#I'm thinking either walking dead (of fucking course) or breaking bad

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

I've gotta make a fake trailer for show/movie turning it into a different genre which theoretically is hilarious and fun, but I'm scared because now the fate of my bachelors degree lies in the hands of a shitpost

#the example they showed from one of last years students had me on the floor #it was stranger things as a gay romcom #this is university work. making a gay youtubepoop is a graduate univeristy assignment. #anybody wanna throw some prompts at me? #I'm thinking either walking dead (of fucking course) or breaking bad #I could make a sitcom twd trailer pretty easy probably #I'd be too embarrassed to do any kinda romance one like. I'm sorry I draw the line at showing my teachers GAY SHIP EDITS. #the bravery of that student last year. I fucking salute you. #stop but can you imagine if I did that with Rick and Negan or Walt and Jesse and got an A #I feel like I have to.

[luveline]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 

summary eddie munson is super weird. he holds your hand too tight, he has a fascination with your neck, and he can’t give a hickey to save his life. good thing you’re super weird, too. [20k]

warnings two losers falling in love!! vampire!eddie munson, ditzy!reader (kind of), fem!reader, smut mdni (p in v, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, general heavy petting and kissing, praise), fluff, hurt/comfort, angst (eddie struggling with guilt and grief). canon divergent (the events of volume 2 take place but there’s a mostly happy ending i.e. everyone good lives and everyone bad dies) TW eddie doesn't have suicidal thoughts, but he does think about it briefly. not with intent or anything like that though. requested here for my halloween party <3

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie Munson never wanted to be a vampire, and he wants that on the record. 

It's a ridiculous existence. It's embarrassing. It's nothing like all the movies and books promised him. 

He's looking at you, Bram Stoker. 

In Eddie's mind, Stoker’s nothing less than a liar and a sycophant. 

"Who's dick were you bouncing on, Stoker?" he demands to know, kicking fallen leaf mulch under his feet angrily. "Need'ta fucking impress some vampire lover with your over-exaggerated, over-powered, ridiculous descriptions? Great. Hope it was worth it. Meanwhile I'm here, self-esteem half the size of a grain of rice because I can't scale a building with my bare hands." 

Eddie would know. He's tried. 

He's not genuinely angry with Bram Stoker, but he'd rather take his frustrations out on a guy who's been dead for a hundred years than take them out on the demobats, because he doesn't want to even think about the demobats. They're all dead too. Not before they'd had (see: devoured) their pound of flesh and changed his life for the worse, though.

He shakes his head to drive out the memory like water in his ears. It's easier to pretend none of that shit in the upside down ever happened. (Impossible to pretend. He begs himself to try anyway.) 

He’s pissed because science fiction has promised him a lot of things and reality has delivered on none of them. No super strength, no impermeable skin. He is faster, but that's more a reflexive thing than anything else. And being faster doesn't make running fun. That’s impossible.

Sunlight breaks through the treeline and his skin crawls. Science fiction didn't get that right, either. The sun doesn't hurt. It's just really, really annoying.

He covers his eyes, winces at his itchy hand, pulls his sleeve over his fingers and covers his eyes again. "This blows," he says, and means it. 

In Dracula, the sun nulls Dracula’s supernatural abilities. Eddie doesn’t have any abilities worth nulling, unless you count echolocation.

He doesn’t. 

He walks another five minutes up the road toward Forest Hills when he realises you're behind him. His senses are enhanced now as a bat’s might be, hearing fine-tuned and dialled up every second of the day — which makes living in a trailer park where everyone thinks he's a murderer an acute misery — but he's as prone to distraction as anyone else. Especially when he gets stuck in a memory.

Eddie throws his gaze over his shoulder and finds you thirty or forty feet away, talking to yourself under your breath. He knows you more for your sounds than your appearance. To be able to put a face to your mindless babbling is a mystery solved. Of course you look like that. A skirt made of soft looking fabric bounces over two cute thighs, a pretty lacy corset type of thing that isn't too tight outfits your top half. You look more like a vampire than he does. 

"Hi, Eddie," you call.

His eyes widen, a deer-in-the-headlights kind of surprise. If you notice how he's frozen you don't show it, continuing to push your bike toward him. The tick of the wheels grows louder as you get closer, two hands on the handlebars with wrists draped in bracelets, both silver and fabric. 

Besides your jewellery, your arms are bare. You must be freezing. 

"Hey," he says. 

He doesn't know your name. He doesn't know how you know his, and he’s too awkward to ask. 

Your sounds peak as you close the gap. The wet scrape of your dirty black canvas shoes over shining asphalt, the soft puff of your breath, the clinking sounds of whatever trinkets you have in your bag. If he focuses, he can make out the tiniest pinches of fabric. Your short sleeves rubbing against your arms, your bra straps stretching over your shoulders. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and tries to diminish his senses. 

"Where's your van?" you ask curiously. 

"Piece of shit kicked it in the middle of town. Just my luck." 

You pause at his side, looking him up and down obviously but without the judgement or irreverent disgust he's come to expect from near about everybody in Hawkins. 

"That's not good," you say succinctly. 

It's such a genuine response that Eddie can't find it in himself to be sarcastic. 

"God awful," he agrees sullenly. 

You nod and start to walk again. Eddie falls naturally into step beside you, matching your pace without thinking. 

"You should get a bike." 

He laughs. Coughs to cover it up. "Yeah?" 

"They're way more reliable than a car, and it doesn't hurt the zone." 

Eddie squints. "The o-zone?" 

"Is there another one?" 

You're still so serious that he spares you the ridicule he might dole out to anyone else. If Dustin had said something like that he would've ripped the kid a new one, but you're rather sweet in an odd way. You have a soft manner of talking — each word sounds like you've thought its pronunciation through meticulously beforehand. 

He ignores your question and points at your bike, ring catching the sun. "Why aren't you riding it?" 

"My chain slipped." 

"So much for reliable." 

That makes you smile. Eddie feels it like a punch, a flat palm slapped into his chest. 

"You can't put the chain on yourself?" 

A brisk breeze whips your hair, your earrings. The left kisses your cheek, a silver heart-shaped hoop with pink beads that click together. You lean into it, face tilted to one side as a perplexed smile plays on your sticky lips. "You can do that?" 

"Sure, you pull it back around the gear. It's easy." He hesitates for a moment, and then feels guilty about hesitating. "I'll do it for you, if you want." 

"The guy in no. 62 has been charging me ten dollars." You don't sound as angry as you should, in Eddie's opinion. 

"I'll do it for nothing." 

You beam at him. His chest feels like a bruise. 

Pretty girls don't like Eddie. Not before Chrissy, not after. He's trying to work out your angle, what it is that you want. 

Or maybe you don't know. 

As soon as you find out who he is, you'll turn your pretty nose up at him and walk the other way. He shouldn't smile at you, he definitely shouldn't fix your bike. 

He can't help it. He's so starved for positive attention that he follows you all the way through the park, westside to east. 

He checks the driveway of his own home and smiles mildly when he spots Wayne's new car. It's new in the sense that it's different. It's actually way older than the one he'd had before, the one he'd pawned to pay for Eddie's — well, Eddie's everything. His check-ups, his court dates, his goddamn bail. In the same way that this trailer isn't the trailer, but an older, smaller one as far away from their first as possible. 

Kid, if I had the money…

Wayne hadn't needed to finish. If he had the money, they'd leave. Leave Hawkins, leave Indiana. Settle down in some other mediocre Midwestern state with all the same creature comforts and none of the "You were acquitted but literally none of us believe you didn't kill someone," motif. 

All they have now is debt, each other, and the Great Munson mug collection. 

Eddie keeps his head down as they pass the old trailer. Nobody lives inside now. Only termites. 

He can taste blood by the time they reach your home. Far from the metallicity of his human blood, Eddie's blood now harbours a bitter taste. Not quite like coffee but with that same overwhelming earthiness. He pulls his teeth from the bitten flesh of his bottom lip and quickly raises a hand to his teeth, alarmed. 

No knife-like points. Normal teeth. 

"Are you thirsty?" you ask him. 

Eddie flinches and drops his hand. You've parked your bike against the wooden lifts of your porch and are halfway up the steps to your front door, hand clasped loosely on the railing. 

His heart fucking pounds. 

"I have grape juice?" 

"Right," he says hurriedly, "right. Yeah, that would be awesome." 

Duh, you meant juice. 

You send him another endearing smile and pop up the last of your steps and into the front door. It's not locked. He doesn't follow, thinking you must live with somebody (who's gonna know exactly who he is and tell him to get lost).

He turns his attention to your bike instead. It's easy enough to fix. He rolls the bike so its handlebars are resting against your concrete driveway and covers the top bar of the metal body with his sneaker to stop it from toppling. He rolls up his sleeves and bares his arms, but pulls them back down immediately when he remembers the white-purple whorls of scar tissue lurking underneath. 

"Fuck," he mutters. Everything is a reminder, all of the time. He can't escape what happened. 

It's everywhere. 

He's getting his fingers under the chain when you reappear. You've layered up, bracelets and naked arms hidden by a black hoodie. 

The wind blows and your skirt shifts. From his position he can see a ladder hiding in your tights where your inner thighs are pressed together. He whips his gaze up like a high-school perv caught sneaking peeks in the girls locker room and notices the stitching on your chest for the first time.

"You like Dio?" he asks excitedly. 

"Who?" 

He wilts. "Uh, your hoodie. Dio." 

"I got it for three dollars in the bargain bins," you supply helpfully, all pep as you climb down the stairs and offer him a glass cup adorned in dainty enamel flowers. "Is Dio good?" 

He waves his hand at the glass apologetically. "Two seconds…" Lifting the chain with the second hand, Eddie tugs and then feeds until the links are lined up with the bumps on the big chainring. The skin on his fingertips get pinched and his eyebrows pull together in pain, but it's a mild irritant at worst and after a moment the chain is back in place. 

He pulls his hand away and wipes dark grease down the front of his jacket. "I think I did it." 

You're glowing, earrings like a metronome as you ask, "That fast? You're awesome."

He turns the pedal and your back wheel spins in time with his heart. You're awesome. When was the last time somebody who wasn't Wayne said anything like that? 

Although Dustin had told him he thought Eddie was a much cooler, more fucked up version of the guy from Van Halen the other day. 

You're just saying that 'cos we're both called Eddie, Eddie had said morosely. 

Learn to take a compliment, dude. 

When they aren't pity compliments, he might. 

Eddie lifts your bike back onto the wheels to show you that it's working perfectly. You giggle your evident pleasure. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" you say, super sweet even as grape juice sloshes over the rims of your flowered glasses and drips down your fingers. 

"Here, let me," he says, taking the glasses from your purple-stained hands. 

You kiss your hands clean which is a thing, a lot to watch. Eddie admits to himself that he thinks you're really pretty, recognises that that is a bad thing to think considering the likely very short life span of your acquaintance. God knows you won't be saying anything as friendly when you find out who he is. 

"You're so nice," you say. It feels like you're talking more to yourself than him. "Thank you. It's slipped off three times this month, and ten dollars is ten dollars. Wait, do you want ten dollars?" 

"My services were administered charitably.”

Your smile grows. You accept your glass and take a small sip, eyes lit up as Eddie steers your bike one-handed to rest against the porch. 

"Do you wanna come inside? I don't have any of the Dio, but I have Blondie." 

He holds in a throwaway comment about real rock and roll, astounded that you’d ask him. "Your folks aren't home?" 

"I'm twenty-two." 

Eddie squints at you. "Seriously?" 

"You didn't think so?" 

He shrugs. It's not that you don't look twenty two. Or even that you don't act twenty two. But it's been a long time since he met somebody living alone in the park. Forest Hills is where poverty comes to settle. 

"A boyfriend?" 

"Just me and mister Porterson." 

"That your grandpa?" 

"That's my pet fish."

He smiles. It's his first real, authentic smile in days. He's genuinely elated by your offer and your attitude, but he doesn't know how to handle it, struck with a sudden nightmare of you, afterward, telling somebody you'd invited him in and he'd tried to hurt you. It isn't fair of him to assume you'd do anything like that. You've been nothing but sweet and sincere this whole time. 

Eddie hasn't let his guard down in a long time. 

You're giving him this wide-eyed, imploring look that promptly suffocates any fear. 

And in a week, when she finds out who you are and feels betrayed, feels tricked? What then, Munson?

"You know what happened?" he asks.

"What happened?" 

"Two years ago. Chrissy… Chrissy Cunningham?" 

Don't say her fucking name. 

Your expression clears as clarity blooms. You take a step. He needs a second to realise you've come forward rather than away, fingers twitching toward his hand. 

"I know about it. I'm sorry that happened to you." 

He stares. 

This is a trick. Two years and he can count the amount of people who believe him on his two hands, and only because they'd all gone through it with him. Sometimes there are outliers, logical people who seem to realise Eddie couldn't have killed all those people, couldn't have been in all those different places without leaving any evidence behind. And sometimes there are people who agree he didn't kill Chrissy, but he's a coward for leaving her to die. (She’d already been dead.)

Eddie doesn't know what he thinks. Wayne sets the record straight every now and then with a clap on the shoulder. You did what every parent wants their kid to do. You lived. I can't ask for more than that. 

"You don't believe it?" 

"That you hurt her?" You hold his gaze, face practically impassive. "No, I don't believe it." 

He pulls in a breath that fills every inch of his chest. "I could learn to like Blondie," he says. 

— 

You're standing in the driveway of Eddie's trailer with a heavy bag over your shoulder, face to face with a man who kind of looks like him but not really. You assume it's his uncle because who else could he be? If you hadn't seen him here you'd never guess. 

"Eddie's mom must've had strong genes," you say. You bring your shoulder up toward your cheek thoughtfully. "He didn't get any of your face. Was she pretty? Eddie's really pretty." 

"She was," he says, peering down his nose at you. 

"I got sandwiches. Do you want one?" 

"What kind?" 

"I have ham and cheese, or ham and lettuce and tomato, or I have pumpernickel cookies. Is Eddie a vegetarian?" 

"Why?" 

"'Cause I only brought one cheese and cucumber, and I have dibs." 

He climbs down the last couple of steps and is still taller but definitely less imposing, face covered in scratchy salt and pepper stubble and crows feet deeply embedded into the corners of his eyes. He looks like a man who has been tired for a very long time. You make a mental note to bring him some lavender for his pillow on your next visit. 

"You're Eddie's new friend?"

You nod your head briskly. "Yes, sir. I'm Y/N." 

He opens his box of camels like a pro, bottom pressed to his chest. He tucks a cigarette between his lips and pulls his lighter out. He doesn't light it. 

"It's nice to meet you," he says eventually, voice warming. 

You search through the mess of your skirt for the zipper on your bag and peel it open, pulling out your tupperware of cookies and cracking them open to release the fragrant smell of cinnamon and almonds. It's a heady scent, fitting for the holiday season approaching. 

You offer Eddie’s uncle a cookie.

"Thought pumpernickel was bread," he says gruffly, taking one. 

"It is, but there's this little town in France that makes these every year at Christmas and they call them pumpernickel biscuits," — he takes a bite and winces at the hard snap — "you're s'posed to dip them in hot chocolate." 

"You don't say." 

You nod happily and he moves aside to let you pass. 

"Thanks, kid." 

You turn back to him with your fingers curled around the door handle. "Of course! It's really nice to meet you, Mr. Munson, sir." 

"Wayne is fine." 

You laugh and repeat his name in a similarly rough voice, letting yourself in as Eddie had told you to do. You find him immediately in a man-made corner of the living room, pale and in his pyjamas. The trailer is open planned, a living room they’ve divided by propping a couch against the kitchen counter, a slim hallway leading to a cramped bathroom and the single bedroom. It's exactly like in your home. 

You're somewhat surprised to see him in pyjamas. Eddie doesn't wear comfy looking clothes out of the house — you've only ever seen him in jeans and jackets like a real rockstar. 

"Are you ready?" you ask.

You've invited him to come and search for bugs with you. Catching any kind of bug, whether beetle or butterfly or spider, is really scary, but you need to be able to catch them to draw them. 

You'd expressed this to him over the phone and he'd said, "I can come and help. I have good reflexes." 

He rubs his hands over his knees. There's a blanket pooled around his feet, a quilt he must sleep with, and the room is decorated with not a whole lot of stuff but enough to make you take a step back. 

"Is this your room?" you ask, enchanted. 

"Kind of." He pulls his hair from behind his ear, obscuring a pale cheek. "I don't think I can come with you today, I'm sorry. I meant to call you." 

You toy with a dark thigh high sock as you ease out of your shoes, height drastically decreasing. "That's okay, we can stay here. I brought you a sandwich. I brought you two sandwiches," you correct. 

He nods. Rather sadly, in your opinion. "Alright. Thanks." 

You step over a tented paperback and hand off the cookies before sitting down beside him on the couch he's occupying. It's smaller than the one against the wall and round like a clam, lots of room for your legs to stretch out. 

"I feel like a pearl," you say. 

You and Eddie have been friends for a little while now. Long enough for you to realise he's either depressed or mentally unwell in some way. You hardly mind keeping him company on his bad days if he needs somebody, so drawing bugs will have to wait. 

His hair is limp, not totally greasy but not super clean either. His face looks fresh enough, though the bags under his eyes make you frown. 

You pull your purse into your lap, thighs covered by the thin layers of your midi skirt. "I have just the thing for you," you murmur. 

"Yeah? Bring me another bracelet?" 

You like that he sounds eager. Making his bracelet had been a challenge, lots of knotting and double knotting, three restarts and one small under the breath tantrum. It's not anything special, black and white hearts seven strands wide, but he'd been very appreciative. 

"No, but I can make you another one if you want. I mastered the inverse chevron last night." 

He hums. You pull a saran wrapped sandwich from the depths of your crowded bag, glad to see it's mostly intact. When you open it up you find that it's the ham and lettuce and tomato one, so you drop it into his lap haphazardly and move onto the next. 

"Aha! Here," you pull a cucumber from your sandwich. "For you." 

He takes it between two tentative fingers. "Thank you?" 

"For your eyes." 

"There's cheese on it." 

"I'll still work," you assure him. 

"M'not putting cheese on my eyes." 

You laugh because he probably shouldn't put cheese on his eyes, cucumber adjacent or otherwise. "Okay, don't. I'll make you a hot towel." 

He drops his hand on your arm as you go to stand. You like how he touches you, soft but not scared. "You just got here. Stay here." He pats you nicely. "Tell me about work last night." 

You settle heavily into the seat beside him, your thigh to his thigh, your hip squished against his hip, doughy flesh separated by nothing more than a strappy tank top and a cotton long-sleeve t-shirt. His heat quickly becomes yours, a sinking transference of warmth. 

"Well," you begin, cheek turning into the couch to face him. "It was mostly okay. I dropped another plate, but this time it didn't have a stack of waffles on it." 

He smiles ruefully and sinks back as you had. Neither of you eat your sandwiches. "Progress. Taking it out of your pay?" 

"Yes, definitely." 

"Discrimination." 

"That's what I said! I said, Sarah, I was born with butterfingers and you know that." 

"She didn't budge?" 

"Dishwashing all week next week. Whatever, though, 'cause it's Saturday." 

He laughs and shakes his head, his gaze dropping to your neck. He does that sometimes. You can't blame him; you wear a varying assortment of necklaces because you think they're pretty, and you're glad he likes them too. 

"See my new one?" 

"What?" 

"New necklace." You look down at your chest and pull the newest addition from between the cups of your bra. "It's real silver." 

"It's nice." 

"It's surprisingly heavy. Wanna feel?" 

"That's okay," he says, slightly strained. 

Right, you think. I'm talking a lot. 

You press your lips together in a mild pout and look at him through appreciative eyes. He's a very pretty boy, all soft and pale and sweet dark curls.

"Do you want me to put your hair up?" 

His lips part before he talks. "I don't know if you should." 

"Sure I should. It's getting in your eyes, right?" You take his hand where it's laid unsuspectingly in his lap and slip the hair tie from around his wrist, his fingertips tickling the inside of your palm. "Sit forward, Eddie." 

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and sits up. You twist and then realise you need some more height, pushing a leg under yourself to kneel next to his lap. 

You weave our fingers softly into the hair at the front of his face and rake away in lieu of a brush. After it's mostly tamed you pull it all into one hand and wrap the tie at the base of his head. You hum to yourself as you go, pleased when his lovely curls behave. 

"Voilà," you announce, moving back on your haunches. 

He breathes out. "Thank you." 

You reach for a curl you'd missed at the very front and encourage it behind his ear. He has subtle indents in his cheeks today like he's in need of a good meal, and his skin is colder than it should be when you flatten your palm. 

"You need something to eat," you fret. Your fingertips stroke under his eye, your thumb his smile lines. 

He moves away slowly. 

You pull your hand back into your lap. "Maybe we can go out and get something, if you don't like the sandwich?" 

"What?" he asks, pale lips taut as he simpers at you. "Are you kidding? This is about to fix everything that's wrong with me." 

His enthusiasm emboldens you. "It so will! There's ham and cheese too, if you prefer that one." 

"Get it! I'm gonna eat both of them." S

Eddie eats both of his sandwiches and you eat your own, the two of you with your heads dropped back against the couch as you watch TV. There's a guy you've never seen before running around the streets of Chicago city centre looking for people to be in his play. Eddie's seen it before. He repeats dialogue in time with the characters, performing each line. Impressive, what with how tired he looks. 

"What did he just say?" you ask, mouth full of cucumber.

"He said he's gonna throw himself off a bridge," Eddie informs. "Poor guy. I know the feeling." 

You swallow harshly.

"Seriously?" 

Your sad tone surprises him. 

"I- No, I'm kidding," he says, scratching the base of his throat, friendship bracelet his only adornment.

His nervous itching makes you even more worried. 

"If you did wanna do that, you can talk to me-" 

He baulks, tongue poking out past his lips as he licks the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, sweetheart," he says, pet name like a kiss. It sounds silly but it really feels like one, right in the centre of your chest. "But I'm fine. Promise. It was a bad joke." 

"Okay," you say, letting your suspicion shine through. You hold his eyes. 

You haven't known Eddie long. It feels like you met yesterday, though really it's been two or three weeks. You fit together in a way you hadn't expected and adore more than you can articulate, two funny puzzle pieces.  

"Well, I just wanted you to know. I like being your friend, I don't want you to disappear."

He laughs and licks his lips, a rough, chesty sound. "I don't want you to disappear either." 

Tires crunch outside, a shushing sound and then the sharp shriek of a jeep being put into park. Eddie perks up considerably, his shoulders straightening. 

"Hey, Chief," Wayne calls. 

Trailer walls. Basically made of cardboard. 

"Hey, Wayne. Where's the kid?" 

You can't hear what Wayne says after that, words stolen by the TV. 

"Is that Chief Hopper?" you ask, trying to catch a glimpse of him through the mostly shuttered blinds. 

"Yeah, he- He's friends with Wayne." 

"Why's he wanna know where you are?" 

"'Cause I got into so much trouble." 

You bite your tongue. His tone is hard, not stern but almost, and you realise you've overstepped as you usually do. You want to apologise but you don't want to pick the wound, eager to gloss over and make him smile again. 

"It's pretty cool, isn't it?" you ask him.

"What?" 

You spread your legs wider to slide onto your thighs and make him the taller one again, legs bent in a 'W' shape. "Coming back from the dead! First Will Byers, then Hopper." 

Something surfaces in his expression. An irony. 

"The undead," you croon, aiming for a smile, a laugh. 

He cracks. "The undead," he agrees, smiling in bemusement. His eyes are a funny shade of brown. 

—

Eddie shoo’s you home early that night but tries to do it kindly. He feigns exhaustion, a facade that's difficult to uphold when his entire body is thrumming with want. If there's one thing Eddie hates about being a vampire (there are literally hundreds of things he hates, but this one's special) it's that he wants to hurt the people he likes a thousand times more than the people he doesn't. 

He can't explain it. Your blood is more appealing than any lonesome stranger's. Your pulse is practically music to his ears when you sit beside him. He'd kill himself before he ever hurt you, though. Or that's what he likes to think. Whether he has that amount of control is debatable. 

No. He would kill himself before he hurt you, or Wayne, or any of his friends. 

Steve can see the way that he's feeling on his face. 

Hopper's delivery set to one side, a tall glass with blood congealed in a sticky ring at the bottom, Eddie curls under his huge quilt and tries not to pass out. Blood sate feels the same as a thanksgiving food coma. It's awesome. 

He hates how good it feels. 

"Stop feeling guilty," Steve says. 

"He doesn't look guilty to me," Dustin says beside him, taller than the last time Eddie had seen him but still miles off of Steve's tall stature. He's changed his hat again, this one a garish green. It's not a good look. 

"He looks like he's napping," Robin says, delighted. 

"Can you guys go home?" Eddie asks. 

"Shithead." 

"What Steve means to say," Robin corrects, grinning her huge, catching smile, "is that no, we aren't going home. We brought games." 

"I don't wanna play games." He does. Eddie needs the distraction, because eventually the blood sate will fade and all that will remain will be self-revulsion and a cruel desire to do something awful. 

"I do not care even slightly," Steve says, deadpan, as he sits right there next to Eddie where you'd been sitting before. Steve's nowhere near as soft and he doesn't smell as nice, but Eddie's honestly glad someone is willing to sit next to him at all. 

"Ouch, what the fuck?" 

Dustin looks up from where he's sat himself on the floor. Robin giggles in her seat on the coffee table. 

"Munson, are you fucking shedding? I just got stabbed." 

"They don't work like that. They retract." 

Eddie feels at his broken gums with his tongue. There's a clean incision where his fangs come out and then snap back inside after a time. They're remarkably thin, fitting in front of his natural incisors neatly. 

Steve grumbles, hips lifted and hand searching under his butt for whatever it is that jabbed him. He retrieves exactly what Eddie had been expecting but hadn't had the forethought to prepare a lie about with a shocked gasp.

"Is this an earring? You don't have your ears pierced." 

He swallows, knowing it's a very guilty gesture, and meets Steve's eyes straight on. 

Funny how Steve's hair speaks as much as his expression, bobbing as he nods his head to emphasise each word, "Munson, do you have a girlfriend?" 

Silence. 

"...Not really." 

"Holy shit," Dustin says, sounding extremely pleased. "No way." 

Robin tucks her short hair behind her ears, hands paused in disbelief at her neck. "Actually?" 

"I have a friend," Eddie admits. 

"Thank god," Steve says, dropping your heart earring onto Eddie's thigh. The silver feels extremely hot over his pyjamas, like it's been held in the centre of a blistering hearth. 

"I really thought Steve was gonna have to take one for the team and give you a pity handie," Robin says agreeably, scratchy voice coloured by genuine awe. 

Eddie groans, "Harrington, get this shit off of me. You know I can't touch that." 

"I forgot," Steve lies. "Can you wait? My hands are busy." 

—

He has Steve put your earring between two pieces of kitchen towel and holds onto it. He doesn't see you for a week, and he keeps your damn earring in his pocket that entire time worried it's gonna slip out and brand him at any second. 

Finally, you call him. He pretends he wasn't waiting. 

"Hello," you say, like you're announcing something. 

"Hey. How are you?" 

"Eddie, I need your help. Badly." 

He flinches up where he'd been leaning casually, hard enough to make Wayne jump. Eddie smiles at him placatingly and mouths a poor sorry, turning away to pretend there's a semblance of privacy to be found in such close quarters. 

"Are you okay?"

"I gotta find a rainbow leaf beetle. Do you have a torch?" 

"...What?" 

"They only come out at night, so I'm gonna go look but I don't have a torch that works." 

He relaxes, the lilting cadence of your voice enough to make his whole night. You sound so pretty even through the phone. He suspects you could hold any pitch, deep or high, and you'd still sound nice. 

It's all in the way you — he says this with love — perform the words. You speak like each word you're saying has equal importance, and it's calming.

Even when you say stuff that's nonsense to him.

Right now, you don't sound upset or even worried about not having a torch, simply curious to know if he has one. If he focuses hard (and he's been trying not to, as you deserve your privacy) he can hear you all the way across the park, shifting from foot to foot in your bedroom, carpet crushed under your heels. 

The action makes him think this might be more urgent to you than you'd first admitted. 

"I have a torch." He also has amazing night vision. Like, impeccable. "Can I come help?" 

"You want to?" 

"I'd love to. Are you going out tonight?" He leans back to glance out the window. "The rain is finally stopping." 

"Yeah, tonight! Is that okay for you? We could go tomorrow if you can't." 

You're willing to change your plans now that he's asked to go with you. It's a gesture as lovely as you are. Eddie doesn't think you'd ever think it of yourself; your kindness is so intrinsic you don't notice it, like the fine stitching of a leather bound book. Integral and widely unappreciated.

"That's perfect."

Wayne raises an eyebrow when Eddie relays the conversation. "You're going out in the middle of the night with this girl to… look for bugs." 

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest. "I swear." 

"Be honest with me, kid." 

"I am!" 

Wayne swirls his coke can around in his hand as he thinks, a reluctance evident in his scowl. Eddie knows he's way too old for a guardian's oversight like this but he lets Wayne have a say because Wayne loves him, and Eddie doesn't ever want to put his old man through the turmoil he went through when he ran away. If that means a curfew in his twenties, Eddie's okay with that. 

"If you're going to have sex with this girl, I'd prefer you did it here. You have to treat women with respect."  

Eddie shivers, full body. "Wayne," he groans, covering his face. He can feel his cheeks pink under his palms, that's how quickly his embarrassment rises. 

"I know you're more responsible these days, and you're a grown up. If you want a girlfriend and you want to do adult things with her-" 

"Jesus Christ." 

"- then that's alright. You don't have to fool around outside." 

He drags his hands down on his face, pained. "It's not like that. You met her, you know she's…" 

"Strange?" 

"Alternative." 

"No, you're alternative. She's cooky." 

"Don't," he says. He knows his uncle isn't actually being cruel, so he lets it lie and fights for his own cause. "We aren't messing around. She genuinely wants me to go find these bugs with her. And…" He hates himself. "She has her own place, you know? If we were going to-" 

Wayne seems stricken by the same mortified embarrassment as Eddie, raising a calloused hand in surrender. "Spare me." 

"Thank you," Eddie says, spinning on his heel to hide in the bathroom for a while. It's only when he's sitting on the closed toilet does he realise Wayne hadn't mentioned his more dangerous ailment. For a time, he'd been a normal (debatable) person having a normal (horrifying) conversation with his dad. Not a vampire. Not somebody who ruins everything he touches. 

—

"It's so quiet," you whisper. 

For you, Eddie thinks. 

You're in the forest surrounding the aptly named Forest Hills trailer park, wielding your borrowed torch carefully into the dark. Eddie's following in your footsteps, trying not to smell everything that's on you today and failing. 

You smell like a person as everybody does. Over that is your soap, a faint hint of milk and honey that sticks to your skin even after you've washed it away. Over that is your deodorant, 'unscented', and over that is your perfume, which he likes most. It's a mix of smells, some Eddie doesn't know and some he does. There's lavender, though that might be down to the bunch you'd brought for his uncle wrapped in newspaper, and there's something fruity he can't quite put his finger on, all of it wrapped up in a cloying pairing of vanilla and coconut. 

"Eddie?" 

"What?" 

"Are you okay? You're almost as quiet as the trees." 

If only you knew the trees aren't quiet. 

"I'm alright," he says quickly, catching up to you where you stand a few feet ahead. "What are we looking for?" 

Best change the subject. How to explain he'd been smelling the notes of your perfume? 

"They rest on tree trunks. You have to be careful, any sudden sound or light will scare them away. But if you flash the torch on them, they shine like oil stains." 

He loves when you talk. "Where'd they come from?" 

"Place called Snowdon. They're so rare, they think there's only about a thousand alive there." 

"Well, how did they get here?" 

You laugh under your breath, so quiet he would've missed it if he wasn't enhanced. "I don't know. How do beetles get to different places?" 

"They fly?" 

A twig crunches under your shoe. 

Eddie tips his head to the side, thinking. "If there's only a thousand, how-" He stops, your circle of torch light growing further and further away. "Are you sure that they live here?" 

"No, but if they do we'll be the first to find them." 

"So they've never found any out here? In- In the midwest?" 

"Not yet. Where'd you go?" 

He shakes his head in an affectionate disbelief. "Right behind you." 

You search in silence for a while. Eddie wishes he could say he was mad, or even mildly annoyed, wishes he had even the slightest regard for his own time, but really he thinks any time with you is time well spent. Especially if it's helping you do something you want to do. Whether you find your rainbow leaf beetle or not, he feels better knowing he's out here with you to keep you safe and in company. 

Conversation is sparing. He doesn't mind. Your footsteps fill the sound and he finds even that stupid detail charming, the crunch, the pick up. His own are silent, a rare advantage to his terrible affliction. 

"Any other beetles you want me to keep an eye out for?" he whispers. 

"I'm not sure…" You turn to face him, torch pointed at your shoes. Rubber toes touched together, you lean in until you're all he can smell. Perfume. Blood. "If you see any cool spiders, too." 

"You have the mason jar?"

"You know I do." 

More than you realise, he thinks. The glass clicks in your bag. 

There's enough light reflected to see the most minute details of your face. Your nose, the circle of your irises but not their colour. He suspects Eddie from early '86 wouldn't have been able to see hide nor hair, and it wouldn't shock him if you were technically blind right now.

"Thanks for coming out with me. I was gonna ask you." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah, but I didn't want to come on too strong." He can sense your smile even though he can't see it. It's in the way your breathing deepens. "I know I can be a lot to deal with." 

"Who told you that?" 

"What?" 

Eddie doubles down.. "Who told you that?" he sounds heartbroken. 

He kind of is. Yeah, you're weird — Who cares? Who isn't? — but you're not a lot to deal with. He doesn't 'deal' with you.

"Everybody tells me that. All the time." 

"Everybody's stupid." To say it so loudly, scathingly, is sweet. It's therapeutic. "They are. This whole town is stupid." 

Your fingertips touch his thigh. He's willing you to turn the torch up and see his face, because he has a lot of feelings on display that he isn't brave enough to say out loud. 

"You never make me feel stupid," you say softly. 

"You're not." 

You giggle breathily at his vehemence, fingertips pressing in with a touch more pressure before you pull away and shine the torch deep into the trees. 

"This whole town is stupid," you mumble. "But not you." 

He thinks of his friends who are definitely stupid, but he loves anyways. He's about to add them to the not-stupid (subjectively) list when he remembers Steve's discovery: your earring burning a hole in his pocket. He'd been carrying it for long enough now to forget all about it. 

"Hey, I have something for you." 

"You do?" 

"Don't get too excited. It's not a gift." 

He digs in his pocket for the tissue paper wrapping and hisses in shock as the silver plating of your hoop graces his index finger. You shine the torch at him. His eyes ache like he's been stabbed and he slams them closed, hand pulled to his chest. 

How embarrassing. 

"Eddie, what happened?" you question loudly.

He winces at the sudden overstimulation. Slowly, he blinks, and finds you staring at him in a worry that softens every feature, even your nose. He doesn't know the logistics. 

"It's okay. Stabbed a paper cut on the back. Your earring's in my pocket, the heart?" 

"The hoop? I thought I lost it." Your worry turns to confusion and then melds into joy. You step forward and fish in his jacket pocket for your earring. 

"Steve found it." 

"'The hair'?" 

"Yeah, the hair." 

You both laugh and yours heightens when you find the earring, pulling it out like a knife to be brandished. "Yes." 

"I meant to tell you a dozen times that I had it." 

"You're the best." 

There's a crunch of wood somewhere to the left like something heavy falling over.

The forest sprawls in every direction and the trees tower, their presence looming as skyscrapers. The wind ruffles the topmost branches and their trunks groan with pressure. It's enough to freak Eddie out super sense or not, feeling suddenly like he couldn't protect you. He could hear the individual droplets of drool dripping from a lynx's bloody maw, and he can sense each twig underfoot before he takes his next step, but none of that is going to keep you safe in the face of real danger. 

"Maybe we should head back," he says tentatively.

"Okay. Do you want to come over?" 

His breath catches. "You want me to?" 

"Yeah, we can watch movies, I have leftover pasta." 

That sounds more like what he should've been thinking. "I don't wanna keep you up." 

"What kind of pasta?" he asks. 

The torch flickers. "With the tiny tomatoes. You'll like it, super creamy." 

"How do you know?" 

"You like Alfredo," you say astutely, hitting the torch into the palm of your hand. It flashes weakly, the shadow of the trees flickering and so dark they're violet. 

"Try tightening the handle." 

You turn the barrel of the torch and the light switches off completely. You try to undo what you've done to no success, the sound of plastic rubbing plastic almost as loud as your heartbeat. Your pulse falters and then grows to racing when the light fails to come back on. 

"Eddie," you say, sounding unsure. It's a new sound on you. "I don't know where we are. How are we gonna get home?" 

Your admission is like a dousing of ice water over his head. "You don't know what direction we came from?" 

"No, do you?" 

Eddie wouldn't know if he couldn't hear the sound of the electricity pylon buzzing somewhere to the right. But how can he explain that? "Uh, we were turned around."

You creep to his side and grab his arm with both hands. "Are you sure?" 

"Hey," he says gently. "Hey, it's okay. I know where we are. We'll be fine." 

"Are you sure?" you ask again. 

"I'm positive." 

You take a deep breath that doesn't erase your shakiness, a failed attempt at self-soothing. "I really don't know where we are." 

"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?" 

"Not really… I don't wanna get lost out here." 

"You won't. I know how to get back. C'mon," he prompts, pulling his arm to encourage you forward. 

You let go of him and navigate a few steps by yourself. He weaves through the trees, waiting for your heartbeat to slow. 

It doesn't. He opens his mouth to reassure you again when you gasp, kicking your foot against a root and tripping. You barely fall, catching yourself on the trunk of a tree, and Eddie remembers himself. You can't see the trees. That's why you're worried. You can't see anything. 

Then the smell of blood hits him like a freight train. 

—

Your hand stings where you caught yourself, palm scraped down against harsh bark. 

"Shit," you mumble. 

You're panicking badly, and you're confused as to why Eddie isn't. Not only was it fucking stupid of you to come out here with only one torch, it was stupid of you to assume you'd remember what way was home. It was stupid of you to come here tonight for that stupid beetle, and stupid of you to drag Eddie along. You're an idiot, and now you're bleeding. 

Your eyes sting with tears, pain like a popped seal. I'm so stupid. 

"Hey," Eddie says, his tone silky soft, "you're okay. Let me help you up." 

You hold your hands out. 

"Eddie, this is weird." Hopefully he understands that weird means scary.

He takes your hands, fingers closing slowly over your bloody palm. His breath is loud as he pulls you up toward him like he's panicked but his grip stays kind, and you abandon the notion when he rubs over your knuckles with his thumb. "It's alright." 

He doesn't sound the same. 

"Eddie, we can't see." 

"We'll go slowly, okay? I'll put my hand out and we'll walk around anything that gets in the way." 

"Yeah," you say hurriedly, heart bump-bump-bumping against your ribcage. 

He keeps one hand, the injured one, and starts to drag you slowly through the trees. His grip tightens as you go until it starts to ache, until it feels like it might bruise. 

"Ouch, Eds. You're hurting me," you say, going for a lightly teasing tone and missing the mark. 

Instantly, he eases off. "Sorry, sweetheart. You hold onto me, alright?" 

You do as he'd asked, hand clinging to him as he leads. He doesn't squeeze you again, walking slowly as he'd promised, and the closer you get to the edge of the forest the clearer it becomes. Light pollution from the centre of town leaches through the trees like water trickling from an overflowing basin. 

His second hand is in his pocket. 

"Here," he says after you've traversed to the very edge of the forest. "There's the park. We're bona fide explorers." 

He looks out toward the park and you look at the side of his face. Something isn't right. Something uncanny. 

You drop your gaze from his face to your joined hands. They come apart, blood smeared in both your palms like two halves of a dripping heart. 

— 

There is something weird about Eddie. As a residential freak of Hawkins you think you're an authority in this, and you don't feel guilty for judging him. Your brain can't stop going over your night in the forest. For days you play the scenes back and for days you lose the details. You forget how the wind had tousled his hair, how he'd smelled, what he'd said. 

You remember the way he'd squeezed your bloody hand. You remember the way he'd spoken, strained. 

Not strained like he didn't want to comfort you, he had, but strained. 

Restrained. 

You're poking at the shallow cut half-healed now in your palm at work when a dude walks in, very tall, handsome, and gunning straight for you. 

You straighten your badge and hide your bracelet heavy wrists behind your back, receding slightly as he approaches. He slows in front of you. 

You have a light bulb moment. 

"The hair," you say.

He scowls. "He told you that, huh. Typical." 

"You're Steve?" 

"That's me." Steve crosses his arms across his chest, his back to a booth, your back to the diner bar. "You're Eddie's new friend." 

"What counts as new?" A month and a half doesn't feel so new to you. 

"Trust me, you're new." 

He has the strangest patch covering the outside of his left wrist, the same peculiar scarring that you can see on Eddie's waist when he reaches for a glass out of the kitchen cabinet. You don't ask because you're not a dick no matter how curious you find yourself, but it makes your heart skip. What is that? You'd assumed Eddie's was road rash. Now you're not so sure. 

He tucks it under his arm. 

You meet his suspicious gaze. 

"You want coffee?" 

"No." 

You kick your foot, shoe sliding over the shiny waxed floor with a squeal. "Is Eddie okay?"

"Did you want to come to a party next Friday?" 

"No," you say honestly. "Like a cult?" 

"What?" 

"Are you initiating me into your cult?" 

He finally smiles, eyes creased with amusement. "I'm inviting you to our club." 

"Club where you chew on each other?" 

You look pointedly at Steve's wrist. 

"No. Club where we play board games and drink jiffy pop. Come or don't, doesn't matter." 

"If it doesn't matter, why are you asking me?" 

It's a strangely intense conversation to have this early in the morning. Patrons chatter about work, coffee gets poured. The diner smells of syrup and sugar and bitter cold-press. You're both in work apparel, both refusing to move back. If this is some kind of shovel talk then that's fine, and if it's a test you're determined to pass, even if Eddie's been super weird lately. 

"I'll come if you promise not to eat me," you say. 

"It's really not that kind of club." 

—

"I had the weirdest visit in the entire world today," you declare, stopping in front of Eddie's porch with a smile. 

"Yeah?" he asks without looking up, guitar in his lap and pen scribbling over a lined notebook.

You wait for him to stop before you continue, leaning forward with both arms braced on the porch by his feet. "Steve Harrington came to see me, and he was super mean. You said he was nice." 

He frowns at you. "I told you he was a dick." 

"You like him when you tell me stories." 

"How mean?" Eddie asks, patting the seat beside him. 

You climb up onto the porch and plop down onto the couch, worn leather cold with the weather and damp in the seams. 

You take a strand of his hair and curl it around your finger. "Not really super mean, but he was, like, acting like I killed a baby." 

"He's like that." 

You sigh and lean your cheek against the couch cushion, watching Eddie's stubble move as he tamps down a teasing smile. "He invited me to a party next weekr." 

"It's not a party- Sweetheart, what are you doing?" 

You tickle his cheek with the end of his hair. "Nothing." 

"M'gonna sneeze." 

You tickle him again, fine dark strands brushing over his pale cheek. He's a very ashen guy, you've found. Likely because he barely goes out in the sun and he doesn't eat enough. You draw circles around the apple of his cheek and grin softly at his growing smile, a sweet, silly thing. 

"I'll tickle you back," he warns. 

"Promise?" 

He steals the curl back and tucks it behind his ear. 

"You're not a cannibal, are you?" 

Eddie chokes on air. You startle at his coughing and move to pat his back, palm slapping a steady rhythm into his shoulder. When he calms down you run your hand down the length of his arm, long sleeve t-shirt soft beneath your touch. You linger at his wrist and decide to hold it. 

He drops his pen and your hand travels until he's caught your thumb. He kneads it in his fingers.

"I'm not a cannibal. Why would you think that?" 

"I don't, but you and Steve are in your club, right?" 

"Hellfire wasn't like that," he says heatedly.

"No, not- Not that one." 

He doesn't say anything. 

"You have… He has this scar, on his wrist. Like something bit him, or-" He turns to you and he looks formidable and upset and himself, not mad at you but raw emotion in his expression anyhow. It's gone as quick as it came. 

"When all that… stuff happened," he begins quietly, "we got hurt. A couple of us." 

You drop your head, ashamed at having pried.  "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me anything else."

"Don't be sorry…" He squeezes your hand and lets it go. "Don't worry about it." 

"Okay." 

"We usually call ourselves a party, these days. Not a club." 

"Do you really play board games and drink jiffy pop?" 

"Sometimes we get really crazy and order a pizza. You should come." 

You realise as he says it how much his wanting you to go had mattered to you. Eddie's your friend, and you don't think that you're going to stay friends much longer.

"You think your friends will like me?" you ask, voice descending to a new kind of gentle. 

He puts down his guitar and his notebook. His full attention is something you've come to really enjoy, not because of the hunger you often see flitting across his face — though that's neat —, but because of the inklings of adoration clinging to his smile when he looks at you. His blinking lashes. He smiles at you and just slows. A usually frenetic boy calmed. 

"Maybe not Mike. Mike doesn't like anybody. Except for Will," he muses.

"What about you?" 

"What about me?" 

"Who do you like?" 

"I like all of them." He juts his cheek toward his shoulder, conceding, " I think Dustin's my favourite. He's funny. He's funnier than I am, and he's the smartest kid I've ever met. And he knows it." 

Your eyes focus on the pink outline of his upper lip as he speaks. It's a pleasure to be this close, and see him in this kind of crazy detail. When you go home tonight you might try to draw him. You'll probably forget.

It's the kind of smile that deserves to be immortalised. 

"I really like your smile," you tell him, hoping it'll last a little longer. 

It stretches. The pink outline turns white. "Shut up." 

"I do. I've seen a thousand different smiles but I've never met someone who smiles like you do." 

"How's that?" he asks, edging toward you, face a mirror in which you can see your own charmed expression. 

"Like you," — you shake your head with your lips parted — "know a secret. Something you won't tell anybody." 

His smile abruptly ends. 

You've nothing if not a talent for saying the wrong thing. 

"A good secret," you amend. 

He picks up his acoustic and gives it an experimental strum. "Maybe one or two," he agrees. 

Relief catches you. You nibble at the inside of your lip and watch his fingers work over the neck of his guitar, tipping your head so you can read the words he's markered over the body. 

"This machine slays dragons," you murmur to yourself. "Yeah? How many?" 

"Just the one." 

"Save any princesses?" 

"Not yet." He plucks at the strings, lost in thought, before turning to you with eyebrows raised. "Can you play?" 

You exhale out of the corner of your mouth as he pushes the guitar into your lap, an arm coming around your shoulder, the other reaching to guide your curled forefinger to the strings. You turn to face him, watching him talk with a growing fondness. 

"It's easy, I swear. We'll do Call Me. Blondie's basic, even a baby could play it." 

He realises you aren't listening and raises his gaze, shiny brown irises stuck on your lips. This close, it would be worse if he didn't look at them. 

You glance at his, an obvious thing, half a wish. If he only lifted his chin. 

Your breath mingles. 

"It's easy," he says again, a murmur of his usual volume as his gaze pulls back up to yours. "I'll show you." 

You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding; it's deafening. You wait, and you wait, and you turn your eyes back to his guitar and clamp your fingers down against the struts so he can't see them shaking with adrenaline. 

—

Eddie sits beside Steve and tries not to admit to himself that Steve Harrington is, horrifyingly, his best friend (along with the rest of the party, obviously). Steve is the closest in age and Eddie can't make excuses (though he tries and tries and tries), Steve understands how much Eddie doesn't ever want to talk about anything that's happened to them, so he talks about literally everything else instead. 

"It was the weirdest pawn shop I've ever been in. They had, like, a wall of combi's playing the same video at the same time but all slightly delayed." 

Eddie blinks. 

Steve turns his head from the TV, having expected a response. "Did you say something?" 

"No." Then, because he's not a dick. "Sorry, Harrington. Want me to sit on your other side?" 

"What for?" Steve says. Not because he denies how he's hard of hearing, but because he denies having conversations with Eddie. 

He does end up moving to Steve's other side with a pathetic excuse. "I can't see the TV." 

Steve doesn't say a word until he's sat down again. "Sorry I was mean to your girlfriend." 

"Yeah, what was that about?" 

"I was cranky because it was early and I don't want her to damage the integrity of the party." He gives equal weight to both reasons. 

Eddie snorts at him. "Since when do you care about the integrity of the party?" Steve barely acknowledges that they are a party. He thinks that's a very nerdy way to say friends. 

"Since always, dipshit." 

"And inviting her to join the party was the solution because…?" 

Steve drinks the rest of his coke and pretends to really care about what's on TV. "If," he begins after a minute, refusing to look at Eddie, "something happens with her, and something happens to you, that damages the integrity of the party." 

"Steve," Eddie says, jaw dropped down to his chest, "do you have a crush on me?" 

"Oh my god," Steve mutters. "Oh my god," he says louder. "I can't stand you." 

To prove his point, he gets up from the couch with a wrinkled nose, stops to tap his shoe gently against Max's where she's sitting in the armchair across from the coffee table, and disappears into his kitchen. 

Steve Harrington cares about me enough to give Y/N the shovel talk. 

He feels kind of great about it. 

But he's not sure your the one who needs warning. 

That night in the forest, Eddie had almost snapped. There are rules to follow if he wants to keep people safe, self-imposed, Hopper-imposed, and he's broken too many with you already, the most important being no close proximity when he's hungry. Eddie doesn't even realise he is hungry half the time. He'll be standing by you and he'll want to touch you, and suddenly it's like he's three weeks in to the month without sating. 

He thinks about kissing you and suddenly he's thinking about biting you, and hurting you, and it's literally tearing him up from the inside out. 

How can he want to do that to you? 

"You look so depressed and pathetic," Dustin says out of the blue. 

Eddie pouts and falls back into the couch, Steve's fancy throw falling onto his shoulder. "I used to like you," he says, taking in Dustin's outfit with a kind of parental approval. He's getting older and it shows, slightly more handsome than he had been — he's kept all his baby weight and it suits him, his full cheeks surrounded by the softest brown curls Eddie has ever seen. The outfit stays immature, a funny t-shirt and ill-fitting pants. 

"Sad. You have a sad face," Dustin says. 

"Go play with your nerd squad, please." 

He doesn't listen, collapsing in Steve's still-warm seat like a cheap tent and crossing longer, thicker arms over his chest. He smiles at Eddie genuinely. "Where's your girlfriend?" 

"No." 

"Where's Y/N?" 

Eddie tips his head so he can see past the coffee table and points to where you're almost hidden, sitting with Robin on the floor by Steve's sideboard. You have a basket of tapes in front of you, the two of you trying to choose what's going in the stereo. Eddie prays for anything but Blondie. 

You will most likely choose Blondie. 

"What does she like?" Dustin asks curiously. 

"Everything, kind of. Why?" 

"I wanna know what to say when I talk to her." 

Eddie smiles at his friend's face, a soft, surprised thing. "I don't know if she knows anything about the radio but if you're happy about it she'll be happy too. She's a good listener."

Dustin picks at a piece of lint on his t-shirt bearing a white and black print of a dog wearing sunglasses. "So you talk to her?" he asks without looking up. 

"I mean, yeah. What else do you do?" 

"With a girl that likes you? Huh, let me think." Dustin laughs and ruins his own sarcasm, pointer finger laid against his chin in a show of thoughtfulness. 

"It's not like that," Eddie says lightly. 

"It could be." 

"Could it? I mean… I don't even know if she'll stick around. And I feel bad 'cos I can't be honest with her." 

"Why not?" 

"Hopper said he would literally put me in the hole if I even thought about it." There's no need to expand. Dustin would know better than anyone what he's talking about. 

He cringes at the thought, self hatred a hot poker down his throat. He must've said it to Dustin a hundred times when he finally came around from his coma (that wasn't a coma, but a death, and then a rebirth). I can't believe I put you through that. I can't believe I put you through that. I'm so sorry. 

I'm just glad you're alive, Eddie. 

And for a while, Eddie hadn't felt the same. The world he'd woken up to was hard. There had been lawyers and grief and guilt and becoming. He doesn't have the words to describe how it feels to become something new, something that needs to hurt people to live, something that will hurt people to live, whether Eddie wants to or not. 

The loss of choice is suffocating. 

Though moments like this with his friends– they don't make it 'worth it', they're just how it had to happen. There isn't a scenario where Eddie could give up. He can't leave Wayne, and he can't leave Dustin. He can live with the grief of what he is if it means other people don't have to live with grief of what he isn't. 

"Eddie, are you okay?" 

He's missed something. Dustin isn't the only one looking at him. 

He curls a hand around his forearm subconsciously. "I'm fine. I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom, actually. Gotta piss real bad." 

"Eddie-" 

"I'm fine, Henderson." He puts on a good show, patting Dustin's arm. His heart, usually so slow these days, has enough life in it to ache. 

He can't have been in the bathroom for five minutes when somebody knocks on the door aggressively. He's expecting Steve, pissed at his disappearance and likely preparing a speech on attention seeking behaviours and how they're hurting the youth of America, so he opens the door with a tired glare. 

He finds you, beaming and pretty, dressed ridiculously nicely for his idiot friends. 

"Hi," you say. He can hear something from Blondie's Parallel Lines playing from the living room, familiar because it's your favourite album. "Any room for me?" 

Eddie moves back. You close the door behind you. The bathroom becomes a vacuum of your sounds and smells. 

"They didn't have any Dio," you say with a smile. 

"I honestly wouldn't expect any different." 

"You could've brought some tapes, your mix from the van," you suggest. "I love that one." 

"Which one?" he asks, and he can't help it, whenever he's with you his voice crops to a dulcet murmur. The urge to speak to you as you speak to him is unconquerable. 

"One with the winking smile on the slipcase. I really like it." 

"You can have it." 

You lean against the sink. "I can?" 

"Mm. Whatever you want." Especially when you look like this. 

You smile at him, your 'thank you' smile, all sticky fondness and mischievousness. He has no idea what you're thinking. 

"'S a small bathroom in a huge house," you marvel. Your voice echoes "Where does he shower?" 

"There's an upstairs bathroom." 

"Two bathrooms? That's-" 

"Audacious?" 

"I was gonna say overkill." 

Your candidness has him shaking with laughter. He clutches at his sides, arms crossed and leaning forward. You visibly take in his appearance, eyes panning slowly over his clean hair. He'd taken care to look like somebody you might want to look at tonight. 

"Why don't you sit down, Eds?" you ask, eyes creased with an unreadable emotion. 

Eddie feels blindly for the toilet lid and pushes it down so he can do as you ask, wondering why you're asking.

"You look very handsome today." 

He hugs himself. "As opposed to every other day, when I don't?" 

You take a step forward, a second, hands playing with the hem of your shirt. Your outfit today is delightfully simple, a pressed black t-shirt long enough to cover the waistband of your pleated skirt. There's an expanse of thigh that makes his heart beat spin out, one longer than the other where your thigh-high is falling down.

He wants to pull it up. 

"C'mere," he says. 

You take that last step between his shoes and he reaches out, getting his fingertips under the elastic of your sock and tugging it upward over the soft fat of your leg. Your hands come up to his shoulders for balance, and you say, "No, you look handsome every day. Today you look very handsome. I made the distinction." 

He covers your thigh with both hands, looking up into your face as you look down. "You look really pretty today," he says boldly, fingers spreading behind your knee. 

"Thank you. Do you like my t-shirt?" 

It's a screen print of Debbie Harry. Eddie tries not to roll his eyes. "I love it, but your dedication to Blondie is seriously worrying, sweetheart." He gives your leg a short squeeze and pulls the most giggly smile out of you yet. 

"Like Madonna." 

"No!" he bemoans. 

You laugh and grow closer, arms on his shoulder, a hand threaded into his hair. "Cyndi Lauper?" you suggest. 

He puts a hand on your waist as you move in for a hug. Your arms wrap around his neck and the tops of his shoulders, cheek crushed to the top of his head. 

He'd ask if you were okay if he thought you weren't. You're not upset or seeking comfort. You're affectionate. You've been getting more and more touchy for weeks, as he has. Stolen touches, your almost-kiss on the porch last week. 

"No, not Cyndi Lauper," he says, his hand skirting around your back to pull you in properly. 

"R.E.M?" 

"God, no. Where are you hearing all this junk?" 

"The radio." 

"Tuned into the wrong station." 

You pet the back of his head. "Yeah," you say softly, "I think I was." 

The hug is shorter than Eddie wants it to be. You make one of your happy sounds and pull away to get your hands on his face, stroking curls from his cheeks with a protective touch. "Handsome," you say, turning your hand to stroke his cheek with your knuckles. "Pretty. You have really big eyes, Eddie, so brown, and so…" You tilt your head to one side, face inching forward. 

He turns his face to suit, to fit, breath held as you close the gap. 

"So pretty," you murmur, and kiss him. 

His hands are limp and then alive, one clutching your hip, one splaying against your chest. He can hear the thud of your heart clear as day — you're bumping with excitement as you kiss him. It's a delicate, tender thing, the party suddenly far away, the music drowned by the sounds of your breathing. You kiss as you talk, as you move, gentle but with bursts of ardency. Your lips are a blissful heat, the tip of your nose smushing into his as you part your lips over his. 

He lifts his chin higher, his neck craned to receive you. He's savouring every movement. Each pause for breath that you take. The feeling of your inhales over his quick-bruising lips. 

Your hands play in his hair so sweetly it makes his eyes burn with an embarrassing amount of emotion. He screws them closed and squeezes up your waist, steadying himself as you feel along his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue. 

You don't get much further than that, seemingly pleased with your own brazeness or perhaps his touch, eyes glowing with mirth as you pull away. 

"Sorry," you breathe, not sorry at all. "You just really looked like someone should be kissing you."

You're flushed. Eddie can practically see the heat emanating off of your cheeks. He can feel it. 

He stands up, your pulse a ringing in his ears. The wet valves of your heart opening and closing. 

"Eddie?" you ask quietly, lifting your head to meet his eyes as he walks you back into the door. 

His gums sting. A click. 

It's a compulsion. 

His hands curl around your elbows, holding you in place. Your eyes are wide with confusion, your lightly swollen lips parted. He can see the tiniest slip of your pink tongue. 

He holds your gaze as he leans in. Your eyelids flutter closed. You wrap your arms around him as he descends, totally trusting. 

He's a meaner kiss than you are. He starts slow but swiftly loses a handle on it, kisses short but insistent, hot presses like little crescent moons against your barely open mouth. 

His hands move up your arms, a near vice-like grip until he finds your sleeves. His fingers slip underneath, hands hungry for your warmth. 

You make the worst sound anyone has ever made as he moves back, like something has been ripped from you. A gutted gasp, near silent. 

He placates as he wades back in. Thumbs rubbing your arms, lips mouthing damp kisses down your face. The corner of your pout, the hill of your chin, the skin under your jaw. Your head tips back against the door with an audible thud. You exhale hard. 

Eddie can't feel his hands. 

Your pulse hammers under his lips. He kisses it once. He can't think. He can't breathe. 

"You're always cold," you whisper, your hands drifting lazily under the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingertips trail up his spine. "But your lips are warm." 

He kisses your neck, his lips parting slowly, a hair's width a second as he sucks your skin into his mouth gently. It's barely a kiss. He does it a second time. A third. You start to laugh, a golden sound. 

The point of his fangs touch your skin and you stop. 

Eddie closes his mouth abruptly. His hand leaps to your neck and he feels your heart skip as he holds you still. "I'm sorry," he says, nose rubbing over the damp spot he's left behind, your teased skin. 

Your heart hikes again. 

"I'm sorry," he repeats. He pulls away, an agony. 

"It's okay," you say. Your breathlessness says otherwise.

Eddie takes as many deep breaths as he can stand, wanting to clear his head and filling it with you instead. Your everything; your smell, your skin. Your limp hands against his back. 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks when he gets a look at you, your unreadable expression. He takes care to keep his head angled down so you can't see the lower half of his face. 

"I don't think you could." 

You cup his cheek in your hand and he leans into it, his weight against yours.

"I wanted to tell you something," you confess. 

"What-" He licks his lips, wincing when his fangs slide into his tongue and scrape grooves across his taste buds. "What was that?" 

"I know you…" You pause, fingertips rubbing at his cheek.

Does she know? Eddie thinks, horrified. He hadn't realised how scary waiting could be. A thousand worries condensed into a handful of seconds. Does she know?

How could she not?

You press your palm to his cheek with more insistence. "I don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me. I know you have scars," you say, fingers sliding into the soft baby hair at the back of his neck. "You don't have to cover up. You don't have to cover any of it." 

"I won't hurt you," he says, trying to convince himself. 

"I know." 

-

You stay a while longer. Eddie's friends pretend that you hadn't been alone in the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time together. You thank them all silently and less so, trying to talk to as many of them as you can. 

There's Lucas, who's really, really nice, and his girlfriend Max, who's less so. She gives you an unimpressed look through her thick-lensed glasses, but you compliment her crutches and she comes around. 

There's Mike, who actually isn't anywhere as bad as Eddie had described him. He's not frosty or standoffish, he's sweet and he asks questions. There's a girl with him that you don't catch the name of, and a boy on her other side. 

There's Dustin, who you adore immediately, Robin, who you adore more, and then there's Steve. 

Steve offers you a pretzel like you're more than familiar. He strolls right up to you with a bowl of them in hand and doesn't leave until you've eaten half of them. 

There's a couple of people you don't manage to talk to at all, and you feel guilty about it all the way home. 

"What if they think I'm rude?" you ask, tired eyes locking onto the stereo system. The time blinks analog in the dark, 12:59AM. 

"They don't, don't worry about it. You have lots of time to get to know them, anyway." 

You hum and turn to his face, indulgent because you know he can't look back. "You're not too tired to drive, are you?" He's spent. Yesterday had been one of his bad days. 

"I'm fine." 

"You say that all the time," you observe, dropping your cheek into the passenger seat's headrest. 

"I'm fine all the time." 

"Liar." 

"Nuisance." 

You huff a laugh through your nose. The strands of his friendship bracelet, the small beads at the ends, swing like pendulums in the gap between his arm and the steering wheel. You can see the rough skin of a scar creeping out from under his sleeve. 

"Mike was really nice," you say. 

"He has a bleeding heart." 

That feels accurate. "He reminds me of you." 

Eddie rolls his eyes. You feel for every detail, the strange tension between you like a gaussian filter over everything. He's gorgeous in a horrific way, heartbreakingly pale, eyes dark as pitch, hands restless. They squeeze alone the wheel, thick fingers curling tight until his knuckles are stark white. Running down the back of his hands are veins like rivers. They're more purple than green. 

"Eddie," you say, playful, a tiny bit insecure. 

"What?" 

"Wanna stay the night?" 

His hand moves forward on the wheel like he's revving a motorcycle, the tendon in his wrist rising to the surface. He clenches. "Not sure it's a good idea." 

"Just to sleep. It's late." 

"I don't know if I can sleep next to you." 

You don't wanna say please. You don't want to ask Eddie to do anything he can't or doesn't wanna do. 

He pulls up outside of your house with his mind already made up. He gets out of the car and you follow his lead. He locks it, shoves the keys in his pocket as you join him on the path up to your porch. 

He's been in here enough times to know what it looks like, but for some reason you find yourself checking his face, worried about what it is he thinks of your things, all your mismatched trinkets, your stained glass lamps, your life as you let yourselves in. He ducks through the beeded curtain into your bedroom wary that they'll get tangled in his hair like they sometimes do. 

"Do you wanna call Wayne?" you ask, gesturing to your telephone on the right hand side, nestled between a stack of books and a cup full of coloured pencils. 

You pull your knee up to your chest and unlace your shoes one at a time. Eddie punches the number into the phone and holds the receiver to his shoulder to do as you're doing. It takes him less time to pop his sneakers off than for you to get out of yours. He's just taken the phone back into his hand when Wayne picks up. 

"Wayne?" he asks softly. "Didn't wake you up, did I?" 

You can't hear his response. 

"I'm gonna stay with Y/N tonight. Yeah, we had a good time. Yeah…" His eyes drift to you as you peel out of your thigh highs.

"Yeah, I'm still here. What?" He meets your eyes and it feels accidental, because he throws his eyes to your bedsheets and turns his face to the wall. "No," he says firmly. 

You scrape together something to wear for bed and some fresh underwear and leave for the bathroom, telling yourself that nothing is gonna happen so don't get your hopes up but not wanting to get caught out if it does. You freshen up, brushing your teeth and washing your face.

You stare at yourself in the mirror and wonder if you should've left your face-powder and your mascara on. Maybe even the skirt. You'd looked nice and pretty for the party. Now you look like yourself, still pretty but without those extra touches. Will he care? Does it matter? 

You debate your pyjama pants considerably. 

There's a lot happening. 

Eddie is… Eddie is something else. He's different, you'd known that for a long time, and his kiss had confirmed it. 

He's something out of a science fiction book. 

Well, nobody's perfect. 

Whatever he is, he'd kissed you. You'd kissed him and he'd responded, he'd come back for more, and now he's sitting in your bed when he could've gone home. You bring your hand to your neck and crane to one side, fingertips poking at your unbroken skin. His hickey's haven't even bruised. 

You screw the pants up and drop them into your laundry basket. You take off every piece of jewellery on your person. 

"Do you wanna use the bathroom?" you ask from behind the beaded curtain. "I left a new toothbrush for you on the sink." 

"Yeah, desperately, I…" He takes you in as you emerge. Fresh-faced, bare-legged. As naked as you've ever been in front of him, physically and otherwise. 

Eddie meets you where you're standing. He's ditched his jacket, and for the first time since you met him you can see the full length of his arms.

"You're not wearing your bracelets," he says, looking between your bodies. His hand twitches toward yours. 

"You have tattoos," you say. 

"They were better, before." 

There's a misshapen mess of black splodges near the crook of his elbow broken up by scar tissue. One arm is less scarred than the other, an almost perfect flank of white skin. 

"Is that a puppet? He's super spooky." 

"Mh-hm." 

You bring your hand to his tattoo and feel over the skin. It doesn't feel like it's there. Eddie holds your wrist and the two of you move together, your fingertips stroking up until you're wrapped around his bicep. 

Eddie brings his free hand to your collar. His index finger straightens, encouraging your chin up so he can ease forward and kiss you. He's firm, eager, and your lips curl up into a smile underneath it. He turns his head to the right and you fall left, smile worsened when you feel his own start to form. 

He nudges your nose. You take it for a telling off and laugh. "Sorry," you apologise, kissing his top lip. 

"You're making this difficult," he chides. 

Despite any sternness, Eddie loosens his grip on your wrists to slide his fingers between yours, pressing your joined hands to your chest. He leans back down and he's careful, almost methodical in the way he kisses. Chaste pecks, hot and precious as tiny stars. 

You reach for his waist. 

Eddie kisses you a final time and steps back. "I'll be back," he promises. 

You lower your chin, flustered and perplexed by his sudden departure.

Walking around to the right side of the bed, you click on your bedside lamp — a beautiful glass and foiled contraption that throws dainty stripes of stars and hearts over everything close in the dark — before climbing in. You sniff one of your pillows experimentally, trying to remember when you last changed the bed. You decide they're acceptable even if they really smell like your hair oil and flip them around to be safe, plumping them up with your hands.

You've curled up on your side and almost succumb to your fatigue when Eddie returns, bringing with him the smell of spearmint and a fuzzy feeling in your stomach as he shuts off the light and sits on the opposite side of the bed, facing you. The hair around his face is damp with water, baby hair's limp. 

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to wear, I-" Youre cut off by your own gasp as Eddie kisses you, his hand on your neck, his nose bridge sliding into your own. You hadn't been expecting it, and it's no less dizzying than any other kiss he's given you today. 

"It's okay," he murmurs lowly, lips pressed to your lips, "have to wear you, is all."  

You huff a laugh into his mouth. "I swear I'm always laughing when I'm with you," you muse as Eddie dedicates himself to your bottom lip. You cup the back of his head. "You're amazing." 

Eddie groans and eases back. "I'm not good with words, sweetheart. To tell you how I feel about you." 

You push one of your legs toward his knee. "...You can show me." 

He shifts in the bed until he can lean over the entirety of your chest, hands cupping your face and lips poised hovering over your own, a millimetre of space between your mouth and his. "Okay," he says quietly.

He dips down. You can feel his bottom lip tremble, and then he's kissing you too hard to feel it anymore. You wrap loose arms around his back. 

"Are you sure?" you whisper to him. 

He rests his nose against your cheek, eyes closed, drawing the tiniest left to right. "I want you," he reassures. 

"And you're okay?" 

"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm okay. Do you want to?" 

"Yeah. More than anything." 

Another loving kiss against your cheek, Eddie moves down, down, down. "Tell me if I do something you don't like," he murmurs, top lip dragging and leaving a line of dampness to the base of your throat. 

He adorns the canvas of your neck in half-moon contusions, big hands caressing your shoulders, your chest. You hold your breath as his fingers pass over your nipple, fighting to keep in any embarrassing sounds. 

Eddie disagrees with his plan of action. You shiver as he brings his lips to a close and his bottom teeth scrape upward, as he pulls his head up and says, "C'mon, angel, breathe." 

He follows his command with a manipulative touch, a circle over your nipple that makes you shudder. He kisses you and it feels like a thank you, pressure, a heat as his palm smooths over the bump of your tummy to your thighs. He squeezes the outside of one and for a while you can kiss him back, and then he pulls your thighs apart and you break away. Eddie follows, kisses you even when your reciprocation is weak. 

He pushes your thigh flat to the bed. 

You feel the heat of your excitement start to grow. Your stomach aches with the want to be touched. 

"You're like a space heater, you're that warm," Eddie says, hand coasting down the inside of your thigh. He squeezes until fat melds under his fingers. "Are you scared?" 

His whispering in your ear, his hand as close as it is to where you want it, it winds you up like a coil. You sigh as his thumb strokes the edge of your panties, sound coloured by an awful, devouring desire. 

His face presses further into yours in reaction. 

His touch is like the tide. He wades in, away. His thumb strokes inward over something soft and then his whole hand moves back to your thigh. 

"Teasing," you utter. 

"A little… Why, is there something you want me to do?" 

His clueless whispering is infuriating and exciting at the same time. Your heart races and you can't discern if it's more lust or love.

"Touch me," you plead, pouting, knowing he's a pushover.

Anticipation stabs like a needle in your tummy as he slides his palm over your cunt completely. He rubs a careful, almost casual rhythm into your panties with the breadth of his fingers, lips kissing a lazy stripe up to your forehead, where he rests his face. You both watch his hand move past the valley of your rising chest. 

"M'gonna pull these off, yeah?" He sits up, fingers pushing under the sides. "Lift your- yeah, thank you, sweetheart." 

You buzz with his pet names, his soft voice, the feeling of your panties sliding up to your knees and his gentle exhale. You swear you can feel it fan over your slit. "Shit…" he moan, pulling at your spread cunt. 

He looks like he's in pain, eyebrows pinched together and murmuring curses as he circles the wetness gathered at your entrance. You turn your head searchingly as he starts to ease his index finger inside your heat, a gentle probing. 

One becomes two. He muffles your sighing with firm kisses, amorous praises, "That's it, baby, relax," as he works you open, fingers wet with slickness but not enough. He changes his position, pushing his middle and marriage finger inside and curving as his thumb slides up your slit looking for the bead of your clit. 

Slow, slow circles. "There, huh?" 

You shiver as he pushes in deeper, fingers as far as they can go. He spreads them wide, drops reassuring kisses all over your face when you keen. It's so new to have him kiss you at all, and to have him touching you — you're melting into nothing right there in his hold. 

"I got you. Tell me if it hurts, okay?" 

"Want you to- I want you to fuck me," you murmur, arms wrapping around him so you can hide your face in his neck. 

"Fuck. Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck you just as soon as I can fit," he murmurs back, sinking three of his thick fingers into your snug cunt. He pulls wetness out with every thrust, a line of slick dribbling down onto the sheets underneath. He wipes it upward and pushes it back inside, his chest heaving. "Y'so tight, gotta take my time. Take our time." He rubs his nose against your head until he can kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Make sure you can take it." 

"I can." 

It doesn't bear repeating how quietly you're speaking, a mouthing inaudible under the wet, rhythmic thud of Eddie's pinky finger slapping your sticky cunt as he ups the pace of his finger-fucking. 

"I don't think so," he coos, pulling his fingers from your cunt and making a show of spreading them wide. Your slick ribbons between them, almost invisible in the dark. "Ruin your sheets before any of that, maybe." 

Eddie sits up and gets his hands under your armpits. You laugh as he tugs you up so your shoulders are on top of the pillows, but you don't have time to be confused. He quickly moves to kneel at your feet and pulls your leg over his shoulder, your back lifting unevenly from the sheets. 

He starts with a sweet kiss pressed to the skin closest to his mouth, your lower thigh, and then works his way up, open mouthed, barely kisses at all until his hair whispers against your sensitive cunt and he's nipping at the stripe of skin between your thigh and the place where you most want his attention. 

"Pretty," he says into your damp skin, lips shining. You reach down to stroke his hair behind his ears, worried he's gonna get it dirty. 

He looks at you from between your thighs, his eyes dark in the dim light, their lashes long and soft where the outermost flutter into your skin. He's lovely. 

He holds your gaze as he pulls back to your inner thigh. "Pretty everywhere," he says salaciously. 

His lips part over your skin and you think he might bite you, a bruising hickey, but he pushes you down flat to the bed by your hips and kisses your clit, a simple kiss. Your fingers weave deeper into his hair. Your fingernails scratch lightly against his scalp, every tiny lick or kiss reflected in the minute tightening of your hands. 

He goes slow, mouths down, kisses wetter and wetter as he reaches your entrance. "Poor girl," he murmurs, hands pulled down to further scandalise. He sinks two fingers inside and laughs into your cunt. You squirm. 

"What happened? You're dripping on my fingers." Your thighs draw closed around his head as he curls his fingers against a soft spot.

"Eddie, can you-" You swallow. "Please. Please." 

He pries your thighs open and rubs them soothingly, lapping at the heat of your cunt in face of your pleading. His tongue appears broad and flat up the centre of you until he's kissing on your clit, fingers pumping in rhythm. Your fingers work into his hair and he groans, the vibration enough to make you whimper under his mouth. 

He laps at your clit messily and you tip your head back, breath coming in tight pants. You don't know what you say, only how you say it, desperate "please,"s and keening "Eddie,"s. 

His thrusts grow in enthusiasm, fingers rubbing eagerly against something sweet. You pull your legs up and nudge his face to your cunt insistently, thigh shaking as you hold it up. Eddie doesn't need any more encouragement, his pretty pink lips suckling at your clit until you see stars. You make a pained little sound and try to move away from his kissing, startled at the intensity of your high. 

Eddie lets your clit pop out of his mouth with a lewd, slick sound, his hands moving under your thighs and pulling you closer. "Good girl," he says, rubbing his wet face against the inside of your thigh. He inhales hard as you are, though he pauses to kiss your kneecap and pat your leg. "Good girl, sweetheart." 

"I'm sorry," you say breathlessly, hands pulling his hair from his face. Pleasure rolls through you in hot waves. 

"For what?" 

"Tugging on your hair," you explain, shoulder pulled up to your cheek.  

Eddie kisses your tummy lovingly and climbs on top of you to do the same just under your chin. "It’s okay, sweetheart, I like that shit. That was good, huh?" he asks, lips dropping down to yours all wet and warm. 

He's not bragging, he's genuinely asking. 

You nod into his kiss, your hands coming up to his sides. You swear your ears perk up as he unzips his jeans and eases them down, a hand disappearing into the mess of fabric. He moans quietly at the first touch. 

You move his hair out of the way to watch. Eddie tugs at the length of his cock with a cruel hand, a short dribble of pearly precum sobbing down the tip and under his fingers. He spreads it as it goes, the slickness emphasising the ridges and veins of his cock. You can see it throb, if you look close enough. 

He sits back and eases his jeans and boxers down enough to reveal a thatch of curls that brush his hand with every pump downward. 

"You okay?" he asks, smirking. 

You pull your shirt over your head and your chest warms at his adoring smile. "Will you take off yours?"

He doesn't hesitate like you worried he might. He sheds his t-shirt, pulling the fabric over the back of his head and dumping it off the side of the bed. 

You take in his chest and it's abundance of ragged scarring still purpled with newness. He has a tattoo over his heart, a black whorl of legs and eyes. Fine dark hair crawls from the middle of his chest down his navel, joining with the thatch of coiled hair surrounding his aching cock. You shuffle forward and wait with two tentative hands held aloft until he says, "It's okay," before you touch him. You run your hands down the soft slopes of his waist. 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Not anymore." 

"Can I kiss it?" 

He snorts. "Prefer you kiss something else." 

That really makes you laugh. You dot a kiss against his jaw and can't make yourself stop, dropping them all the way to the skin behind his ear. Your hand creeps lower as you go, held to the curve of his tummy. His skin is hot to touch the lower you go, and his stomach feels solid, a heaviness you know all too well. 

"Can I touch you?" you whisper into his ear. 

"Please." 

You drop your forehead against his chest and he brings his hand up to cup the back of your head. His cock pulses as you wrap your hand around it, skin smooth and slick as you palm slowly up and down. You watch in awe as a bead of precum wells at the tip, Eddie's rough breathing loud overhead. 

"Lie down, Y/N," he says, hand moving behind your naked shoulders. 

"What way?" 

"How do you want it, sweetheart? We'll do it whatever way you want." 

You think about it. Whatever way you want. No matter how indulgent, you know he means it.

"Will you spoon me?" 

He pushes you gently and follows behind, dragging your body into his front and angling your hips, cock hot and prodding your back. He gets his hand under your knee and pulls it up, splaying your cunt. You jump in surprise as he pushes his cock through your folds, tip rubbing against the still sensitive bead of your clit. 

Eddie wraps his arms around you, hugging you from behind. "You wanna put it in for me, baby?" 

You reach between your bodies and take his sticky cock into your hand, shifting until the head nudges against your hole. He sinks in inch by inch, arms tightening around your waist and grinding you down onto his cock until you're whimpering. 

You grab at his arms with your hands and tether yourself to him as he starts to rock his hips, his thrusting tender and his face turned into your neck. 

He presses his hand flat to your abdomen, an anchoring point as he moulds your weepy cunt around his length, each slovenly movement into your heat spreading you that little bit wider. 

"Fuck," he says finally, sounding seconds from a black out. "Oh, fuck- You're tight. Gonna fuck you open slow, okay?" 

You're pretty sure you'd let him do just about anything. You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss every white knuckle, every freckle you can see on the back, and when he bottoms out your cover your lips with his stolen hand to smother a tearful gasp.

Eddie's thrusts are spearing in their steady rhythm, a dirty slap ringing with every punching thrust forward. You curl in on yourself and hide your mouth in the sheets, wet pants smothered by fabric. Eddie's grip falls to your hip, where he pulls your body back and forces your cunt open even deeper. 

His cock pushes into your sweet spot sudden and emphatic. You moan and he stills, rutting into that same space without pulling out until you're babbling his name, body knocked forward with every thrust. 

Eddie turns your face toward him as much as he can without hurting your neck, your moans echoing in time with each thrust. "There you go," he says, "wanna hear how good it feels." 

If he cares that you can't answer him he doesn't show it, arm coming up under you arm to grasp at your chest, your breaststroke soft and aching under his hand as he squeezes tenderly. His cock kisses at the sweet spot inside you intermittently; you're dizzy with it. 

Eddie can't keep quiet either, his moans breathy, his breath hissing between his teeth when you clamp down around him. "Fuck," he begs, dragging his cock out of your heat, "fuck, Y/N." 

He says your name like the syllables alone are appraising. 

You can tell when it gets too much for him. He slows. His face drops into your shoulder, and he matches his pace to the wet kisses he leaves behind. Your wetness feels stickying, each of his thrusts snug. 

His breath hitches, ragged pants accompanying every slow push of his hips. "Where's my girl?" he asks, eyes still closed as his hand abandons where it'd been squeezing the bump of your tummy to search further downward, fingers disappearing into your folds, short curls wet with slick. He can't find any purchase. You roll your hips, chase his touch and the pleasure that comes with it. 

He groans into your shoulder. It sounds more pain than pleasure. 

"Are you okay?" you ask, trying to turn in his arms. He holds you in place. "Eddie?" 

"Yeah, fuck, I'm okay." He grinds up into your cunt. "Fuck, you're perfect." 

"Will you kiss me?" 

He does. It's nowhere near the bruising press you'd wanted. It's too careful. 

"Listen," he murmurs, "I'm gonna get you on your front, okay? Gonna make you feel so good," he promises, waiting for you to nod before he pushes your shoulder away from him and climbs up behind you. You lay flat on your stomach and Eddie settles on your thighs, a heavy weight. 

He pushes into your cunt with two fingers first, the new position allowing for a new pleasure. He pumps in and out and swaps his fingers for his cock quickly after, bearing the full weight of his body into your back as sinks to the hilt. 

You both moan in time, hands fisted in the sheets. 

He kisses your neck, lips parted, and his teeth feel so sharp that your heart sinks as it had in the bathroom. 

"Eddie-" you start. 

He pulls away, stops every movement. 

"Eddie," you say again. What are you supposed to say? You both know what he is. 

There's a lull where neither of you knows what to do filled by your too-fast breathing.

"I won't hurt you," he says, hands rubbing up the length of your back and then under. He holds a hand over your heart. He drops his lips to your back. "Do you want me to stop?" 

He must feel your pulse calm under his touch, but he still asks again when you don't answer. "Do you want me to stop? It's okay if you do. You're okay, baby, I promise." 

You steal a pillow from against the headboard and rise up on elbows. Your admission comes weak but completely honest. "Fuck me, Eddie, please... I want you. I want you-" Your murmuring's interrupted by a sharp breath as Eddie starts to move again, the head of his cock pushing into your cunt, a slick, perfect feeling. 

He moans from the back of his throat as his cock pushes into you again and again, hips smacking the dough of your ass as his pace quickens. You hug your pillow tightly, tears popping up in the corners as he ruts deep. 

"Being so good for me," he groans, clamped down on your hip with a vice-like grip. "Fuck, you feel so good. Fucking clinging to me every time I pull out, baby, Christ." His blasphemy is punctuated by a thrust that has you sliding up the bed, sheets wrinkling under your arms. You spread your thighs and wetness pools at your clit as his pelvis thrusts into you, driving pleasure so deeply it aches in your hips.

You moan pathetically and reach back to hold his hand, wiggling your fingers. He takes it in one and presses your arm against your lower back with the other, struggling to maintain a steady pace as he gets close to cumming. You're a babbling stream of sounds as he fucks in deep, swollen sweet spot tapped against mercilessly.

He throws himself back on his haunches, cock dragged out of your heat. 

You pull your legs out from underneath him and curl onto your side to watch, eyes wide as white spurts of pearlescence jump out of the head of his reddened cock and drip down the bumps of his fingers. He leans back, his stomach and thighs tensed with every pump. 

He groans through a smile, moan's coloured by a happy, relieved laughter. "F-uck," he drags, fisting his cock dry. 

He meets your eyes as the last of it slides down onto his stomach. 

You smile softly. "Fuck," you mumble. 

Eddie wipes his hand in his jeans like a fucking hooligan and tucks his cock back into his boxers with a wince, and then he collapses on top of you. He's sort of nice about it, his arm over your shoulder and his face behind your ear. 

"Fucking beautiful," he praises, dropping his head back on the bed so you're face to face. "You're so fucking pretty. So perfect." He kisses you. "You're perfect," he repeats, staring intently into your eyes. 

You pull a hand from between your legs, smelling of sex. Eddie literally couldn't care less if he tried, and he lets you take his face into your hand without complaint. 

He gets his arm under your arm and starts to rub your back. "You want me to take care of you again?" he asks, eyebrows raised gently. "Yeah?" 

And you would let him, you would, but you need to see them for yourself. 

You touch your index fingertip to his lip. 

"Can I see?" you ask. 

He loses his boisterous joy, tamps it down. He realises that he can't lie, that he hasn't been lying, and he nods. You tremble as you pull his lip up over his canine tooth, excited and scared.

A sharp, exceptionally white tooth pokes out of Eddie's gums. You're taken aback, though you'd known exactly what you'd find.

A fang. 

Blood oozes at the gums. 

"You're bleeding," you worry aloud, touching your finger to the dark beading at the base of his tooth. 

Eddie's eyes rove over your face thoughtfully. He pulls your hand away from his lip and sets it on his neck instead. "They always do that. The gum heals, breaks when they wanna come out." 

"How often do they come out?" 

"A lot more since I met you. Whenever my adrenaline spikes, they seem to think it's… feeding time." 

That is a dizzying thing to learn. 

You're not sure how you feel, but you know one thing: he's Eddie. "It's too bad," you say, forcing a lightness that turns real more easily than you expect. "I really want to kiss you right now." 

He strokes your cheek with his thumb. "I really wanna kiss you too. Maybe a small one?" 

You find yourself leaning forward, unafraid. 

He kisses you once, twice, three times, the two of you holding each other's faces and covered in mess. Slick and sweat and blood. The hearts and stars from your lamp spray over his hip and paint him with pinks, greens, oranges, a rainbow cutting over his trim waist. You rest your hand overtop, feel his keloid scars like hills under your fingers. 

"My boyfriend's a vampire," you mutter, bemused at fate.

Eddie blinks at you. "I'm your boyfriend?" 

"Yeah, I think so. Don't you?" 

Eddie pulls you into his chest and doesn't let you go for a long, long time.

-

Your first time watching a blood sate is weird. 

For one, Chief Hopper is firmly against it. He's got his kid with him, the boy from the party that Mike had been so heavily doting on, and if he didn't you might think he was a pretty scary guy. 

"I think this is stupid," the chief says plainly. "I think this is stupid, I think you're stupid," — he points at Eddie where he's sitting sickly in the round couch — "and I think you're plain crazy, kid." He points at you last. 

You beam at him. "People have said that about me." 

His kid laughs. 

"Will," Hopper says tiredly, "go sit in the car." 

"Look, Chief, I know I messed up, okay, but she kind of stuck her hand in my mouth and I didn't really have a choice." 

Wayne looks at you with new eyes. "You did?" 

You nod at him faux-seriously. 

"And what gave her the inkling that you might have had something in your mouth worth looking at?" Hopper says, which is hilarious. You laugh behind your hand. 

He gives you a disapproving look that you completely ignore. If you'd taken notice of disapproval you would've stopped having this much fun years ago. 

"Uh, well, she might have… felt them?" His pitch rises. 

Hopper looks like he's about to blow a gasket when Will says, "What was he supposed to do? Never talk to anyone new ever again?" 

"He did a lot more than just talk to me," you say. There'd been a fixed bike, phone calls, lots of sandwiches, bug hunts, an entire sketchbook full of drawings. 

"I told you to wait in the car," Hopper says.

Will grins and raises his hands in surrender. "Bye," he mouths. You wave. 

Hopper waits for the door to close before he continues. "I get it, when you're a teenager you think your hormones are the end of the world-" 

"I'm almost twenty three." 

Hopper pinches his hand closed. "But you do not understand the danger that you are creating here."

"Like a stake-ing," you whisper, very very quietly. Eddie's the only one who can hear you, and he laughs so hard he snorts. 

"I'm glad you find this funny." Hopper's tone could not imply the opposite any more. 

He hands Wayne a paper bag that audibly sloshes and stalks out, his anger a palpable cloud of steam rising off of his shoulders. Eddie seizes up beside you at the sound, lips parting as his fangs come through. You don't touch him because you value your blood inside your body, only slide away from him and smile. "You okay, handsome?" 

"Kid, maybe the chief is right. We don't know how Eds is gonna act with you here," Wayne says. 

You nod respectfully. You like Wayne, and he knows about all of this stuff more than you ever could. 

"No," Eddie mumbles, putting his hand out for you across the couch. 

You take it without thinking. 

Wayne sighs. You can hear him grumbling as he disappears from view into the kitchen and puts a pot on the stove. There's the sound of a bag being punctured with a knife, a wet slosh. Eddie's grip on your hand tightens. 

You're still fascinated that he even drinks blood in the first place. That's wickedly sickening. Wicked, because it's cool that he's a vampire, with his impressive hearing, senses and smell. But sickening, because if you had to drink a pint of blood every couple of weeks you'd throw up. 

"I read about a new blood-sucker." 

Eddie raises his heavy head. "Another bug?" 

"No, a finch! A vampire finch. They're really pretty, Teddy. They're small and brown with long beaks and they drink blood because there's barely any water on their island." You give him a loving smile. "They aren't parasites. S'just how they had to change to survive." 

He squeezes your hand, this time on purpose. 

"Are you gonna come and have it in here, Eddie?" Wayne asks, one last shot at separating the two of you.

"I'm okay," he says loudly. His eyes trace your smile. "Really." 

It can't be fun to have two people watch you drink a warm mug of blood, but Eddie finds it funny. He keeps laughing every time he brings the rim of the glass to his mouth. 

"I can't do it if you're looking at me," he says. 

Wayne rolls his eyes and looks away. You cover your face with both hands and part your fingers to spy on him through the gaps. He makes it look easy, draining the mug basically in one long pull, though his hunger turns violent as the cup empties. He chokes. Blood trickles down from one corner of his mouth. 

You automatically want to reach over and wipe it away. Wayne grabs your arm before you can and gives you a fatherly look that says, I wouldn't do that if I were you. 

"Shit," Eddie says, slamming his now empty mug down on the coffee table. It makes a grating sound like a ground mortar and pestle. He sits as far back on the couch cushions as he can, nausea clear on his face. 

"Deep breath," Wayne says. 

"Fuck, Wayne." 

"You're aces. Deep breaths." 

Your heart hurts watching Eddie like this. He covers his mouth with eyes closed tightly and breathes hard through his nose. Already there's colour coming back into his face, not a lot but anything is an improvement. He'd been practically grey. 

When Eddie pulls his hand from his mouth blood has spread over his lips and jaw. Your eyes widen.

"I'll get the shower running," Wayne says, slapping his knees as he stands. He stops before the hallway. "Good job, Eddie." 

The boy in question slouches into a ball on the sofa and nods into a cushion. You wait for the sound of Wayne pulling the shower cord that turns on the hot water before you stand up, head tipped to one side. 

"You okay, handsome?".

"Tired." 

"You want a hug from me?" 

"Is anyone else offering?" He opens one eye to peek at you and grins at your distraught expression. "I'm joking, I'm kidding. C'mere, before I start bawling." You sit and then flop onto your side, pulling your legs up next to his. "Such a frowny face." His voice is adorably tired.

"Better than yours. You look like someone from Night of the Living Dead, baby." 

Eddie's arm lies limp like a dead fish over your waist. "Lemme nibble on your brains," he says, words thick as dark honey, eyes closed. "Just a snack." 

You're waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under your feet. No way your boyfriend, your cries at the end of every movie, brings you flowers because he felt like it, won't step on cracks in the sidewalk boyfriend just skulled a glass of O-negative like it was a milkshake. 

You feel guilty as soon as you think about it. He's not confined to all his softest parts and he never will be. He's snarky and angry and loud. He plays guitar like a real rockstar and he doesn't take anyone's shit. He's a survivor. A glass of blood every now and then was never gonna stop him. 

You keep wondering if you should let him suck your blood. It could be hot. It could also probably be the worst idea ever, a relationship faux pas up there with proposing after a month or saying I love you on the first date. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asks. 

You brush the hair out of his eyes with your ring finger. "Embarrassing relationship fumbles." 

"Oh yeah? Like letting your girlfriend watch you drink human blood from a mug shaped like Woodstock?" 

"Least it wasn't Snoopy." 

"God forbid." 

"Is it always like this?" You stroke your hand down his face and rub along his jaw with your thumb. "D'you always get sleepy?" 

"Yeah." He turns his face so your hand covers his mouth. 

You've stopped wearing silver jewellery, your wrists bare besides the endearingly awful friendship bracelet he's constructed for you. Not a friendship bracelet, he'd corrected. You're not kissing other friends, are you? Because that's really gonna put a downer on this whole thing.  

You dip your forehead to his chin and the two of you lay there in silence. You can smell blood, a thick, metallic stick permeating every corner of the room. It's especially strong between the both of you. 

"Do you wanna bite me right now?" you inquire without opening your eyes. 

"Not really. Blood sate kicks in quickly. It's the worst for, like, the first ten seconds after. Now I wanna sleep, but Wayne's gonna make me shower." 

"Maybe I can shower with you." 

"I'm sure he'd jump for joy if you suggest it." 

"Really?"

Eddie kisses your hand. "No," he says with a giddy laugh. 

"I'll pretend I'm gonna sit on the toilet. Keep watch." 

"How will you stop your hair from getting wet?" 

"I'll lean out." 

Eddie laughs even more than he had been, peeling laughter that warms you from the inside out as he kisses your hand again. "That'll definitely work." 

Wayne clears his throat. 

"Shower's hot. I'm going out. For an hour." Eddie perks up. His uncle looks him dead in the eye. "Don't make me regret this." 

And while Wayne had been under the impression you and Eddie were gonna have some grown up fun together in the shower, what you really do is an innocent act of affection: you wash Eddie's hair. 

"You have to lean your head back," you chide. 

"I am." 

"More than that." 

"There's no room." 

You're lucky you both fit. You're freezing standing behind Eddie, the only relief the warm water that trickles down from your hands to your elbows as you draw circles in his scalp, working the shampoo into a fine lather. 

"How did you get blood here?" you ask, scratching rusty flakes from the hair behind his ear. 

"I don't know. It gets everywhere. Like eyeshadow." 

You push your chin over his shoulder. "You wear eyeshadow?" 

"For shows." 

"Really?"

"Is it hard to believe?" 

You encourage his head under the water and rake your hands through his curls, encouraging the soapy water down to the ends with patient hands. "Lip gloss too? Hey, can I do your makeup?" 

"Maybe tomorrow," he bargains. While the shower has helped to wake him up, lethargy remains thick and unshakeable as adamant. 

You kiss the wet ridge of his shoulder blade, picturing his pretty face decked out in dark liners and sticky balm. "Thank you." 

"I haven't worn any in a long time. Haven't played a show in a really long time." 

You wring the water out of his hair and search in the steam for his conditioner. It's mostly empty. "You could put on a show for me. I never got to see you play," you say, shaking it really hard. A dollop collects in your hand and you work the dregs through the ends of his long hair. 

"You want that?" 

"I think you're the best guitar player in the world." 

You're not joking. He's the best, and he plays guitar. And he's pretty good, semantics aside. You love sitting out on the porch with him and listening to him play old rock songs off the top of his head. You could watch his hands move over the strings for hours. 

"If that's the case, I can definitely put on a show. Make-up, costume, stage dives. The whole nine yards. Anything for my girl." 

You roll the ends of his hair between two coated palms and step back. "There. You have to let it soak in for a couple of minutes." 

Eddie turns with a grin, angling his chest and hair forward, away from the stream. 

"Whatever will we do?"

You wipe an escaped streak of blood off of his bottom lip and smile. "I have no idea." 

You kiss. Eddie leans down and you move up, damp noses glancing off of each other. You're used to short kisses, never enough to make his heart race in case it prompts an unnecessary appearance of his fangs, so when Eddie encourages your lips apart to wade in deeper you pull back questioningly. 

"Blood sate. I'm 'sated'. They won't come out." 

Your jaw drops. "For real?" 

He shakes his head with a pleased smile. "For real. Kiss me sick, sweetheart." 

You throw your arm around his neck and drag his face to yours, kissing with an ardency that both surprises and amuses him. He laughs into your open mouth until suddenly he's not laughing at all, only breathing, pushing against you with the same urgent force and the same adoring smile. 

"Does this mean you can give me a hickey?" you ask enthusiastically. Eddie has yet to give you a proper love bite.

He leans back under the show spray and pulls you in with him, laughing when you dissolve like rice paper in his arms, finally warm. There's never been a sweeter sound. 

/\^._.^/\

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | my halloween party

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader imagine #eddie munson x reader hurt/comfort #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #vampire!au #vampire!eddie #vampire!eddie munson #vampire eddie au #vampire eddie smut #vampire eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things 4 spoilers #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x afab!reader smut #fem!reader #luveline's halloween party

[kierewrites]

Pumpkin Patch

navi - masterlist

Bakugou x Reader

Mood Song: baby boy

Summary: All week you've been pestering your grumpy boyfriend to visit the local pumpkin patch with your friends. Of course because it's you, he said yes, but he realizes your reasons for wanting to go aren't what he was thinking.

Warnings: The fluffiest fluff fluff can get, some explicit words because it's our little shit Bakugou, I kinda got brain dead at the end but I still think it's cute so I'm posting anyway 눈_눈

This place was Bakugou’s worst nightmare.

Pumpkins of all sizes were littered along the floor with little to no room to walk. Somehow children were able to run through the hazardous pit while fighting over one out of the thousands of pumpkins in the patch.

Worst of all, parents were everywhere forcing their children to wear shitty costumes and take pictures atop the uneven pumpkins. He would never forget the years of torture his mother put him through just to get “cute photos” of him. Honestly he still believed she only did it to piss him off.

Which it did. A lot.

And yet here he was, standing before the large tent of pumpkins he swore he would never return to once he hit the age of free will. Just in case you were wondering, it wasn’t his idea. And surprisingly it wasn’t his friend’s idea either.

It was yours. For some reason you were hell bent on going to one of these patches to pick a pumpkin out for your dorm, and you wanted everyone to come. Why you were so determined on picking one out here rather than a quick and easy convenient store, he didn’t know.

After his friends begged him literally all day to go, it only made him want to decline the offer even more. But when you got him alone and gave him those stupid adorable eyes you always flaunted when you want something, he knew he was fucked.

So begrudgingly he tried to hide his disgust, and stood by your side as you watched the chaotic scene before you with sparkling eyes as if it were Disney World.

“There’s so many!” You exclaimed with a wide grin, quickly bending down to pick up a pumpkin that was almost the size of you and clearly much too heavy as your arms twitched before spinning around to show your friends.

The others seemed way more interested than Bakugou did, marveling at the pumpkin in your hand before Kirishima bent down to grab the large pumpkin from your shaky hold.

“You might want to look for one a bit smaller.” Kirishima chuckled as you let out a pant of relief once the heavy pumpkin was out of your grasp.

“Nah, I t..totally had it.” You said in between heavy breaths with a grin, most of your friends laughing except for Bakugou who clicked his tongue.

Walking beside you with folded arms, the grumpy boy scanned the perimeter of the tent with unimpressed eyes, “Just pick out a damn pumpkin already before you break your fucking back, I’m not carrying your ass home if you do.”

Looking over to your boyfriend you snuck a quick kiss to his cheek, giggling slightly at his startled expression, “Don’t rush me Suki, I’ll just take even longer.”

Bakugou glowered down to you, ready to let a string of curses come out until a bright flash was seen from above. It only took seconds for the horrendous boom to come after, shaking the ground aggressively as the rain followed suit.

Instinctively your hand found its way into Bakugou’s at the startling sound, the ash blond even glancing up at the sudden change in weather.

For a second he almost felt a surge of excitement, this meant he could go home right? But then other sounds filled the air that made him want to blow up the planet.

Children crying, adults shouting, loud wind and rain just adding to the new chaos of the situation.

Bakugou’s friends all let out annoyed groans, the six of you moving under the tent so as not to get drenched by the heavy downpour.

“Talk about bad timing for a storm to show up.” Kaminari groaned with folded arms, the group nodding in agreement as they brought up what they should do next.

Bakugou felt his head growing hotter by the second as his lips formed into a snarl, the weather couldn’t hold out for five more seconds? Now he had to come back another fucking time so you could pick out a damn pumpkin. This was supposed to be a one time deal.

Though he remained silent, it was clear Bakugou’s mind was screaming profanities as he glared at the heavy rain, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

He hadn’t realized he was spacing out until he felt two nudges at his side, vermillion eyes glaring over to see Kirishima looking at him with a concerned expression.

“Y/n okay? She doesn’t look too good bro.”

Bakugou raised a brow, glancing down over to you. Immediately he noticed how closed off your body language had become. Strands of your hair seemed to be intentionally covering most of your face as you watched the patch associate close up the checkout table.

He noticed the corners of your lips curve downwards, and were your eyes getting glossier?

There’s no way you would cry over this. He knew you really wanted to come here, but you rarely cried over anything. Even when you slammed your toe into his bed frame so harshly it bled, you still didn’t cry.

He was glad he rarely got to see those pretty eyes swell with tears, but that meant whenever he did have to see it, his whole world crumbled.

Taking advantage of his distracted friends who were now arguing on how to spend the rest of the day, Bakugou headed over to you, trying to maneuver his way through the mess of pumpkins before nudging your side.

“We’ll come back Y/n.”

The sound of Bakugou’s voice so close to you had you squeak in surprise, you peaked a quick glance at him through the strands of your hair before quickly avoiding his gaze.

“That’s okay Katsuki, I know how much you hate this place.” You said softly, trying to hide the cracks in your voice as you rubbed your hand along your arm to try and calm yourself down.

The ash blond raised a brow at this. Something was definitely wrong, and you had to think he was an idiot not to notice that.

“Y/n quit being fucking stubborn, what’s your problem-” Bakugou started, grabbing your hand that attempted to rub your side until you were forced to look in his eye.

You were biting your lip so hard it was probably about to bleed, most likely a sorry attempt to keep the tears that were threatening to spill from your lashes from actually falling.

“Y/n…” Bakugou grumbled softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek as you hiccuped, the tears now beginning to fall.

The blond brute looked back to see Kirishima already staring at them, concern written in his expression. The two friends send an understanding nod to each other, Kirishima already leading the others to the other side of the tent to give the two of you space. 

“C’mere.” Bakugou mumbled, gently ushering you to sit down on one of the larger pumpkins behind you as he sat on another one besides you, his arm pulling you close to him.

“Now I know my girl isn’t not crying over a damn pumpkin.”

A swell of warmth curled around Bakugou’s chest when a small giggle bubbled from your lips in between your sniffles, “No, m’not.”

Bakugou decided to remain silent, letting you have a few minutes to collect yourself as you attempted to wipe your tears away with your sweater, but he beat you each time with his thumb so you wouldn’t dampen your clothes.

“I know I’ve been… really persistent about coming to this pumpkin patch,” You started, your eyes staring out into the rain as you let out a defeated sigh, “Ever since I moved here from home, I’ve just been really homesick.”

The start of your words had Bakugou freeze, a wave of realization rushing over him but not without a new wave of guilt as he hadn’t even realized how this must have been for you.

No matter what hour or how busy you were, you always found time to call your mom or talk with your friends and family back at home. He knew you loved it here, but moving thousands of miles away from all you know and love must have been so difficult.

Glancing over at Bakugou, you noticed his brows furrow at your words causing you to jump up as you quickly grabbed his hand.

“Not that you guys haven’t treated me so well!” You quickly exclaimed, his eyes meeting your startled ones as you squeezed his hand, “Katsuki you’ve made my transition here so much better, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

For once, Bakugou gave you one of his rare smiles as he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, “But?”

His question had your expression falling again, your eyes staring off behind him as your lips flattened into a straight line.

“But the holidays were so important to my family. Even if we all wanted to go to war with each other, we would always put our differences aside for the holidays.” You spoke with a smile.

“During fall time we would come to a pumpkin patch just like this, all my cousins searching for the best pumpkin for our carving contest. I guess I hoped if I came to one with you guys it would just remind me a bit of home, and I could bring a pumpkin back to my dorm to remind me of them.”

You hadn’t even noticed the gentle tears that returned to your cheeks, and this time Bakugou didn’t wipe them as he was in a trance of his own. All this time you hid the way you felt about your family. Almost a full year of dating and you never mentioned how much the holidays meant to you.

But then again, why would you? Katsuki made it clear he despised the holidays due to his parents smothering him with them each year. He probably shut any idea down that you had, not even realizing how it was affecting you.

Now Bakugou really felt like a piece of shit. He had been such an asshole the entire way here thinking you were acting like a two year old, when really you just missed your family.

The last thing you expected was to hear your boyfriend growl beside you, though when you looked up he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the patch associate.

He would be damned if he just watched you feel this way for the whole rest of the year. He was your boyfriend, it was his job to keep you happy. It was his job to make this city feel the closest to home it possibly could. And he would really be damned if he wasn’t going to be the best fucking boyfriend you’ve ever had, hopefully the only one you’ll ever have.

“Don’t you dare fucking close this place up,” Bakugou yelled from across the tent, startling the young man as he looked over to see the six of you still there, “It’s nowhere near closing time buddy.”

Your head perked up at the sound of this, not only you but the rest of his friends looking at the ash blond before he glared in their direction, “All of you start searchin around.”

You blinked owlishly at him as his vermillion orbs landed on your own, softening slightly as he took your features in.

“Katsuki, we really don’t need to. I was just being dramatic-” You started, attempting to stand up on your own before his hand gripped your own and yanked you up into his arms, effectively interrupting your words.

“We aren’t leaving here until we find the best fucking pumpkin.”

At this your friends all cheered, a warm smile spreading across your cheeks as you squeezed his hand excitedly, “Really Katsuki?”

Bakugou wiped what was left of your dried tears before moving his hand in yours, “Really princess.”

Bakugou would be lying if he said his heart didn’t do a flip as he saw that beautiful smile flash across your lips, but he also would never admit that in his entire life.

So instead he walked in front of you and tugged you along through the patch of pumpkins with his usual scowl on his face.

“And try not to trip on any of these pumpkins while you’re at it,” The ash blond growled even though he was carefully paving a clear trail for you to follow behind him, “I wasn’t lyin before, I’m not carrying your ass back.”

Letting out a giggle you tugged his arm harshly causing him to stumble back to you, which you gladly took as an opportunity to place a serious yet brief kiss on his lips, admiring the way his cheeks glowed as you hugged his side.

“Seriously, thank you Katsuki.”

Bakugou gently squeezed your hand in response, his way of appreciating your gratitude before continuing his ungraceful walk through the path.

You bumped into your friends a few times as they went on their hunt for a pumpkin, but eventually you and Bakugou parted ways, getting quite determined to find the best shaped pumpkin in the patch.

Occasionally Bakugou would glance up to see you gracefully maneuvering amongst the pumpkins, most likely from your years of experience with your family. He couldn’t help but smile to himself each time your eyes lit up upon seeing a possible pumpkin to grab.

To be honest, he really didn’t care which one he grabbed. He only pretended to look so he could sneak a few glances your way. Meanwhile, you were deep in concentration. Your knife skills weren’t exactly perfect, so getting a pumpkin big enough to withstand your “crafty” mistakes was important.

Glancing around at the pumpkins around him, Bakugou chuckled slightly at the sight of a rather awkward pumpkin. The stem was practically chopped off, probably kicked or torn off by some bratty child. One side was distinctly higher than the other, making the lumpy object look deformed.

Grinning deviously, the ash blond tugged the pumpkin in his arms before calling your name, his grin growing wider to see your eyes filled with excitement.

“This one looks like your ass.”

Why you had any thought in your mind that perhaps your boyfriend was trying to help you, you had no idea. As soon as your eyes fell on the rather depressing pumpkin, your lips puckered out into an annoyed pout, your eyes following suit with a sharp glare.

This earned a loud snort from Bakugou, the ash blond finding your change in mood apparently hilarious.

You’ll make sure to remember that comment the next time he tries to grope you like the little shit he was, then he’ll eat his words.

The sound of Mina whispering your name amongst his laughter had you glancing up to see her pointing to the pile of awkwardly shaped squash where she was standing.

Immediately your brains clicked with the perfect idea, you grins matching each other as you hopped amongst the pumpkins to pick out one of the smaller squashes.

“Katsuki!” You exclaimed in an excited tone, his head whipping from his friends who he started to talk to over to you holding the pathetic looking squash, “This one looks like you’re dick, asshole.”

Bakugou’s once wide grin fell into an expression of shock before a scowl came across his lips as you and his friends bursted into laughter. For someone so aggressive, he sure was sensitive.

That’s one of the reasons Bakugou came to like you. Even though you were kind and gentle, you were also confident and didn’t take shit from anyone. Any normal girl, except for maybe Mina, wouldn’t be caught dead saying something like that to him. Yet here you were, making fun of his package, inaccurately at that.

“Oh you think you’re funny you little shit?” Bakugou hissed, storming his way over to you as you continued your obnoxious laughter.

Both the sight and sound of him growing near made your heart race, your arms instinctively pushing out against him as you bursted into giggles, to which he instinctively grabbed both your wrists and lifted you up sideways with ease.

You could feel the rumbling of his maniacal laughs as you held on tightly to his neck, whatever he was about to do was not going to be favorable to you.

“Bakugou? What are you doing?” You asked cautiously, the sound of the rain getting louder as you whipped your head to the nearing edge of the tent, “Katsuki?”

The onslaught of questions seemed to go in one ear and out the other as you both neared the edge of the tent that was barely protecting you from the pounding rain.

“I swear you better not do this!” You shrieked, keeping a vice grip on your boyfriend’s neck as you dug deep crescents into his skin, “Katsuki don’t-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence before cool water began to soak against your back and side, a shrill shriek escaping your lips as you tried to protect what was left of your dry body under the tent.

If you thought Bakugou’s laugh was loud before, this would’ve been a howl of laughter then. As much as he loved you, he loved putting you in your place even more.

Unlucky for him, you were just as stubborn.

Gritting your teeth you lifted your leg that was behind his torso and swiped it against the back of his knee, causing his legs to buckle forward as he stumbled outside the tent with your drenched body.

Quickly Bakugou used his hand to let out a small blast so that way his body took the fall of the concrete, his arms wrapping tightly around you so you wouldn’t land uncomfortably.

Once he confirmed you were okay, his lips formed into a scowl as he flipped you over once again so you were beneath his fiery gaze.

“You are such a little brat.” Bakugou growled, though he had a smile on his face as your giggles drowned out the sound of the moody weather.

Even with your clothes drenched and your makeup slightly running down your face, you looked beautiful. So perfectly you, and all his.

Thankfully the ash blond’s body was able to deflect any drops of rain from falling into your eyes, allowing you to properly look up at him to see the rare smiles he shared just for you.

Attempting to place a kiss on his nose, Bakugou instead grabbed your chin and led your lips to his own. Whenever he was like this with you, nothing in the world mattered at all. Not his friends, not the pouring rain, nothing. Just you and him.

Smiling through the kiss you held on to the back of his head, your fingers seeping into his soaked strands of hair to pull you closer into his embrace.

Though you didn’t want to, you broke away from the kiss, already waiting to see those frustrated eyes look back at you.

“We should probably pick out a pumpkin so that poor guy can go home.” You said with a chuckle, the ash blond rolling off you until you let out an excited gasp.

Raising a brow he glanced over to see you already clumsily dashing up, nearly slipping in the process, and running towards the patch to pick up a smaller pumpkin. Bakugou followed after you to get out of the rain, stripping off his wet jacket before examining the pumpkin you placed in his hands.

Much to his surprise, it was white. Not orange like the normal pumpkins, just a light cream color with a curly stem.

“The hell do you want that one for?”

While squeezing at the tips of your hair in an attempt to dry it off, you offered him a soft smile.

“Because it reminds me of you.”

You saw the immediate confusion in his eyes, and maybe even a bit of annoyance perhaps at the thought that you were still teasing him. Rolling your eyes you ruffled your fingers through his messy ash locks before pointing to the ash colored pumpkin, his eyes widening in realization.

“You are so fucking corny Y/n.” Bakugou hissed, a small blush on his cheeks as he grabbed your hand and led you back to your friends who seemed to have pumpkins of his own.

Letting out a laugh you squeezed his hand as he placed both your pumpkins down and paid the poor associate.

“You know you love it, tough guy.”

Bakugou hid his face from your smug gaze, though he knew it wasn’t doing much justice since his usually wild locks were glued damp to his head.

“Whatever, let’s just get the fuck back so I can beat all you losers in this carving contest.”

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou #katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x you #mha #bnha #short fic #soft #sfw #bakugou is rlly mean but he loves you

[woodsfae]

Babylon 5 s02e16: In the Shadow of Z'ha'dum s02 ToC • previous episode

Dislike that they're turning the Narn refugees back unless they're injured. At least they're taking the injured, but damn, Earth won't take any refugees, even temporarily? That's awful.

Vir: Stop asking me things with uncomfortable answers. It makes me uncomfortable.

Not a great time to be a Centauri with a shred of a conscience, but a political position. Especially gross to be anyone dealing with fuckhead the asshole. Mor something?

Great hate speech by Vir, he's come a long way in expressing himself. It would be nice to see Shadow-lackey die a terrible death.

I, personally, would not name any kind of ship or vessel which I wished to remain in one piece, the Icarus. I'm not superstitious superstitious but I am a little superstitious. Don't wanna get on a submersible boat named Titan Titanic, either. Just seems like tempting fate. Or if not fate, then getting mocked in memes by teenagers after your ironic death.

Dun dun dun!! Shadow asshat was supposed to have died on the Icarus with Anna! Is she dead? Is any of that crew dead?

Morden. And he's on the station!

I reflexively distrust and dislike every single person who comes onto the station specifically to see Talia. Matt Stoner. Every PsiCorps episode. That time Kosh and the Guy With The Good Hat indulged in a little, light, mental torture to evaluate her. People just fuck with Talia and she deserves a break and a nice episode where she kisses Susan and relaxes a little.

This security guard taking Morden aside looks a lot like Willem Dafoe. But I don't think he is. Probably?

Morden's playing it slick, but Sheridan is in a bad bad mood. He's got a good explanation. He's a damned liar and he's AWOL. Just because he was assumed KIA doesn't mean he isn't still obligated to report back to duty.

But of course, Sheridan prefers to threaten him with making his legal status become his actual physical status (dead).

It makes sense that someone who's seen as much trauma and been traumatized as much as Stephen Franklin would need to talk it out. And it makes sense that he would have lowered inhibitions and feel compelled to talk about it when he's in the middle of another traumatic scenario. But the religious musings spoken through the characters' mouths is pretty tedious and not my favorite aspect.

Gross earthforce spy network setup.

Garibaldi being the voice of reason and urging adherence to moral guidelines is hilarious. Maybe that's what he needs: someone who's more of a loose cannon than he is, to keep in line.

This dichotomy is dumb. Message earthforce and be like "May I detain this AWOL member of earthforce that, surprise, isn't dead!" They're so suspicious and fascist right now, of course they'll support detaining him!

Idk if Talia going to help violate Morden's rights or not. And idk what Vir is going to disclose! Exciting!

The Centauri must go through so much hairspray. Vir's hair hardly even wobbles as he bobbles.

Literally it seems like all of thise would be resolved by calling Earthforce and telling them Morden's alive. I really don't understand why Sheridan isn't using the might of Earthforce to do all this with full military backing and support.

Two creepy shadow being accompanying Morden! I don't like that at all!

People really need to stop using Talia's abilities against her and to manipulate her into using telepathy against her better judgement and against the literal law. Super dickish. Sheridan's making a lot of indefensible calls in this one.

They need a therapist or twenty on board.

The Vorlon are so funny. All of the lesser races are as bugs to us….the Minbari are the best bugs and we prefer the best bugs to any of you annoying ones.

Deep Lore Dump.

The Ancients (who haven't "walked among us" in ten thousand years) fought the First Ones and (?) the Shadows over the millennia. They haven't been around since the last Great War. The Minbari were a space-going civilization at the time! Damn! No wonder they're so elitist! They've Seen It All.

So…Vorlons are some of the Ancients? Or at least they sheltered Kosh, an Ancient among their ranks? Wild that "everyone" will recognize him if he's out of his encounter suit. Or perhaps Kosh's idea of everyone is "everyone who knew me ten thousand years ago," lol.

Very grim outcome for the crew of the Icarus, but it does make me think that Anna will be back.

Anytime there's a debate about allowing mass death and atrocities for some future greater good, I don't care. Save the people in front of you. This WWII story is grim af. iirc, Britain was great at catching German spies. I should think they could totally have evacuated Coventry secretly. Really grim.

"What did you see?" "Nothing. Shadows."

Ewwww gross, Zach the security guard is going to be an earthforce informer. I really, really do not like the implications of a group of people with armbands being spread around to intimidate the populace.

This is a good decision by Sheridan. He's good at war, and it will be better for him to turn his energy into beating an ancient evil than to spin his wheels at B5.

Kosh saying he will die if he goes to Z'ha'dum doesn't mean he'll die if he fights the Shadows, imo. Many things in this show seem to revolve around loopholes, semantics, and pedantry. What if the Shadow leaves Z'ha'dum and is defeated in another place? That's a Sheridan-worthy escape clause from Prophecy of Doom.

next episode

#babylon 5 #b5 #morden #that asshole #john sheridan #woodsfae gif #john sheridan x human rights violations #garibaldi x newly discovered ethical principles #woodsfae b5

[nonuggetshere]

PLS elaborate on ur hollow gets found out scenarios I beg

RUBS MY HANDS TOGETHER LIKE A FLY

HERE'S A FEW

The most developed one (and one that even has its own variants) involves their first training session. They've been practising moves for a while and it was finally time to check their combat skills in a battle. Of course, they're like...7, so the knights go easy on them. Still, the hits hurt, and after 2 or 3 more they just burst into tears and can't stop crying even when the knights drop everything and try to comfort them. Pale King was watching them and is absolutely horrified, but pushes his impending emotional crisis away to go comfort his kid. Dryya is also the one that hit them and she's also absolutely horrified and feels guilty.

In another version, that's a variant of FaaF because of course it is, Pale King sort of breaks down one day early on because fuck he loves that kid so much and he wasn't supposed to love them, and they look so much like him and his beloved wife and it just crushes him. He's suddenly regretting all of it, regretting not keeping at least one egg. And when they're alone and he looks at them he finally just breaks down and falls to his knees. And then after a while of crying and apologising, he feels two little hands pet his head.

In a similar vibe to that one, there's one where Pale King and White Lady visibly mourn the child they think is dead, and after realising it PV decides to reveal themself. They end up getting named Joy in that one.

There's one that involves Pale King using weird mind powers on them. Basically, he links their minds together briefly to make sure they're hollow, expecting complete emptiness as he was so sure of his plan working out, only to be met with a very tiny very scared child instead.

There's a version where they just do not vibe with being taken away from their siblings and go back to the Abyss's door and scratch at it and cry, and Pale King finds them there like that.

There's one where they're having a bad dream or dreaming about having a normal life and loving parents (ouch) and they wake up crying. It's early in the day so one of the knights goes to wake them up and get them to the training grounds, but instead they find them crying in their bed.

There's one where Radiance realises they're not hollow very early on and decides to infect them. She can't do anything with a little kid, she just decided to be a spiteful bitch and hit Pale King where it hurts. She pushed her luck though because he's had enough and he's going to show her what a pissed-off wyrm is capable of. They recover, thankfully, but holy shit what a horrible way to find out.

SPEAKING OF HORRIBLE WAYS TO FIND OUT

The last idea is quite dark, so I'm gonna out it under a readmore

TW: physical abuse and child abuse, if you're sensitive to these topics please just skip that last one

The last one involves a staff member who decided to use PV as a punching bag to deal with their stress and problems because they weren't alive so it wasn't wrong, right? But they don't stop either when the poor kid starts crying and makes it clear that they are alive and hurt by this.

Thankfully, Pale King hears a kid crying and goes to check it out and walks in on this. And he damn near murders that fucker right there and then. The only reason he stops himself and calls the guards instead was because he didn't want his kid to see that, but he did scream his head off at the scumbag and gave them quite a bit of scratches after he threw himself between them and PV.

He coaxes PV from under the bed where they hid and gently pulls them onto his lap. They're still sobbing and sniffling and he tries to get them to show him where it hurts all the while speaking softly to them and rocking them in his lap. They pat their tummy and squeal quietly when he puts his hand on it, but calm down as he heals them. He then just holds them on his lap and comforts them for a long time, all the while rubbing their belly to try and soothe it.

#asks #I kinda went off on the last one but it makes me very emotional and I love me a parent who goes feral to protect their child #I could go on into more detail on the rest but I don't wanna make it TOO long so!! #If any of y'all wanna hear more about a specific version just send me an ask #Also there are variations where they're found out in early teens and late teens too #PV getting found out in general is my favourite flavour of AU tbh #I also tend to go off into little minifics/drabbles in my friend's dms so there's a 50/50 chance I might drop a drabble on u if you do #follow up on some of these ideas

[bucky-h0e]

A/n: Sam is now apart of the family! I am taking requests for this. I have a lot of scenarios lined up for this series and am very excited for it! I am creating a taglist so if you enjoy it and would like to get notified, please make sure ot ask!

Feedback is always welcome!

Serendipity Masterlist

Main Masterlist

How Sam met Alpine

It wasn't like Bucky was keeping Alpine a secret from Sam

No, it was the fact that for the longest time, Sam was sure Bucky got a cat

Bucky talked about Alpine a lot, normally just to vent about the weird ass shit she got up to

he thought it was pretty obvious that she was his neighbour

but I guess starting every daily conversation with "hey guess what Alpine did today..." like a proud stage mom doesn't help

It started off when Sam and Bucky had gone out for drinks a couple of weeks after Bucky and Alpine had their first 'family' dinner

"Alpine knocked over a few glasses today, just out of the blue. Completely for no reason."

"Shit happens i guess."

the next day, there was another thing

"So, Alpine just comes over and smacks my arm, like i was the one in the wrong. I didn't even do anything!"

sam laughs it off

"Kids these days man" Sam thinks it a funny joke because Bucky is a cat-dad

Bucky is confused because should a 21 year old just be smacking men?

is that a crime?

A few weeks later, they're training with the shield and Bucky shares more stories during their break

"I bought some straws, just cause my teeth were getting sensitive, with ice - shut the fuck up Sam, I know you have those weird ass straws that look like glasses - anyway, Alpine just keeps chewing them. Nothing else, just chewing."

Sam is starting to think that Bucky is going to start an Instagram account for this cat

"I also bought a plant yesterday, I went to the store for milk, came back and it had a bite mark in it."

"A bite mark?"

"Alpine BIT my plant. It's dead. She's a murderer Sam."

Honestly, Sam thought that either Bucky had never met a cat before

OR

Bucky adopted a crackhead instead of a cat

(little does he know, that's exactly what happened)

"So I wake up at 2AM yeah, there she is. Stood over me, staring at me, nibbling on a chip."

"Dude, get an exorcist or something, jesus christ"

Honestly, Sam was happy for Bucky

truly, he was

BUT if he had to hear anymore stories about this damn cat

he was going to sign up for a long mission abroad

maybe Greece

Athens

they have crimes, right?

And for a while, it was silent

Sam had invited Bucky to a family cookout and Bucky seemed to enjoy himself

he was getting along with Sam's family

playing with his nephews

honestly, he seemed happy

at the end of the day though, there was the mention of that damn cat

"Next time, I'll bring Alpine. She'd love this."

"That and she shouted at me for leaving her out."

he probably just meant that she was meowing and hissing at him

he suddenly liked this cat

i mean, how bad could it be if it was hissing at Bucky

then again

what was this sudden obsession with a cat

it was a bit worrying

it wasn't like it was a person he could talk to and laugh with

not like a friend

Bucky was on his way to become the crazy old cat lady from the 1940s

and as much as Sam wanted to see it

Steve would have killed him if he let Bucky do that to himself

a few months later, Sam decided to see what this whole weird relationship was between Bucky and his cat

see if he needed an intervention or something

of course Bucky was confused when there was a knock on the door

Alpine would have just burst in (she'd gotten very confident that he wouldn't just throw her out of the door)

it would be incredibly valid

he's even more confused when he opens it to Sam holding a packet of cat treats and a pack of beer

"Thought i'd drop in and see the little furball"

"furball- what?" it's too late

Sam is already walking around the flat going pspspsppsps

he's actually quite offended that Alpine didn't greet him at the door

what was her dad teaching her?!

"Sam... what are you doing."

"I'm calling for the devil, obviously"

"The devil? Sam-"

"Here kitty kitty"

HONESTLY

these men have zero communication skills

it's only when the devil herself walks into Bucky's flat holding a bunch of receipts that Sam looks at Bucky worriedly

who the fuck was this girl

why is she walking into his apartment

uninvited

holding receipts

"Hey Buck, I know thinks may have changed since the 40s but like... what are taxes and how do I pay them."

WHO IS THIS WOMAN?!

Bucky looks physically drained already

"Kid... have you not been paying your taxes?"

"Have you?"

"YES! IT'S ILLEGAL NOT TO!"

the girl deadass scoffs

"Ha, okay mr winter soldier."

"kid i sWEAR TO GOD"

she just mocked-

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS KID

"Who are you?"

"Oh! Falcon, Sam Wilson right? I'm Alpine."

Bucky rolls his eyes

He will find out her real name

one day

"You're human."

"..."

"..."

"I hadn't noticed that, thank you."

slowly, Sam haned her the cat treats and she just nodded

though she looked at Bucky like

wtf

is this an avengers thing?

is she being indoctrinated?

she cant fight

she would literally die

she has the fighting capability of a raw pork sausage

the most she could do was T pose at them

"Thank.... you?"

"I thought you were a cat..."

a moment of silence

".... why?"

"I mean... there was the time you knocked over the glasses"

"they were disgusting, it was a mercy killing"

"you bit his plant"

"Killed my plant"

"i didn't like the way it was looking at me, it was giving very Loki in 2012 trying to take over Stark tower vibes."

"plants... plants don't have eyes"

"And Loki was just a myth, now here we are."

Sam can't put his frustration into words and Bucky is grinning

because FINALLY

someone else gets to deal with this kid

"Buck I thought you had a cat"

"I'm allergic to cats Sam"

Of course he is

he couldn't have just gotten a dog

or a bird

maybe even a lizard

but no

he had to just adopt a random kid

a random kid.... that was trying to eat cat treats

"HEY!"

Bucky never turned so quickly to grab the packet of treats

"Alpine, no!"

honestly she's pissed

she just wanted to do her taxes

then she met Sam

but then he presented her with the chance to eat some cat treats?

she was just curious

intrusive thoughts always win with Alpine

damn

sulking, she sits herself down on the couch, watching as Bucky chucks the treats on the chair next to it

Sam stands with his arms crossed, still confused as hell

"What kind of a name is Alpine? You some sort of agent or something? Or are your parents just weird?"

"bro i don't know, ask bucky"

Sam looks scandalised

Bucky named a random girl in his building

"Bucky wtf man"

"Not like that, it sounds weird when you say it like that"

"Buck a random kid just walks into your- WHY IS SHE EATING THE CAT TREATS?!"

Bucky has never tackled anyone so fast

"ALPINE!"

Sam can't believe his eyes

he didn't know if a cat was better or worse

but, he had to admit

watching Bucky struggle, in all his super soldier strength, to get Alpine to stop eating things designed for animals?

that shit was entertaining

It was obvious that they were close

fighting like siblings

Bucky cared enough about her to make her stop eating shit not meant for humans

Bucky seemed happy

and that was good enough for Sam

besides

they could terrorise this man together and never get bored

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky and alpine #alpine the cat #alpine #bucky barnes #bucky and sam #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes series #james barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier fluff #winter soldier #winter soldier fic #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson #falcon #mcu bucky barnes #mcu fic #mcu imagine #marvel cinematic universe

[callsign-bunnie]

For horror night: valeria getting possesed by some demon/spirit during a mission while she's still in the military. up to you where it goes from there but I would love if you included some alederia, pls <3

I'm gonna go a little differently (just a little) so she's still Valeria, not some demon in Valeria's body. Anyway, this is for Horror Night!

--

Rodolfo had seen the change, immediately. Valeria could see it in his eyes. Valeria's soul had been mangled.

They'd barely came for her. Of course, Alejandro and Rodolfo had. But no one else had. They were just going to leave her for dead. Worse than dead, in Valeria's case.

Whatever that monster had done had destroyed her soul.

And of course, everyone else had acted like so grateful to see her, so glad she was alive. None of them touched her with the same reverence as Alejandro and Rodolfo. None of them seemed nearly as grateful.

Not as grateful as she wanted them to be. She wanted them to fucking burn.

But Rodolfo noticed. She could see it in her own eyes. There was nothing there. He'd tell Alejandro. There was nothing she could do to stop that. But... did she care?

Alejandro would barely believe him. She was such a good actor and Alejandro would do anything to keep the reality that Valeria was fine and alive.

It'd been such a disturbing sight that they likely walked into. Valeria, bathed in her own blood, barely able to move. Babbling in latin.

Valeria had seen nothing but horror in Alejandro's eyes. He'd tried to tell her she'd be okay, but that was already such a lie. She wasn't fine. She was destroyed.

She decided to corner Rodolfo, anyway. "Rudy." She sighed, backing him against a table so he couldn't get away. "You're avoiding me."

Rodolfo tensed, "no, I'm not." She knew he'd lie. He always did.

"Rodolfo." She glared at him and he shrank back, something he was only willing to do for her and Ale. She'd gotten better at an intense glare. Or maybe she didn't worry about holding it back. "I know you're lying."

"You're different."

Valeria shrugged. "Maybe. Doesn't mean you avoid me."

Rodolfo seemed surprised and then frowned. "I... what happened to you, Val?"

Valeria looked at him and wondered if he could handle the truth. He looked so hesitant. He was so interesting to her, even before. Smaller than both her and Alejandro, but... He made up for that in defiance.

She'd watched him defy direct orders and have just enough audacity that he got away with it. But even now... she knew if she showed him, he'd flinch away from her. Because he'd never had that defiance for her. Or Alejandro.

She wanted to see him flinch. She wanted to see the terror in his eyes. She leaned close to him and blinked her eyes. She'd discovered them on accident. It'd scared the shit out of her. Deep black, like the sky above the ocean at night.

Rodolfo jumped back, slamming into the table. "What the fuck??"

Valeria laughed, softly. She had gotten the reaction she wanted. "Alejandro won't believe you, you know." She got close to him, putting her hands on the table on either side of him.

Rodolfo tensed, she could hear his heart beating, faster than it should be. This was fantastic. Maybe being mangled wasn't so bad if she could cause this reaction whenever she wanted.

Rodolfo looked away from her and took deep breaths, clearly trying to keep calm. She knew he was likely trying to convince himself this wasn't happening.

"You wanna see just how different I am, Rudy?" She murmured, letting her voice turn mockingly soft. "Want to see what I can make myself look like, now? I think it'd really get your heartbeat racing... I can hear it..."

Rodolfo shook his head. "Stop it, Valeria." It held no strength, no command.

Valeria reached up and trailed her fingers down his neck. She dug a nail in, breaking the skin easily. Rodolfo winced and she heard his heart speed up just slightly more.

She swiped up the blood and then pressed her finger to her mouth. She liked the taste, she found. "Tell Alejandro if you want. He's just going to laugh. Tell you you're being ridiculous."

"Why are you being so cruel?" Rodolfo met her eyes for a moment before flinching away again. "I don't understand."

"This is love, isn't it?" Valeria shrugged. "Taking something I want."

"No!" Rodolfo shook his head. "Love is... care and softness and taking only what you can give back."

"That's weakness." Valeria grabbed his face, making him look at her eyes. She liked the fear she saw there. "You two try to love me..." She murmured. "But it wasn't enough. It didn't stop the change in me."

Rodolfo seemed to soften and she saw guilt spread through his face. "We tried! We found you as soon as we could!"

"But you still failed." Valeria cooed, chuckling. "You couldn't save me."

Rodolfo slumped and he looked so defeated. He really was so sweet.

"Tell Alejandro." She let go and backed away. "It'll be fun to see him laugh you off."

Then she let him be, bored with him.

#bunnie's horror night #yellow #Rodolfo Parra #Rodolfo COD #Alejandro Vargas #Alejandro COD #Valeria Garza #Valeria COD #Valeria x Alejandro x Rodolfo

[lewdladylily]

Hiya, how have the holidays been for you? We had pork ribs/belly, angeldicks (sausages :P), mashed potatoes +more on xmas eve and it was delicious! Newyears eve was turkey day, I'm so stuffed and for once it's food and not by toys or dicks xD Glad we have the cabin to go to so Em and the kitten don't have to be freaked out by the fireworks. -Anna

The holidays have been pretty good. Some nice family events, it was a lot of fun watching my daughter open presents. Exhausting though, my daughter hasn't been the easiest lately. And fewer opportunities to do lewd things while she is on winter break is disappointing of course. But things are generally going well.

There is one fun thing I've been able to do somewhat consistently over the holidays. I don't know how much I've talked about it on here, but Raven has been training me in endurance walking while wearing high heels, with the basic goal of working me up to pony boots. The idea is it helps me get in my regular exercise and lets us indulge in one of our favorite kinks, pony play. I started back in October I think, using some ankle boots with a block heel that was fairly high. I've been walking in place, its the most practical thing right now, but I would love to get a treadmill for this someday. Maybe I will if I keep this up long enough, prove it wont be a waste of money. For the time being I am using a metronome to keep me on pace and a timer.

Anyway, I was becoming pretty expert in walking in heels like that, so mistress decided it was time for a step up in difficulty and bought me some thigh high boots with a 6" spike heel for Christmas.

I love my new boots so much. The feel so good to wear, nice and tight with some resistance when I bend my knee without hindering movement, and they are a lot of fun to walk in. I was pleased to find that my experience with easier heels transferred quite well to these boots and I could easily walk around short distances from the start, but they are significantly harder in terms of endurance. It's the balance. Not that I feel like I am going to fall over, but keeping your balance is a full body effort. You have to keep disciplined, not letting yourself tilt or let your posture get too bad, and you have to step straight and distribute your weight correctly because the heel barely helps with any of that.

The result is that before with my ankle boots it was fun, but this really feels like pony play training. I've always loved pony play kink, and one of my favorite fantasies involving it is being made to walk until I am too exhausted to continue, then fucked to orgasm (or excessive edging, depending on how masochistic I am feeling) while dead exhausted, dripping in sweat, and unable to resist even if I wanted to. Pony training with these boots plus edging during my breaks and after my training is finished has been an excellent approximation of that fantasy.

Hopefully at some point I can upgrade to true pony boots, but even then I am sure I'll be enjoying these boots regularly.

I'm actually just about to go do a training session now, boots on and everything, just decided I should answer this before I did.

Oh, and I am sure some people are wondering so I might as well say it here, I'm still in denial from last time I reported it I believe, with my last real orgasm back on September 15, and my last ruin on October 11th. I don't anticipate my next orgasm being all that soon either, we've just not had enough time to do things so I've not been worked up into the kind of horny mess Mistress likes me to be. Hopefully we can change that soon :)

Thank you for the ask!

#lily talks

[tokillamockingbird427]

What if Keegan proposes to Fed Logan, which breaks him out of his brainwashing?

I can make this comedy based prompt angsty.

And I'm going to.

Logan comes back, but he's wrong. He's angry and hateful and he just wants them all dead.

Keegan can't stand it of course, he loves him.

And maybe a bit of Logan loves him back still... because Keegan is his first target.

It's horrible. Logan's not alone, he brought help, but Keegan knows it's a lot harder for said help to coordinate if their tactician (Logan) isn't communicating with them.

Keegan's just buying time, he's a distraction, really not much else. And it's just like Sand Viper isn't it? He's back to betting his life to buy time for someone else.

But he figures this time, he doesn't have the company of 14 other dead men to keep him company. So he talks to Logan.

Just kinda... what's been going on. Kick dyed his hair. Hesh managed to get the number of this cute barista while they were on leave for a week, they've been texting non-stop. Merrick finally figured out an edible cookie recipe, though they don't quite hold up to Logan's.

Maybe it pisses Logan off more, being told that they're doing okay without him there.

Maybe Keegan talking to him like a human being, like a friend, is doing some good.

Logan doesn't tell.

Predictably, he's getting his ass whooped. Keegan kept Logan on a chase for him as long as he could because he knew a physical fight can only last so long, around three minutes for an average Joe so they can go seven-ish because they're trained, but as soon as the guns were out of hand he knew he was gonna lose.

Few reasons. He's playing defense, he doesn't have the heart to try and win this fight, Logan's gotten really good at hand to hand while he's been gone... Keegan just knows he's not walking away.

Hey, it sucks, but he's dying next to a friend, so it's not all that bad, right?

Logan doesn't laugh at the joke.

They keep boxing.

Logan gets the upper hand on him, somehow. He's on the ground. There's a lot of one sided punches being thrown.

Not Keegan's face, there's a few that land there, but most are in areas more likely to hurt than kill. His torso: shoulders, chest, and stomach. Wind keeps getting knocked out of him, over and over again. He realizes he can't talk anymore because of it, and maybe that's the point.

Logan's arms get tired or something. Maybe his knuckles are sore. Either way, he starts kicking and stomping instead of hitting.

But hey, Keegan can... kinda talk again. Wind-killing blows are further between... relatively.

Something clicks right in his mind, somehow. He's panicking a bit and it's harder to think. Human, when you realize you're dying and or are going to die, everything kicks into overdrive.

"Remember the proposals--"

And it's probably a mistake to open his stupid literally bloody mouth again, because now Logan's legs are tired or something and the blonde it on top of him.

He's gained a lot of weight, is the first thing Keegan realizes, because Logan's just kneeled on his chest and everything is on one point and it's hard to breathe again.

Honestly, he doesn't know how he's still conscious at this point.

It feels like his ribs are going to crack, then there's a pop and yeah one of them just did, but that's a bit of a minor concern because Logan's throttling the life out of him.

He still doesn't say anything, but Keegan thinks he can hear him growling. Hard to differentiate between that and the blood screaming in his ears.

Though the eyes... he gets the message there. Even without words, he knows Logan wants him to shut the hell up right fucking now.

But he's just got one thing to say.

"Should have said yes."

It comes out more "Shdhevvsss." because he is choking to death. He can literally feel his windpipe starting to give a bit, and he guesses maybe Logan's dragging it out because he's definitely smart enough to realize something as simple as a pen can put Keegan out and he wouldn't be able to do shit about it.

He wants to get the point across through, desperately.

Hands are weak. He can't feel his fingers or toes and there's... static in his brain.

Barely manages to maneuver a hand around Logan's and through the fog to tug at the chain around his neck, most of which is stuck under his hands.

Just trying to get Logan to realize it's there. He's bad at humor, but he tries sometimes. He's been holding onto something for a while, waiting for a good chance...

Like Logan always did. Good chances and he'd pop out some ring shaped object, drop to a knee, silly grin with that look in his eyes. And the first few times he'd ask, "Marry me?" and Keegan knew even then he was whipped because those little whispers, all for him, just for him, those were enough to get his heart to skip around like a little rabbit. Hop hop hop hop. The other times he didn't need to because Keegan knew the joke.

In return to Logan's little game he'd make his own jokes... "How cheap is that? I'm an expensive man." "A ring that small? My fingers aren't that tiny." "No, it's cloudy today and that's a bad omen."

Why he was saying no... it became more about continuing the game than making jokes. If he wanted to end it he would but he didn't. He liked that Logan wanted him, even if it was a game.

He's got a different joke this time though. Figured now's the last chance, pretty much the first too, that he'll get to say it.

The day's weather had been shit, humid, warm, at the same time cloudy. It was too big a ring, way too big. And it was definitely cheap, made to be tossed away and lost as soon as it lost its singular purpose.

He's not sure why this one specifically. Logan had proposed with a ring pop before, a cheap plastic toy you'd get from those 25 cent prize ball things, a random twist of colored wire, even a legitimate ring with good metal and pretty stones...

It's just a grenade pin. But Keegan held onto it. Kept it right next to his dog tags, all this time.

Tugs on the chain, again and again. Not sure if Logan's seeing it, realizing... he should. He has an eye for small details... Keegan just doesn't know because he can't see anymore.

And then he's gone, slipping off to inky darkness, unsure if the joke landed or not.

#call of duty #call of duty ghosts #logan walker #keegan p russ #walruss #my writing #fanfiction #angst

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

I am 👀👀👀👀 the ghost AU

Maybe to give Lilith a modicum of a defense for killing Ava she walks into the room, sees 2 dead bodies (one of them being the nun surgeon who was the last person with the Halo) and a girl covered in blood and with the Halo scar, and just reacts? Or even better, the monk/priest dude (who has been hiding) screeches something about her rising from the dead and Lilith's first thought is "a demon has the Halo" and kills her?

Also to continue to fuck with Lilith, maybe the halo fuckery allows her to feel/see/or hear ghost Ava and Shannon, which would also be a great reduction in mental health points for her.

Oh yeah, I'm sure Lilith felt justified in killing Ava. I think it just becomes apparent pretty quickly that she was probably wrong about it. Very bad times for her.

I'm imagining that not only can she sense Shannon and Ava when they're near, but the Halo starts acting weird too, not because it's angry with her or anything, it's just confused. It's like "wait, that's my Bearer. Wait, THAT'S my Bearer! But this one’s my Bearer too??!!" It's a divine computer working on overdrive with no Task Manager to force a reset.

So Lilith feels like she's losing it. She's dreaming about Shannon and seeing glimpses of her and Ava. The Halo won't follow her commands which makes her question her worthiness. And you just know she doesn't bring it up to anyone else. Give credence to the naysayers? Damage her team's faith in her leadership? No way. Of course, the girls know that something is up anyway because 1) they know Lilith and 2) they're seeing weird ghost shit too.

Shannon is doing her damndest to make contact with Mary, trying to leave her notes and show up in her dreams. Beatrice keeps thinking she hears someone running into things around her, because Ava is a simp who can't stop mooning over the pretty nun every time she and Shannon pass by. Camila probably keeps noticing weird computer glitches, like bits of code or plain text that read like someone trying talk to her, because Ava finds out she can mess around with electronics.

Making contact is a slow and painful process. Ava is still really freaked out by being in Cat’s Cradle, and Shannon coaxes her to talk about what happened in St. Michael’s, and even agrees to take one break to go to the orphanage with Ava. That's when they find Francis trying to kill Diego, and Ava goes full vengeful spirit on her ass with Shannon’s help.

As for the plot with the Warrior Nun journal and Vincent, Shannon tells Ava everything she knows from the get-go, so the conflict shifts to figuring out how to tell the rest of the team. Vincent knows that something is up, just not what exactly. Adriel might offer a hint, but he probably doesn't know much either. Ava suggests pulling a Poltergeist to mess with him, but Shannon says no on the grounds that if Vincent figures out that they're around, they'll lose the element of surprise.

She does bond with Ava over her prankster days, and they start forming a really strong friendship.

Their golden ticket probably comes in the form of Jillian. I'm sure Divinium interacts with ghosts in all kinds of ways, including (maybe?) making them more corporeal. So when the girls are raiding the facility, Shannon and Ava are finally able to reveal themselves. Which completely derails the mission but is ultimately a net positive. Once everyone is on the same page regarding ghosts and conspiracies and what not, they start planning how to take Vincent down.

#warrior nun #ghost au #if divinium makes ghosts solid then poor kid Michael is probably in for some unintented jumpscares

[the-lesbianest-batman]

Long Story Short - Taylor Swift

I'm gonna be analysing this as to why this can be read as johnlock coded.

we're starting off with john's pov:

Fatefully

tbh this is a kind of fitting adjective to describe john as the brave, fateful boy who wanted to please his father when he was younger

I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me

yes so john tried to avoid conflicts (perhaps not stepping in when harry got hatecrimes during their childhood) but then the battle (the army) picked him.

Misery

the war beings misery ofc

Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

we know john suffers from night terrors so this clocks

And you passed right by

his first meeting with sherlock aaaaaahhh

I was in the alley, surrounded on all sides

he felt alive again sjjdnsnsj

The knife cuts both ways

this is either: john feels both better because of sherlock but also worse when reichenbach (yes I'm coding this song on reichenbach angst, deal with it) or it could be that both john AND sherlock are affected by each other, for better or for worse since the knife cuts both ways

If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break

so yes their relationship is the shoe. its easy, it's comforting, it works. until sherlock fell from his high horse/barts hospital in this case.

And I fell from the pedestal

this would be john falling on an emotional level, mirroring sherlocks actual fall

Right down the rabbit hole

depressionnnnn because your best friend/the live of your life is dead

Long story short, it was a bad time

yeah no kidding

Pushed from the precipice

its like johns world stopped moving, everything now feels wrong and cold and empty

Clung to the nearest lips

him trying to distract from his grief by dating mary

Long story short, it was the wrong guy

or girl in this case

Now I'm all about you

I'm all about you, ah

Yeah, yeah

I'm all about you, ah

Yeah, yeah

sherlock is back and john is all about him <3

now we're switching to sherlock's pov

Actually

again this word describes sherlock pretty well. he is kind of a smart arse. in a very lovable way of course

I always felt I must look better in the rear view

sherlock being insecure about what people think of him/him annoying people when he's around so that once he leaves they might like him more. also sherlock trying to convince himself that leaving john behind wasnt as bad

Missing me

yes john does miss him.

At the golden gates they once held the keys to

okay so I'm not perfect at interpreting lyrics but this could be: the golden gates: sherlock without his "armor" and John being the one who had the keys to make sherlock emotionally vulnerable. and to me, the past tense is not because sherlock doesn't love him anymore but because he's far, far away and has his shields back up because the last thing he needs when fighting criminals is an emotional breakdown over john. he needs to be strong

When I dropped my sword

sherlock being done with the mission

I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door

sherlock comes back to john.

And we live in peace

ayo john forgives him, there's none of that mary stuff and they have the domestic happy ending they deserve

But if someone comes at us

sherlock is abso-fucking-lutely ready to defend john.

This time, I'm ready

he protecc.

'Cause I fell from the pedestal

maybe sherlock being rudely pushed from his high horse by people like sebastian, anderson, donovan

Right down the rabbit hole

sherlocks insecurities and drug abuse because he was bullied (hear me out this will come up again 2 lines later)

Long story short, it was a bad time

again also applies to the bullying he endured

Pushed from the precipice

so yes i don't interpret this as the post trf scenario but rather teen!lock descending into drugs because he's all alone

Clung to the nearest lips

THIS is why I went for the teen!lock drug scenario. victorlock but its unhealthy

Long story short, it was the wrong guy

victor was the wrong guy.

Now I'm all about you

I'm all about you, ah

Yeah, yeah

I'm all about you

again. sherlock is all about john. they're in love. they're happy. they're healing

this can be both of their povs. because it's the bridge <3

No more keepin' score now

I just keep you warm (keep you warm)

they're done denying their relationship and thinking it's unrequited. now they accept it and keep each other warm

No more tug of war now

I just know there's more (know there's more)

again, same sentiment. they are done pining. they are secure in their love for one another

No more keepin' score now

I just keep you warm (keep you warm)

repetition for emphasis

And my waves meet your shore

Ever and evermore

jesus christ this line is good, if I could I'd sniff this like coke. *clears throat* yes so this is just. sherlock is the ocean, tempestuous unpredictable, vast (knowledge) and john is the shore, warm, safe, stabile. he's the constancy to sherlock's many moods. so yes. sherlock's waves meet john's shore. forever and evermore. I'm going to cry.

we're back to john's pov

Past me

I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things

john getting over his immovable heterosexuality and now sees his past internalised homophobia (that probably stems from his family life and childhood experiences with harry not being accepted) as a petty thing

Your nemeses

ok hear me out. these nemeses are johns "daddy issues", internalised homophobia, trust issues, self hatred etc which in my mind all lead back to his father SO

Will defeat themselves before you get the chance to swing

we have a patrick melrose situation (minus the csa because I'm not headcanoning abuse victims). I mean that as John realises he hates his father and that he was his nemesis but he can't confront him or show him how well he's doing and that YES, HE HAS A BOYFRIEND, because his father dies. so he goes to his funeral with sherlock and I just see this scene as john crying silently because damn he hated him but somewhere inside him there was still love for his father and sherlock is there for him

And he's passing by

referring to sherlock

Rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky

sherlocks genius, beauty and extravagance. john just appreciates him

And he feels like home

YES. sherlock is johns new home. his found family. omfg johnlock

If the shoe fits, walk in it everywhere you go

the shoe (johnlock) fucking fits!!! (they are soulmates) so yes, they will walk in it everywhere they go!!!!

going in for another sherlock pov

And I fell from the pedestal

this time it's quite literally the fall

Right down the rabbit hole

rabbit hole being the obsession of stopping moriarty and his network.

Long story short, it was a bad time

yeah no shit sherlock. I doubt those 2 years were fun.

Pushed from the precipice

just like john, his world was off its axis

Climbed right back up the cliff

HE MADE IT BACK YES

Long story short, I survived

exactly. at the end of the 2 years sherlock survived and that's what matters. he came back to John.

Now I'm all about you (and now)

I'm all about you, ah (and now)

I'm all about you (and now)

I'm all about you, ah

Yeah, yeah

I'm all about you (and now)

Yeah, yeah

I'm all about you

sherlock is all about john <3

so both their povs now

Long story short, it was a bad time

being apart was a bad time yes. for both of them

Long story short, I survived

but they made it back to each other. they got their happy ending.

yes so I hope you all now go and add longs tory short to your johnlock playlists.

#johnlock #johnlocked #sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #benedict cumberbatch #martin freeman #taylor swift #evermore #long story short #long story short johnlock

[shaebertooth]

I want to go ahead and apologize now to anyone who is still waiting on a commission from me. I know of like two off the top of my head, but please keep in mind I do suffer from memory loss problems so I may need a reminder if you're unsure if I recall you or not.

My life this year had started off in a not-so-great way, and while it's no excuse, it has greatly affected my mental and physical health in ways I'm actually pretty afraid of, given my recent bout with a hospital stay and surgery.

My current home is owned by someone I thought was a friend of mine. He bought the house back in 2019 with the full intention of us moving in together: his sister, Cori, myself, and him of course. This was all great until his sister turned into an absolute nightmare of a roommate, moved out (and ran off to florida with some online friend) and left us high and dry.

So we found another roommate, and things were decent from there.. until towards the end of last year.

Main roommate in question took a trip to chicago to be with some friends, and ended up falling in love with the place, and planned to move there eventually - okay, not so bad, we were all okay with this, we knew it was happening.

Then my surgery happened. Along with being unable to work until January 1st when I was finally cleared, and now trying to scramble to find a job, and throwing out anywhere between 5-10 applications a day. In the meantime it's fallen on my poor girlfriend to pay my portion of the bills, which I am eternally grateful for, but also dreading and ashamed of. I owe her the fucking world.

All of a sudden, my roommate has put his foot down saying he's selling the house by the end of March. April is as long as he's giving us to figure out things out and find a place to go. girlfriend's mom's apartment is way too small, and doesn't allow for the 3 cats we have, and my mom sold her house shortly after we moved into the new house, and lives in a senior apartment complex. Neither places are places we can go to.

When we tried to plead our case, stating to him that my bank needs *60 days* of work history to help me with a house loan.. he simply shrugged his shoulders and walked out. In his exact words on discord, he stated "As the owner of the property this is my decision and it is non-negotiable." AKA he doesn't care what happens to us, he's dead-set on going to chicago, with those rose-tinted glasses glued to his face. This was what he sent to us yesterday. Saturday the 14th.

Needless to say.. my emotional state is a wreck. I'm worried I won't find a job in time, worried we'll have to move way far away from where we've settled, flip everything around to start somewhere else.. and before anyone tries to suggest apartment hunting: we can't. My girlfriend is self-employed making iron-on patches, which involves a LOT of noise running constantly. Embroidery machines and sewing machines all times of the night/day.

We would either need to specifically be placed in a corner lot where we can't disturb anyone, or luck out and have some deaf neighbors. It would also need to accept 3 cats, as these cats are *not* going anywhere else but with us.

I'm so fucking stressed to the point of headaches, and my body thinking it's time for my monthly flow.. all month long. It's scaring me that all of this is happening, and I'm dreading another hospital stay, especially because my surgery site still bleeds from time to time.

So, I apologize if I've been slow with activity or you're waiting on something from me. My life is being quite literally ripped out from under my feet, and there's not much I can really do about it except to pray for a job and grind myself into dust trying to make a living. In this fuckin american economy.

I wish I could get a fucking break.

#Vent

[sery-chan-13]

Mockingly in Love

Ch. 19 of '100 Promises'

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Mhm that's right not dead let's goo

I'm so sorry that I haven't updated as much as I should :( I just lost all motivation for writing and had a ton of family things going on while trying to write.

Warnings: swearing, arguments

The past few days had been uneventful. Games were pretty low ranking for you now, only adding a day or three to your visa.

But here you were, out on a suply run, only this time with Usagi and Kuina.

"How... how do you have so many days on your visa?" Usagi asked quietly. You looked down, adding up the cards that you'd played since you were here. "By playing the games I guess," you shrugged, thinking of it as something if no importance. "You must be really lucky then. To have survived all those times, I mean," she said quickly.

Luck? You hardly considered this luck. Maybe out of pure spite is why you were still alive. To show your father, even if he wasn't here, that you weren't weak. That you could do things. Life threatening things.

"Lady Luck isn't on my side. But I am a very clever person."

You and Kuina sighed in relief against the cold pavement of the floor. Of course there had to be a mob of people chasing after you.  You were never much of an athlete.

"If it hadn't been for your athleticism, I'd be dead right now. Thank you," you said with a smile towards Usagi. "You too Kuina. I mean the way you just -BAM! and kicked him off? So cool, very much a girl boss moment," you giggled. "No, thank you for your cleverness," Usagi said, looking away. You smiled, grabbing Kuina's hand and Usagi's hand, raising them up to the sky. And laughing. Kuina shouted something along the lines of 'victory' while you and Usagi laughed, not really knowing what was funny. It has been a while since you'd had friends other than Niragi. Which sounded a bit strange now. Why had you never had other friends? You'd had acquaintances, but they never stayed to long. Usually a few days, maybe a couple weeks before they would leave, giving a lame excuse as to why. But you never really minded.

Back at the Beach, you quickly avoided the people crowding in the lobby, finding an escape up to the roof. Surprisingly, you found Chishiya, sitting on the edge, his legs dangling over. "Hey 'Shiya," you said quietly, walking over to sit with him. "Hello,"he whispered back.

A suffocating silence filled the air. "You still love him, don't you?" He said, out of no where, bringing back the topic. "What? No. No.... I don't," you denied. Chishiya sighed. "You know, I may not be good with emotions, but you're such a bad liar,"he said. "Sure," you scoffed.

"You've still kept promises from how long ago? And even now you're still worried about fucking breaking them. I don't make it obvious all the time because I'm me, and I know how I am, but I care for you. A lot actually. So I'm sorry thats he didn't stay the same. Did you really think that he would stay the same sweet boy, who would protect you and make you feel better all the time? Because if you did, grow the hell up," Chishiya said, his voice sharp, knowing exactly where to cut. Your eyes welled up with tears. He was right. It hurt so much, but he was right.

"I'm... I'm sorry I didn't mean to go that far i was-"

"No... no, its ok.... you're right anyways. Promises we made when we were 15, still have a meaning, but not when all this is going on," you sniffled. "And after all of this... you're still in love with him," he whispered. He was a bit hurt. He liked you, really liked you, but he knew you didn't feel the same. He would rather you be happy with the person you really wanted. "I.... think I am. Which is horrible. I just... I wanted so badly to get over him, but I couldn't. I still love him, and I don't want to. But I can't get over it, and I can't tell him either because well... we've both been ignoring eachother,"you stated, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your cheeks.

"No need he already heard."

You turned in shock to the voice.

Niragi was standing behind both of you. You felt Chishiya's hand leave your own, as he got up and left. "Good luck. And if all goes wrong, like I'm expecting it to be, you know where my room is," Chishiya stated, leaving you and Niragi. Alone.

"So. Are you going to stand there or are you going to talk?" You said, standing and getting away from the edge. "You're still in love with me?" He asked quietly. So quiet, you thought it was your imagination. You nodded. "After everything I've fucking done, you still love me? I pushed you away, I broke promises, I made you cry, I've ruined your relationships with others, used others, and you still love me?" He said, his voice cracking a bit. You looked up to see his eyes filled with tears.

______________

"(N/N) I hate him! I hate him I hate him I hate him!" Niragi screamed, sobbing into your chest. All he could remember thinking was 'how could he do this to me I'm a kid. His fucking son.'

__________________

"Just leave me alone! You're so much better off without me... I don't want you to get hurt... please," he whimpered, tears streaming down his face.

___________________

Everytime he'd ever cried in front of you due to an overflow of emotions ran through your mind.

"Yes. I do. And?" You responded shakily. He took a step away, running a hand through his hair. "You're so dumb. So fucking dumb! I did all that to push you away so you could be safe! You don't know how much danger you're in when you're with me me! Its been this way since we met, (Y/N), I put a target on you! Horrible things happened to you because of me!" He yelled. "Its all my fault! I hurt everyone who cares about me... even you."

____________

"A-and she... he tripped over one of my toy cars. My mom had told me to pick it up.... but I didn't. I wish I had listened. He fell down our stairs. He hit his head pretty bad... had a concussion, and due to other complications, he died two weeks later. I killed him, (N/N).... It was my fault."

____________

"Its not your fault. You push people away as a self defense mechanism due to past traumatic events. Its what happened with Rin. Its what you're doing right now. And unless you let people in when you're having a hard time with feelings, you're going to end up alone, Suguru. Or worse, like your father," you stated, stepping closer.

He stared in shock. You should be leaving him on the roof right now. He's pathetic. Crying like some child. But a part of him, the part of him that remembers crying into you as you ran your hands through his hair, yearned for him to feel like he did back then. A mess of tears and emotions.

You kneeled down with him, opening your arms, and enveloping him in a tight hug that he immediately returned.

He forgot how good being held by you felt. You whispered things into his ear he couldn't really hear over the sound of his thoughts. Had your voice always sounded so melodic? He pulled away slightly, looking at you. Your (e/c) eyes were filled with empathy. And hurt.  He knew he had hurt you. Yet here you were comforting him.

He watched your gaze fall down and quickly back up again. He pulled you closer, your lips almost touching. "I'm so sorry... about everything," he whispered. "... I know you are," you said back. He then pushed his lips to yours. You were shocked, but kissed him back.

And this time, after pulling away from you, seeing your slight blush, he didn't run away.

"I know I fucked up. But I'm going to make it up to you. Somehow. Believe me, " he said, helping you to your feet.

Just then the door opened. "Sorry to interrupt you two love birds, but uh we just got a new arrival. Hatter wants all higher ups to meet," you heard the voice say.

#alice in borderland #×reader #niragi #chishiya #angst #im sorry #100 promises

[angstyshippergremlin]

Griddlehark Headcanons for a nebulous future where God is dead and Gideon and Harrow are married:

1. Harrow climbs Gideon like a tree to reach high places. The first time it happened, Gideon totally had a moment where she thought Harrow was going to attack, then suddenly this tiny, five foot tall gremlin is just climbing up on her shoulders, snags the jar of honey or something, and walks away, leaving a very flummoxed Gideon behind her.

2. Gideon can't sleep easily without Harrow in her arms. Harrow's relationship with food and sleep got progressively worse the longer she went without Gideon, so she has chronic insomnia. But because she loves Gideon, she goes to bed with her, if only so her cherished cavalier can rest. And maybe, just maybe, it helps her sleep, too, knowing Gideon is close.

3. They both have nightmares, and it takes years for them to get to a point where either of them can discuss said nightmares without breaking down. These days, they wrap around each other. Harrow's lowkey clingy after bad ones, and Gideon tends to get stressed when Harrow isn't in her line of sight for too long.

4. Harrow reads in bed. It's the only viable solution for her insomnia and Gideon's anxiety. Gideon curls around Harrow, and once she's asleep, Harrow carefully frees herself, but stays close, using some necromancy to make a bone glow just enough to let her read. If Gideon stirs, she lays off reading long enough to sink into Gideon's arms again, murmuring, "I'm here," until she calms.

5. Harrow cannot eat large meals. If she gets too full, she'll just hurl it all up again. It's worse after particularly big feats of necromancy. Seriously, there are days when she's too nauseous to eat. It frankly worries Gideon, but watching Harrow hurl her guts up once was enough to make sure she doesn't press too hard. It doesn't stop her from making sure her gremlin wife stays hydrated, though. And plus, a lethargic Harrow is a cuddly Harrow. It means Gideon can arrange her cranky bone nun wife in her lap and know she'll probably stay there...until she feels better, anyway.

6. Eventually, they end up either adopting a child or through some form of hand wave-y shenanigans, they have a child that is biologically theirs. Gideon carries if that's the case, since I'm guessing Harrow is too biologically messed up to carry a kid to term without major dangers to her and the baby. The little girl that comes into their world has Harrow's eyes and Gideon's hair, and both her moms love her so, so much. Harrow is inevitably the disciplinarian, but the punishments almost never go beyond the standard lecture consisting of "what were you thinking, you could have been hurt, are you okay?" Because Harrow knows what the Ninth did to Gideon was wrong, and that her childhood was also messed up, and damned if she'll do that to her baby.

7. And this kid is so smart, with Gideon's smile and Harrow's ability to focus. She's slender, but toned, because no way is Gideon letting her daughter become noodle armed. And she has no gift for necromancy, but is absolutely deadly with knives. Neither Gideon or Harrow can quite handle seeing their kid with a rapier, because bad memories, so they had to find her another weapon.

8. Or course Aunt Cam teaches her how to fight. No question about it. This child blends Harrow's brains and Gideon's fighting skills, and is a fucking force of nature. Gideon knows that this child combines the best parts of both of them.

9. They also find that she can also embody the worst of them. She got double helpings of intensity. Which is good, but also kind of bad. Like, when she falls in love, she falls hard. Some asshole inevitably breaks her heart, which sends her into a very bad spiral. If we're talking a scale of Gideon's homewrecker guilt to Harrow lobotomizing herself, we're saying dangerously close to Harrow's side of the spectrum. It scares the hell out of both her mom's, and the kicker is that Ianthe of all people is the one to snap her out of it. No one mentions the fact that the ex disappeared and is never heard from again.

#gtn #htn #the locked tomb #gideon the 9th #harrow the 9th #harrowhark nonagesimus #gideon nav #ianthe tridentarius #camilla hect #griddlehark #i'm going crazy

[morganaspendragonss]

so so many thanks to everyone who read even one of these stories. i am forever grateful for all the support i've received; every comment, every kudos, every reblog, every like - they all mean so much. i'm overwhelmed, honestly, but in the very best way. ily all 🥰

day one: against all odds (we're still here) for @trkstrnd

Carlos will hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused on his task that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

*

a simple trip to the grocery store quickly turns to disaster for tk and carlos

day two: out, damned spot for anon

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

But they weren't always that way.

day three: the meetings for those in my wake for @freddieholic

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news, and almost always about their son. Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas, which is why she thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Gwyn, it’s TK. He's... They think we should say goodbye."

day four: a friend in me for 📍 anon

Carlos has come to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But, right now, as she sits hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, he's never seen her look so small.

or

the story of how nancy and carlos become the new champions of 126 games nights

day five: truth is heavier than fiction for anon

Carlos pauses with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to prepare himself before going inside. TK’s shift finished an hour ago and he’d texted to let Carlos know he was home, which means Carlos is going to be walking right into a conversation he’d rather avoid.

Not that he’d have much choice either way; he might be able to cover his cracked and bruised ribs for a little while, but the arm in a sling will tell on him as soon as the door opens. Carlos doesn’t want to hide his injuries—they’ve had enough conversations in reverse on that theme to make him a hypocrite if he did—but he may have made some choices that he doesn’t particularly want to go into right now. Not while he’s tired and aching and just wants to cuddle with his boyfriend.

He blows out a breath, then opens the door, bracing himself for TK’s reaction.

“Hey— Shit!”

day six: slowly, and then all at once for @pragmaticoptimist34

The realisation that he loves Carlos hits him like a bolt out of the blue.

And at the worst possible moment.

We are getting updates on the active shooter situation at the Four Seasons Hotel. Austin Police Department have closed off the area and officers are currently preparing to enter the building to detain the suspect. It is as yet unknown if there have been any civilian casualties, but—

“Paul, turn the damn TV back on.”

“No.”

*

five times tk can't admit his feelings about carlos, and one time he finally does

day seven: the promise of tomorrow for anon

Up until five minutes ago, Carlos had been terrified of never having TK in his arms again. Now, the thought of letting him go scares him just as much, and TK seems to feel the same, if the way he’s clutching at Carlos’s jacket and pulling it tight across his back is any indication.

Carlos hugs him close, sinking down to his knees as TK falls into the chair behind him, letting the rest of the room fade away to nothing as he realises that they weren’t too late—that TK is here, with him, alive and mostly whole.

day eight: we'll hold each other soon for @221bsunsettowers

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away.

It's the last good memory Carlos has, and he's going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he's going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK's smile.

day nine: now i am just but the wayward man for anon

Ben is glaring at him again.

Klaus is very familiar with this specific glare—it’s the one Ben breaks out when Klaus is being ‘stubborn’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a fucking asshole junkie with no self-respect who only cares about the next high and, really, it’s a fucking miracle you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet, Klaus’.

He has to hand it to him. Ben really does have him down to a tee.

*

winter is approaching and klaus has nowhere to go. his siblings are his only option—meaning he effectively has no options.

day ten: i can't imagine my life without you for 📍 anon

It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

*

nobody likes to be asked 'trouble in paradise?', particularly when the answer is yes.

day eleven: start again from the beginning for anon

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. After all, they've been here before.

day twelve: let me love you when your heart is tired for anon

TK knows it’s going to be a bad day from the moment he opens his eyes. Slowly, slowly, each twitch like he’s moving mountains, he inches his hand blindly across the bed to reach out for Carlos. If he can just feel his boyfriend, if he can just see him—

But, of course. Carlos has a shift today. TK has a vague recollection of him getting out of bed at five this morning, rousing him with a shift to the mattress and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

If this were a normal day, he might smile at the memory.

day thirteen: couldn't utter my love when it counted for 📍 anon

TK takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken. For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

*

after the boba date, tk lets carlos go. they're friends, which is working just fine, until a horrific accident threatens to take even that away from them.

day fourteen: if i walk out the door (a thousand eyes) for anon

TK gets this feeling sometimes, a sort of prickling at his back, like someone’s behind him, breathing down his neck. At first, it was only a once-in-a-while situation, so he thinks nothing of it; when it becomes an everyday occurrence, he starts to wonder, but he’s probably just being paranoid. The shooting, kidnapping, firehouse explosion, and the fire at his and Carlos’s house had all taken their toll, and TK’s just generally more on edge these days.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the feeling, not even Carlos. There’s no reason to fuck up everyone else’s peace with something so stupid. It’ll go away eventually; TK’s sure of it.

That is, until one of the lots just down from the firehouse gets occupied.

day fifteen: find you here inside the dark for @fanfic-corner

Yaz has walked this room too many times to count now; she’s traced her fingertips over the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices to indicate where there might be a door.

If the Doctor were here, she’d have her sonic out by now, spitting out words, only half of which Yaz could understand. She’d find a way out in no time. Or, if not, at least she’d be here. Talking a mile a minute, probably annoying the hell out of their captors. Yaz can almost hear her now—

Wait.

She can hear her now.

day sixteen: accidents happen for @ilovemosss

So, Jason reflects, it may not have been the best idea to take Pythagoras out training while they’re all suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Being the more logical of them, Pythagoras, to his credit, had attempted to talk him out of it, but Jason ignored him.

He very much regrets that decision now.

day seventeen: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team) for @laelipoo

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the little blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

day eighteen: in perfect harmony for @anyotherheartwilldo

Here’s the thing—Carlos doesn’t believe in signs. He used to when he was younger, raised on his abuela’s stories, but as he’d gotten older his father had taught him that what mattered was the choices he made. He’s the only one who has a say in the way his life turns out, and if he wants something, he has to put in the work to get it.

But there comes a point—namely, after his fifth thwarted attempt to propose to TK—when he begins to wonder if the universe really does have something against him.

*

proposing to tk proves far more complicated than carlos had first thought.

day nineteen: whatever here that's left of me (is yours) for anon

“Are you…” TK leans closer, peering at the hoodie Carlos is wearing, and—yep. “Why are you wearing my hoodie? Was there nothing in your size from the crew? You should have said something. We can fix this, you don’t need to be uncomfortable.”

There’s a beat, and then Carlos, studiously avoiding TK’s gaze, clears his throat. “It smells like you.”

*

post-2.12, carlos finds comfort in tk's hoodies.

day twenty: can't smile without you for anon

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

*

a before, during, and after of tk's kidnapping in a hole where your memory goes

day twenty-one: lately you've been searching for a darker place to hide for @freddieholic

“Can I ask you something else?”

TK stiffens at the sound of Mateo’s voice, a nervous note to it that wasn’t there last time. Something tells him he knows exactly what Mateo wants to ask; still, he turns to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as casually as he can manage. “Sure.”

“Are you…” Mateo trails off, biting his lip and avoiding TK’s gaze. “I mean, do you… I mean—”

“You can say it, you know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “If you want to know if I’m thinking about heading out and getting high, then just ask.”

*

five times tk turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms when he wants to use + one time he finally asks for help

day twenty-two: know me crazy, soothe me daily for anon

It had freaked Carlos out the first time it happened.

“It was a seizure,” TK explained, after Carlos had finished telling him about it. TK had been disoriented and confused for about ten minutes after, and couldn’t even remember half of their earlier conversation. “I… It’s because of the drugs. They fucked something up in my brain, especially after my first overdose, and now I get seizures occasionally."

*

in which carlos gets a little over-protective and tk is mildly exasperated

day twenty-three: lover, be good to me for anon

Carlos holds his arms out, and TK comes willingly, setting what Carlos now recognises as a tray of food carefully on the bed. “What’s this?”

TK stares as if it’s obvious. “Date night.”

“What?”

TK pauses, then gasps. “You’re right.” He pats himself down frantically, then pulls an object out of his pocket with a dramatic flourish. It’s a little electric tea light—real candles long since banned from the bedroom—and Carlos watches in bemusement as TK flicks it on and sets it down on the tray. “Now it’s date night.”

*

his fiancé being bed-bound isn't going to keep tk from date night

day twenty-four: bring you in from the cold for anon

As a cop, Carlos has always been uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. He’s considered his own death more than is probably healthy, but when you’re facing down the barrel of a gun almost every single day, it’s kind of forced on you.

He’s imagined himself being shot, stabbed, strangled, and everything in between.

But he’s not sure he ever pictured dying in a walk-in freezer after getting trapped there by mistake.

day twenty-five: heaving through corrupted lungs for anon

TK is itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

*

when carlos falls ill, they think it's just a bad cold. but when tk goes to check on him, he's in for a nasty shock.

day twenty-six: slowly becoming lovers for @pragmaticoptimist34

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

*

tk and carlos, getting to know each other and falling in love

day twenty-seven: and curse the gods for @girlwhowasntthere

Jason knows what it is to be cursed.

day twenty-eight: ignoring every warning for @moviegeek03

TK is fine.

He is absolutely, 100% fine.

And, sure, maybe he’s not supposed to be at work right now, and maybe his hand hasn’t fully healed yet, but it’s nothing. His doctor cleared him to go back to work, which means it’s healed enough, and TK is certainly not going to admit defeat no matter how much he's hurting.

day twenty-nine: can you beat back the night? for @girlwhowasntthere

He misses the bard. Geralt won’t admit it, not even to Roach, but he misses him. After months—years—of Jaskier’s constant chatter and the sound of his lute, the silence, once valued above all else, is too much.

It’s been months since the dragon, since Geralt lost both Yennefer and Jaskier in one fell swoop. He’s cursed himself many times over for the words he said—to both of them—and cursed himself more for the mistakes he made to get in this position in the first place.

*

this is the lot of witchers, to be alone.

day thirty: ease my mind for @silvarafael

Briefly, Carlos considers calling TK and telling him about the accident. But… He only broke two of his fingers and it barely even classifies as a minor injury in his book, so there’s really no reason to bother his fiancé while he’s still on shift himself. He pockets his phone then looks around to figure out where the exit is.

Only, an all-too familiar laugh distracts him from his task, drawing his attention to the nurses station.

Where TK is standing, smiling as a nurse swats at him for stealing one of their lollipops.

Carlos is, beyond doubt, fucked.

day thirty-one: scars turn to memories for anon

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then, he remembers.

Carlos was off shift tonight. He was here. Alone.

#masterlist #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 8)

<<Previous part Masterlist   Next part>>

Join the taglist in here (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman)

Warnings: violence, near death experience, suicidal consideration.

With all the information you needed in your head, you ran up to the hotel room. Loki and Bucky were wandering around the neighborhood, handling the “incognito” part of the mission very poorly. But you’d be soon back with them, you just needed to grab the suits, some more information and a scribbled map, and you’d be back on the streets, fighting criminals or… whatever the Hell those two were doing.

It was just a matter of time until you finally got the stick. What did it have that Tony Stark feared so much to be in the wrong hands, you would never know. Unless you grabbed the stick before giving it to him and found out yourself, of course (but no, that would be irresponsible, an invasion, all levels of illegal and probably would result in getting you in jail, or maybe even assassinated).

It sounded good, though.

After what felt like a thousand stairs later, you finally arrived at your room. Grabbing the doorknob while inserting the key, you realized it was already open. You stopped. Was anyone in there? You weren’t the last one to come out that morning, so you weren’t sure you closed it well. Bucky was; and he was generally distracted on those details. He would sleep on them because he can take anyone, he’s a supersoldier, after all.

You didn’t let go of the doorknob, and opened very carefully as to not make any noise. Damn, if I just had my gun with myself this would be much easier, you thought for the hundredth time on the mission. You made a mental note on not leaving the room without a gun ever again.

If it wasn’t bad enough, you didn’t bring any communicators with your teammates on. What for? The last part of the mission was done with all of you together. It made sense you’d sleep on it too.

You stopped the self-loathing on your last few decisions and thought about who or what could be on the other side of the door. It couldn’t be someone who wanted the information you’d already collected, because you informed absolutely no one about it. Not even Stark. And you had made sure nobody followed you or heard your steps. So, it had to be someone from the Hydra base. Someone who would think you had the stick with yourself, and wanted it back.

Basing your actions on that speculation, you calculated the time and risks to get to your gun and suit before you’d get attacked, if the agent was still in there. You could only assume it was an agent. What else would Hydra have, in the middle of 2021?

Alright, you thought. Maybe it’s empty already. I only get one chance.

You slammed open the door and ran to your suit and gun as fast as you could, suiting up with a button, and, in a matter of seconds, you were against a wall with your Beretta 92 pointing at whoever could come and attack you.

Silence and adrenaline filled the room. You looked around, and nothing moved. Not a single sound. Not even a fly.

“Whoever’s here, I don’t have it. I swear, I don’t have it”, you said, still with your gun up. “And I don’t know who has it, yet”.

No answer. You looked around a little, opening some doors and looking under the beds, but it really seemed like you were alone now. Someone had definitely been there; your papers were all disorganized and some chairs were on the floor. The window had a gunshot. But whoever went there, saw there was nothing they wanted and left, not long ago. Maybe you could even seek them with the street cameras.

You walked to the window and traced the gunshot with your fingertips. You recognized the bullet; Bucky had used them before, as the Winter Soldier. Looking outside you recognized in the distance, about three blocks away, the unmistakable figures of your teammates.

A cocking gun in your nape brought you back to the room. You didn’t turn around just yet, waiting for some talking (they usually talk, they don’t want you dead; they rather want your information. Quite difficult to take from if you won’t be able to answer). After some more silence, you turned around violently and tried to kick the (huge, even bigger than Thor) man’s gun off. Instead, he grabbed your leg and pushed you to the floor.

Maybe you weren’t exactly awesome when it came to hand-in-hand combat, alright?

Pointing your gun at him from the floor, you tried to get up, and as soon as you felt him get closer to grab your gun, you shot. You made sure to not actually shoot him; just close enough for him to think you were going to shoot him if he got close. He didn’t get fazed at the shot; didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. Instead, grabbed your gun and bent it as if it were melted plastic.

Holy fucking shit.

Good news were, now you knew what exactly was in that stick. Bad news, it was already in the wrong hands.

“Chemistry works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it, fella?”, you asked the supersoldier standing in front of you. “When did they serum-ed you? You might be experiencing some side effects”, you chatted, waiting for your teammates, hoping they’d walk a little bit faster. Hopefully, they’d heard the shooting and realized you were in trouble. They didn’t know exactly how much trouble you were in, though.

“You do realize the more you talk, the faster I’ll have to kill you, right?” said he, finally.

“What’s your name? Can’t see you with your weird mask on” you said, standing up slowly. “Let me guess… you must be familiar with James, right?”.

The supersoldier blinked in confusion, and charged his gun, pointing it directly at your forehead.

“You have exactly ten seconds to tell me how you know about James. Ten”.

“Must be a very difficult experience”.

“Nine”.

“To be so close, yet so far away”.

“Eight”.

“You know, it’d do you wonders some therapy maybe. To process the whole James thing”.

“Seven”.

“You sound like Monica Geller”.

“Six”.

“You’ll get bored of counting, eventually”.

“Five”.

“Alright, pack it up”.

“Four”.

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Three”.

“I don’t know anything about that James, it was a wild guess. Everyone is called James these days”, you explained. He stopped counting but pressed the gun harder against your head.

“Quit the mocking. Give me the stick and I’ll let you live”.

“There’s no way you’re letting me live. I already know Hydra has some more supersoldiers, and I guess the thing in the stick is the formula, isn’t it? Give me the secret formula, spongebob, right?”. The man realized you were just making time, and tried to grab your wrists. “Took you long enough to notice. Soldiers are not the brightest, let me tell you”.

As he tried to lock your wrists, you used all your body weight to push him out of the window. Terrible idea. He was at least five times stronger, and instead of your original plan, the one getting thrown off a nine-floor window now were you.

Bucky and Loki were a block away, and all they saw was a tiny speck on the sky, getting rapidly closer to the street. It didn’t take them much thinking until they realized that speck was you, flying off the hotel room. Loki took impulse and teleported himself as fast as he could to the nearest floor you were currently passing, and grasped your arm and hand with his both hands, holding himself with only his legs from a balcony.

Hanging from just one arm, with seven tall floors behind your feet, you tried your best to not look down. Oh, heights weren’t your best friend, much less the possibility of a bad movement and instantly dying right there. You could only think in how lucky you were your teammate had quick reflexes, and how idiotic you were to think you could’ve possibly taken that man by your own. He bent your gun with his bare hands, for God’s sake. You looked down, and saw the supersoldier already fighting with Bucky on the streets. Your face turned even paler as you observed how tall you were. Everything was tiny below you.

“Look at me”, said Loki, with a calm voice. You redirected your gaze to him. His eyes. There was a glimpse in his eyes, showing something. Your own emotions weren’t allowing you to actually concentrate on his face expressions, anyways. He sensed it, and repeated. “Look at me, don’t look down. I’m here”.

You met his eyes once again and this time you didn’t leave them. There it was. His eyes irradiated pure and raw panic. Fear. No, not even fear; terror. What was he terrified of? Terror of losing you? Why would he care so much? Why would he care that deeply? It didn’t matter now, for you were definitely dying. His grip was strong, but your hand was starting to numb and you were losing strength. You were dizzy and sweating, frightened. He gripped harder and it pained you.

“Hold on to me. Do not let go, I'm here”, he said. His words were tranquil and reassuring, trying to keep it as undisturbed as he could, but a drop of desperation cracked his voice. “Hold strong, I’m lifting you up”.

“Don’t. You’ll fall down. You can’t take this height either” you said without hiding your dread. Your tight throat did the job and your eyes watered. That was it, you thought. And it was. There was no way Loki could lift you without him falling down too. And even if there was a possibility, why would he risk his long and meaningful life for the sake of yours? “Let me go, Loki”.

“I’m not letting you go”.

“You’ll die”.

“No, and you won’t either. Hold onto my grip”, he assured you without leaving any room for discussion, trying to lift your body and almost tripping in the process. He gasped and you left out a whine.

“Loki”.

“Stop it, I’m not letting you go”, he said, less calm than he’d have liked to. “I’m not letting you go”, he repeated, almost in a whisper.

In a struggle, he brought you into the balcony he was hanging from. Your legs were shaking, as you laid on the marble floor by his side. Both of you breathless, looked at each other without saying a word. After a brief moment, you took his hand and squeezed it gently, not ever breaking eye contact.

“You saved me. Thank you”.

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