You couldn’t pretend you hadn’t been asking yourself that same question.

“Guess I just got used to it. It’s my routine…” You shook your head. “Honestly, I don’t know. He treats me like shit. Left me to go ‘pick up his sister.’ I called her, and she hadn’t even talked to him. I mean, I already knew he was lying…Well, I figured he was. Still, it–it fucking sucks that he sucks.” You laughed a little, self-pityingly. 

You sighed again. You mumbled, “Dick’s good, I guess.” An afterthought to yourself, really. You weren’t sure why you said it to Eddie Munson of all people. It wasn’t like it made you look any less pathetic—only made it worse, if anything. You dropped your head in shame the moment the words left your mouth. 

Why would you bring up your sex life with your shitty boyfriend to his very attractive bandmate—

“Yeah right.”

Your head snapped up and over to Eddie. For a moment, you thought you might’ve imagined it. “Wh—huh?”

Eddie, who any other time was the opposite of nonchalant, was suddenly cool and composed. He shook his head as one shoulder rose. “Just find that hard to believe, ‘s all.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from retorting,“You some kind of sex expert or something?” Oh God, why did you say that, why did you say that, he’s going to think you’re a total freak—

“Maybe. Never heard that one before, but I haven’t heard any complaints either.” 

Heat rose up your neck. 

Haven’t heard any complaints. 

Suddenly you were plagued with the images of the girls you’d seen leaving Corroded Coffin’s shared apartment. Girls with makeup smeared across their faces, their hair a mess—even then you’d known just sleeping didn’t make you look like that, but you’d forced the thought from your head.

“Know I’m better than your shithead boyfriend, that’s for sure.”

You couldn’t stop your brows from shooting high on your forehead. Eddie was talking about Jax like they weren’t bandmates—weren’t friends. Your thoughts must’ve been clear on your face because Eddie added, huffing out a laugh, “You ever see me get along with him?”

Your gut instinct was to say yes, but the more you mulled it over…had you?

You thought back to last week at the bar. Had you seen Jax and Eddie speak? You could only remember Eddie addressing you. Then, a few weeks earlier, at their apartment for dinner…again, only you. 

Your face flushed. You’d been so caught up in your own interactions with Eddie, you hadn’t even noticed the tension between the two.

“I could be better than him.” Eddie was so close, you could see specks of gold in his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip.

“What are you saying?” you asked, eyes trailing from the curve of his lips up to where his eyes seemed to be boring into you.

“I think you know what I’m saying.”

“Are you really playing games right—mmph—”

A flash of brown hair was the only warning you received before his lips met your own. Your eyes were wide and you were taken with how soft his lips were. Frozen, you couldn’t get your body to react.

Eddie was kissing you. He was kissing you, and it wasn’t weird. He was kissing you, and he tasted like cherry chapstick and tobacco.

He slowly pulled away, and you realized you hadn’t kissed him back—you’d just sat there, unmoving. His eyes darted away from you. “Oh Christ, I’m sorry I–I don’t know wh—mmph—”

You rushed forward, meeting his lips again. For a moment, like you had been, he was frozen in place, but he quickly relaxed into it. His hand met your hair, and you easily let his tongue into your mouth as his grip tightened on you.

You brought your own hands up to his chest as his hand shifted from your hair to your neck, tugging you closer to him. You moved together, the only sound in the empty room the slick clicks of your mouths.

Eddie pulled back, rubbing his nose against yours. “Can I ask you something?” His thumb was running up and down the side of your throat, and you worked hard to concentrate on what he was saying.

“Ye—” You cleared your throat. “Yeah.”

His eyes left yours. “Feel free to smack the shit out of me if you want—”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He didn’t look convinced, so you added, “I’m not gonna hit you, okay? Just ask.”

“Well,” he started. “I had this idea for the record—”

Okay. Maybe you would smack the shit out of him. “Is now really the time for that?”

“Yeah, actually.” He glanced from you to the recording booth. “The record—What it’s missing—” He sighed before starting again. “I think you can help me.”

You leaned back in his grip to laugh. “Me? I can’t sing, let alone play an instrument. I can’t even play the triangle.” 

“I think you can do the kinda singing I need.” His eyes darted down across your body, and it felt like they’d shot lasers at you.

“Wh—I’m not sure I know what you’re saying.”

“I don’t mean to make assumptions here, sweetheart, but if we, ahem, keep goin’...” He nodded his head as he spoke, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Could we move it to the booth?”

“You mean—” You blinked and gestured a finger at the both of you.

“Yes.” He quickly added, “But only if you want to.”

“But…everybody’ll hear me.”

“Nobody has to know it’s you. I won’t say anything.” A small smile peeked at his lips. “It can be our secret.”

Your secret. Your secret with Eddie. It made you giddy like a schoolgirl to think about. You could be on the song. More specifically, you and Eddie having sex could be on the song. You didn’t want to dwell on why that made your stomach flip and your neck hot. 

Everyone who bought the record would hear you and Eddie. Even before that, the band would hear you and Eddie. The band, including Jaxon, would hear you and Eddie—

“Oh my god Jaxon.” Your stomach flipped again but this time, soured. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about Jaxon—He’ll hear and–and he’ll know—”

“I thought you said you didn’t know why you were still with him?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“This’ll show him he can’t get away with just treating you like this. He’s always blowing you off and treating you like shit. Somebody needs to show him what happens when you take a pretty girl—a good girl—who has always done right by you and you treat her like garbage.” Eddie’s chest was nearly heaving, and he looked down at himself slightly, like he wasn’t sure where all that had come from. “But—I mean—only if you want to. Of course.”

You swallowed. He had a point. I mean, where was Jaxon now? Definitely not with his sister, that was for sure. You thought back to the number of times he’d ditched you and were embarrassed to realize it was easily in the double digits just this month. 

You frowned. When had you decided you were fine with being treated like a doormat? When had you decided that this was what you were worth—

Eddie must’ve interpreted your silence as rejection. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to bash you or–or something. I just—You deserve better.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to do this with me. Or–Or you can, but we don’t have to—” He shot a thumb back towards the recording booth. “You can forget I asked. I can figure something out. It’s, uh, not a big deal.”

You wondered what ‘figuring something out’ looked like. Dropping the idea all together and trying something else for the record? Or asking someone else?

Your stomach rolled at the idea of Eddie asking another woman. You knew he wouldn’t have any issues doing so either. Part of you knew it was unfair to be jealous about it, but that didn’t matter. 

You stood from the couch abruptly. You had made your mind up—honestly, you had made your mind up the moment he asked you.

“We can just forget this happened—” he started, but instead of moving towards the exit, you moved towards the door to the booth.

“Are you coming or what?” you asked, narrowly biting back a smirk. 

You’d never seen him move so fast.

You tried to maintain your confidence, but something about Eddie melted it down to mush. “B-But is it—”

“It’s recording, sweetheart; don’t worry.” 

You were both seated on a couch in the recording booth. You hadn’t ever thought of Eddie as muscular per se, but he’d pulled the couch from the studio into the booth effortlessly. 

He cradled your neck as he planted kisses along your throat.

“Oh—Okay.” You were nodding, and you knew you should’ve been embarrassed at how desperate you were from just a few kisses.

Eddie sure didn’t seem to mind. His cool rings pressed against your neck as he pulled you closer to him. You braced yourself with both hands on his shoulders, quickly moving them to caress up and down his shoulders in an attempt to mask the fact you were truly gripping him for dear life.

Getting impatient at the attention your neck was getting, you grabbed his hand from your waist, moving it to your center. You felt his teeth as he smiled against you.

He pulled the button from your pants with one deft hand, and you bit back the jealousy that was stewing. How many women had he practiced on to get that just right? Not that you had any room to talk considering you had a boyfriend, albeit a shitty one, but—

You didn’t have time to overthink when Eddie immediately tucked your panties to the side to run agile fingers up and down your folds. You instantly noticed the calloused pads of his fingertips—that of a guitarist.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned back to rub his nose along your cheekbone. “You get this wet for him, or is this just for me?”

For a moment, a stab of guilt ran up your spine, making you sit up straighter, but it quickly morphed to arousal when you felt the tip of his finger dip into you.

“Eddie, I—mmph—” He trailed his finger back up to dance around your clit, never quite giving you the pressure you needed.

“Yeah? Tell me something, baby.” He was still nosing across your face.

“D-Don’t wanna talk about him.”

“Hm, that’s right. You don’t need him when I’m here, huh?”

You shook your head shamelessly—the wetness between your legs had already given your desperation away.

Eddie smiled. “Sweet girl.”

You leaned into him at the nickname, making him chuckle. 

Suddenly, he took a step back, pulling his hand from your pants, leaving you suddenly cold without the warm touch of his fingers.

Your lower lip jutted out into a pout, and he chuckled at you again. “I know. Here.” He tapped his fingers that had just been at your cunt across your lips. “Get ‘em wet for me, baby.”

You opened your mouth instinctively, wrapping your lips around the digits. Overcome with the desire to be good for him—to even remotely wreck him the way he already had you—you bobbed your head, taking his fingers down to the glittering silver along his knuckles.

He was watching you, his lips slightly parted as you gagged around his fingers. “Knew you’d have a sweet fuckin’ mouth.”

You gagged around him, the sound wet and humiliating, but you couldn’t be embarrassed—not when his mouth lolled open while he watched. You went to bob your head again, but he withdrew his fingers, leaving your mouth empty and waiting.

Without hesitation, he gripped your cheek, four digits on one side, his thumb on the other, as he pulled your mouth to his. He spread your saliva across your cheek with his fingers.

With your chest heaving, you could only peer at him through your lashes.

Eddie paused, drinking in your features. “Is–Is this okay?” He moved like he was going to retract his hand from your face.

You nodded eagerly, grabbing his hand to keep it there. You nuzzled your face towards his hand as best you could with his grip on you. “I—” Your face was warm, and you were starting to feel a little dizzy. “I like it dirty.”

For a split second, you couldn’t read his expression. But then, you noticed the sparkle in his eye. “Yeah? Sweet girl likes it dirty? I should’ve known.” He tilted your chin back. He planted a surprisingly chaste peck on your lips before murmuring, “Open your mouth.”

You blinked up at him, and God, all he could think about was painting your pretty fucking face with his load. Especially when your lips parted so obediently. 

He didn’t hesitate to spit directly into your waiting mouth, not missing the way your thighs pressed together. He watched your throat bob as you swallowed his warm spit, shamelessly removing his wet hand from your face to adjust himself in his jeans.

“You like that, baby?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Tell me,” he insisted.

“Yeah.” Your voice came out breathy and high. “Yeah, I like it, Eddie.”

“Fuck,” he practically groaned. “I need to see you.”

You didn’t need to hear anything else, instantly moving to pull your pants down, stumbling about in your attempts to be swift. You felt your face heat, but when you looked over at Eddie, he was too busy pulling his own belt from its loops and shucking his pants down to his ankles, just as desperate.

As if he felt you staring, he suddenly looked up. His hair was unruly against his forehead, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed deeply. His eyes darted from yours, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were dusted pink, but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting.

You lifted your hips to finish pulling your bottoms over the swell of your ass, and Eddie quickly jumped into action. His jeans rustled as he kicked them off his legs. One foot got caught at the bottom, causing him to jump and flail until it flew onto the floor with a thump.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you.

Here was Eddie Munson—rock band frontman, guy you’d seen smash paparazzi cameras for getting too close—dancing around, trying to get his pants down his legs. 

Somehow, he made it not dorky, though. Okay, maybe it was dorky, but he managed to make it charming.

“Whatcha laughing at?” He approached you again.

You would’ve thought Eddie was the type of guy to wear tight black briefs. In your head, he was in a perpetual state of chains and leather. But instead, he wore a pair of loose blue checkered boxers, clearly choosing comfort over his typical garb.

He put his hands against your pants at your knees, looking up at you from beneath his bangs. He raised his eyebrows at you. “Is this okay?” He suddenly sounded worlds smaller.

You nodded incessantly, helping him tug your pants the rest of the way down your calves. He balled them up and threw them in the general direction of where his own pants were. 

You pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he quickly got the hint, pulling it over his head. 

You’d seen him shirtless plenty of times. There was the Rolling Stone cover (along with countless other magazines), outdoor Corroded Coffin shows where he’d inevitably end up shirtless, even days when he’d invite the band over to his fancy rooftop apartment to lounge by the pool in the summertime. But you’d never been this close.

Close enough to see the spot on his chest beneath his collarbone where the one of the legs on his spider tattoo was a shade more faded than the rest.

Your gaze shifted down his torso to the dark trail of hair that disappeared into his boxers. Suddenly struck with the fact you’d been blatantly ogling him for the past few minutes, you looked back up to his face quickly, expecting to find him already staring at you.

He was staring at you, just not at your face like you’d expected.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint where his gaze was, but it was without a doubt far below your neck.

You were naked, sure, but something about the way he was so openly peering at you made you feel even a step past naked. It was like he’d stripped a layer of you back, and was looking at you completely. It made your skin prick with something beyond arousal. 

For a moment, you wanted to sink in on yourself—you couldn’t name a time you’d felt more exposed. But the way his boxers were tented replaced any mortification with something hot injected straight into your veins.

He finally looked up at your face, shameless about being caught, and leaned in, closing the gap between you. Your lips met and his moved against yours like second nature.

His tongue licked into your mouth like he was trying to map it. You suckled at the warmth of his tongue as he began to pull at the hem of your shirt. You parted long enough for your shift to join the pile of the rest of your clothes. 

Eddie’s hand met your face and caressed you gently, a stark contrast for the way his tongue was ravaging your mouth. Your chest heaved as you moved impossibly closer to him, centimeters from being entirely in his lap.

“Here,” he mumbled against your lips before softly turning you around until you were over the back of the couch.

Your breasts pressed against the top of the couch, your nipples pebbled on the rough fabric, as your knees sunk into the cushions of the seat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t purposefully push your ass out, presenting yourself to him.

The wet spot in your underwear was growing uncomfortable and you were painfully aware of it as you pressed your thighs together in a lame attempt to ease the incessant throbbing in your core.

You sat up on your elbows to peer over your shoulder. Eddie was running his tongue over his bottom lip, and when you noticed the slight jerk of his arm, your gaze trailed lower to watch him tug on his cock slowly. You couldn’t help the way you arched your back further.

He’d dropped his boxers just enough to free his cock and for a moment, you (embarrassingly) hated you missed the exact moment he’d pulled it out—hated you missed the way it surely had bobbed up towards his stomach from the sheer weight of it once he’d pulled his underwear down.

He paused at the base to squeeze tightly, and God, it gave you the opportunity to truly admire it.

You knew he would be big. I mean, come on. It was clear by the way he acted that he would be packing. But shit, your imagination really had nothing on the real thing.

Thick and long—you were sure your hand wouldn’t be able to fit around its girth. Against his hand it seemed even bigger. A pronounced vein ran up the side to the rosy tip.

Eddie gave it another slow stroke, a smirk on his face. “Big enough for you, sweetheart?”

Your only response was the slight shift of your shoulder and chin. 

He squeezed his cock, mumbling under his breath, “Too fuckin’ sweet.”

You didn’t have any time to react before Eddie was diving down onto his knees, his mouth latching onto your glistening pussy.

“Oh!” You jumped, and Eddie wrapped his arms beneath your thighs to keep your cunt held tightly against his hungry mouth.

He licked a stripe from your clit to the edge of your tightest hole. For a moment you thought his tongue was going to keep going right across, and you weren’t sure if you liked the way the mere idea of it made heat crawl up your neck, but he stopped to pull back.

“Sweet girl, even sweeter cunt.”

Cunt.

“Eddie,” you whined, feeling your heartbeat in your ears.

He sucked two fingers into his mouth before you felt them run along your slit.

“Yeah, baby?” He rested his cheek right below the swell of your ass. “Talk to me.”

Suddenly, you were hyperaware of the recording equipment surrounding you and picking up every word, sound, and rustle. You dropped your face to the top of the couch, rubbing your nose against it.

“Hey,” Eddie mumbled. His hand shifted and ran across the globe of your ass. “I can delete it if you don’t like it.” His other hand came up, then he was caressing the expanse of your ass broad with both his wide palms. “I’m still enjoying myself, okay? I’m not just doing this for the record, I…” You heard him swallow. “I think you’re gorgeous—fuckin’ perfect, really—and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about you before…like this.” 

Leave it to Eddie to make you blush when he just had his entire face in your cunt. 

You lifted your head to peer over your shoulder at him. “No, no—I, uh. I wanna keep going. And I want you to use it for the record. I just—” You sighed. “I don’t wanna sound stupid.”

He immediately bristled. “You’re not gonna sound stupid.” He brought his hand down a few times on your cheek, not quite a spank. “Here, turn this way.” He helped you maneuver until your back was against the couch cushions. “Help me out, baby.” He pressed your legs up from beneath your knees, and you tucked your arms there, holding yourself open for him.

He made a low sound in his chest, and you realized how exposed you were. You didn’t get bashful though. You managed to keep yourself the way he wanted, even with the way you felt heat rising up beneath your skin.

“Don’t think so hard about it, okay?” Eddie said as he lowered himself back down to you. “It’s just you ‘n me.

And the recording, you thought, but his words eased you nonetheless. 

You were suddenly thankful he had you holding your legs as his nose prodded your hole as he moved to suckle at your clit. 

“Oh, th–that—yeah,” was all you managed to spit out.

“Mhm?” he hummed against you, and you swore you felt it down to your toes.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

A hand reached down to swipe his thumb across your clit as his tongue finally dipped into you.

You whined. “Please.”

“Hm? Talk to me, sweet girl, d’you want it?”

“Mhm, I’wan’it.” Your words all slurred into one another.

When you felt his middle finger prod at your hole, you couldn’t help the desperate sound that left you.

“Yeah? That what you need?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Ah…c’mon. Tell me.”

“That’s what I need, Eddie,” you quickly breathed out. In that moment, you would’ve done anything he asked you.

“There we go,” he said, more to himself, as he finally sunk a finger into you. 

You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore with the sounds that left you. You were so wet, you could hear the slick sucking sound everytime he fucked his finger into you, and he quickly added another. 

“So wet. She’s sucking me in.” He didn’t even look up as he spoke. Your pussy was drooling around his fingers and down his wrist, his rings now coated with milky white. Your clit was puffy and swollen, peeking out with every thrust of his hand.

You raised your hips as he continued, following him as he curled his fingers up into you, hitting that spot. You hadn’t even realized your mouth had been wide open, sounds falling out freely.

“Ed—oh.” You bit your lip harshly. “Your mouth.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, never one stopping his ministrations. “Huh, baby? She want a kiss?”

You nodded eagerly, hands slipping along your thighs that had become balmy with sweat. “Yeah, yeah, please.”

“I’ll give her a kiss, baby.” The last thing you saw before he lowered his head again was the flash of his smile. 

When his lips met you, you gasped. He closed them firmly around your clit and the wet sound was so loud you were certain the microphones were picking it up. You didn’t care anymore—you couldn’t care, not if it felt this good.

His tongue on your swollen bud paired with his fingers inside you—curling so perfectly you swore your vision whited out every time he did it—brought you barreling towards your release. You could barely pant out, “I’m–I’m gonna—” before you were cumming loud and unabashedly. He worked you through it, finally stopping when your whines got especially pitchy. 

The moment he raised up from your core, you dropped your legs, now boneless. Your heartbeat was still a steady pulse in your clit. You caught your breath, swiping the sweat from your face. 

“Good?” Eddie asked, looking a little too smug (though you guessed it was earned).

“Better than good,” you said, your voice already halfway ruined. 

You sat up properly on the couch as Eddie maneuvered back over to his pants, pulling something from his pocket. He turned back around and now had a condom pulled over the length of his dick, making you sit up even straighter. 

Once your legs had stopped feeling like jelly, you had had every intention of returning the favor. You started, “Y’don’t want me to—”

“No, no.” You heard the smack of his hand against his dick. “Fuck. I mean, yeah, sweetheart, ‘course I do, but I need to be inside you, like, now.”

“Next time, then,” you said, narrowly biting back a smirk.

He quirked a brow at you, not bothering to bite back his smirk. “Next time?”

“Yeah.” You spread your legs, making room for him. “If you don’t kill me first.”

He fit perfectly between your legs, crowding you against the couch. His gaze was glued to your slippery cunt as he tapped the spongy tip of his cock against your clit. He raised his eyes long enough to say, “Could say the same for you.”

He slid his length up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices. You tried to be patient, you really did, but when he tapped his head against your clit again with a wet squelch, you couldn’t help the whine that left you.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled. He said it so gently and lovingly, you swore your pussy spit out another half gallon. “I’ll put it in, now you just gotta sing for me. You’ll do that for me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You were nodding eagerly. “Please, please, please just put it in. I need it. I—oh—” 

He sunk in easily, you more than prepared after your first orgasm, but his size still made your breath catch in your throat. He groaned like he wasn’t doing much better.

“She’s choking me, baby, fuck.” He sounded pained, the veins in his arm flexing where he was holding himself up over you. 

It was a stretch, and you could feel every inch of him in you, yet you still clawed at his arms, wanting—no, needing more.

“More, come on, I need it all—” No quicker than the words left your mouth, Eddie pushed all the way in with a loud groan.

Now, it was you that sounded pained, but you’d never felt better in your life. It felt like he’d sunk completely up through your stomach and into your throat. You could feel him everywhere. Your head flew back against cushions and you gripped his bicep as you looked down where you were taking him.

He had been staring up at the ceiling, his mouth wide open, but when he saw where your gaze was locked, he lowered his own, and you watched as his neck all the way down to his chest grew red. 

“Fuck, I’m, fuck—” He pulled out maybe an inch before sinking back in, like he couldn’t bear to pull out. He couldn’t. “She’s sucking me right in.”

Finally, he began to shallowly thrust into you and the grip you had on his bicep tightened as your mouth fell open. His heavy cock was splitting you right open and felt like it was hitting every spot, if that was even possible.

Eddie raised one hand to cup your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip. “C’mere, baby,” he said lowly.

He lowered his face to yours and spat right into your waiting mouth. As he did, he pulled all the way out, leaving his tip kissing your hole, before plunging back in completely. You didn't recognize the strangled, pornographic sound that left you.

His spit was warm in your mouth and you could feel your slick gushing from between your legs with every thrust of his fat cock. You were easily gripping him for dear life—both with your hands and your cunt. 

He shifted until his dick was kissing that spot that he’d so easily found with his fingers. The sounds—your whining, his moans, the slick sound of your bodies meeting—seemed to bounce off the walls, and the recording equipment couldn’t have been further from your mind. All you could think was Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

It seemed to be the same for him, the way your name left his lips in desperate puffs. “Touch yourself, please, I’m so—” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but never once stopped his eager pace.

You dropped your hand between your legs immediately, your fingers slippery as they scrubbed across your clit.

“Right—right there.” You had squeezed your eyes shut. You were right at the edge of your release, you just needed— “Right there, right there, right—ohmygod—”

“Yeah? Yeah, baby? I got you, I fuckin’ got you—” 

You clung to him, your vision spotty and your chest heaving, as you came with a loud whine of his name. He buried himself to the hilt with a shout of your name, the hair at the base of him borderline overstimulating your sensitive clit.

He dropped down against you, his cock softening inside you. His arms wrapped around you, and you felt he was trembling. You weren’t in much better shape.

“Are you—” He stopped to inhale shakily. “Jesus, you okay?” 

You hummed. Your bodies were both slimy with sweat and other juices, which sounded more than uncomfortable, but you found the warm weight of him comforting. 

He peered at you, petting your hair away from your face. “You sure?”

“‘M good,” you finally croaked. “You—I—” You paused to laugh, shaking your head. “I think you fucked my brains out."

He laughed, strands of his damp hair shaking with the force of it. 

“Yeah, well, if that’s the case then you sucked out my soul.” He ran a finger along the length of your face. “You know, through your puss—”

“I get it,” you cut in, laughing. You glanced over to the window to the production room. “Think we got anything good?”

Eddie looked at you like you’d grown three heads before his lip curled, a devious smile on his face. “I dunno…might better do it one more time. Just to be safe.”

Six months later.

“Eddie, you gotta tell us, man.” The interviewer leaned over his desk towards him. “Everybody’s dying to know about…that part on the new record.”

“What part, Howard?” Eddie shot a knowing glance at the audience, which got a few cheers. “I know Gareth killed the drums on the bridge.”

The crowd laughed.

“You know the part,” Howard insisted, laughing. “I think everybody knows the part.”

“I think it speaks for itself,” Eddie said. “Don’t really have much to say on that.”

“Well, your fans have had a lot to say about it,” Howard continued. 

“No denyin’ that, that’s for sure.” Eddie tugged at the collar of his shirt, making the crowd laugh.

“I think one of the biggest questions has been…well.” Howard shrugged. “I don’t know how else to ask it—but well, was it real?”

Eddie looked from Howard to the audience. Right before he opened his mouth to speak, the television flickered off.

“Hey!” you called. “I was watching that.”

Eddie sat the remote down on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch next to you. “You’ve watched it at least ten times since it aired.” 

“Maybe I was trying to make it eleven.” 

He hummed, his arm coming around your shoulders. You melted into his side easily. 

“How’s the new guy?” you asked, rubbing your cheek against his chest.

“Good. He’s a great fit for the band.” He dropped his cheek and rested it on top of your head. “Jaxon hasn’t tried to reach out anymore. Or showed up at the studio wasted, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried.” It was true—you weren’t. You knew Eddie would handle everything. He always did.

“Good.” He planted a kiss on your head. 

You sat up and grabbed the remote from the table. He groaned as you turned it back on.

“You could probably recite this word-for-word by now.” He shook his head.

You pressed back against him, pushing your tongue to your teeth to prevent a smile. 

“Everyone’s dying to know who it is,” Howard was urging. “At least give us a hint.”

On the screen, Eddie shrugged, clearly trying and failing to seem nonchalant. You couldn’t stop yourself from mouthing the words along with him as he said, “Well, it’s my girl.”