#i hope Forty is less of a dick these days

[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

if you enjoyed reading his, please consider reblogging. i promise it makes a huge difference

#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

[teasteeper]

ohh i like this…. i got carried away T_T (sorry anon, i had to delete the original ask bc tumblr deleted half of this when i first posted it. i hope u see this <3)

suggestive 18+ mdni

before you started working for them hendery couldn't care less about getting his makeup done, seeing it as a time to scroll through his phone, his eyes burning after waking up only thirty minutes prior. he's truly a man in that he doesn't get makeup, barely noticing a difference between his bare face and his face after sitting in the chair for an hour. he hates those tiny angled brushes near his eyes, the feeling of foundation suffocating. he honestly prefers the days when he's running late, getting pushed into the chair while all the makeup artists band together to make him look flawless in under ten minutes. the less time he has to spend getting his makeup done, the better.

that's until the day you started, brushing glitter onto yangyang's eyelids as hendery stumbled through the door forty five minutes late, a baggy hoodie draped over his shoulders and his hair sticking up in all directions. did he even wake up?, he thinks, frozen awkwardly in place as he deciphers whether his tired eyes were actually staring at the prettiest girl he's ever seen or if he was still dreaming.

the artist hunched over kun subtly rolls her eyes at the sight of hendery, tapping your shoulder and pointing to him with her foundation cushion, "i'll finish yangyang's makeup. you can start on him"

hendery sits in the makeup chair, heart racing as you pick up your bag of supplies and move towards him. it's too early for this, he thinks, the soft smile you give him and your sweet vanilla scent, your fingers gently clipping his hair away from his face. it all goes straight to his dick, his mind still half asleep and morning wood not yet fully soft. yeah, it's too early for this.

from then on he sets his alarms extra early, fixing his hair and putting on a decent outfit before getting to set on time, aiming to make getting his makeup done last as long as possible. the members couldn't care less, just happy that he hasn't been late for weeks. but you notice, looking forward to the early mornings you spend talking and laughing together. there's no use denying your big dumb crush on him, butterflies in your tummy when you tell him to look up at you, instantly following your command and showing you his big pretty eyes so you can do his eyeliner.

he actually starts to take an interest in makeup, purely because it's your job, and he swells with pride when you start to take an interest in wayv, listening to their music on the regular and getting fully invested in the team. to hendery it feels like you're his biggest fan, waiting off stage between performances so you can touch up his makeup and fix his hair.

this week finally comes around, and everyone's on edge, what with kcon and countless other performances wayv's scheduled to do. hendery's happy to see you loading your luggage into one of the black suvs parked outside the company building to take you all to the airport. you're there after every performance, his eyes scanning through the crowd of staff members for you. he gives you a tired lopsided smile as he steps forward, spreading his feet apart to make himself shorter. then you feel his hands on your hips, and you're left staring wide eyed at his closed eyes, waiting for you to powder his face. it feels like you're standing like that for hours, the soft weight of his hands on your hips, his abs tensing with his heavy breaths. who the fuck chose this outfit? his jacket mostly unzipped with no shirt underneath, the elastic of his briefs on full display. the worst part is he knows he looks good, flashing you his smile before running back to the stage for their next song.

you think this might be the best job ever as you pack up your makeup bag, watching the last song of their performance on the monitor backstage. hendery finds you again as soon as they're backstage, "follow me" he whispers, placing a hand on your lower back and looking over his shoulder as he ushers you toward the artists' entrance and through the door outside.

"hendery wh-" you're backed against one of the black suvs parked outside, hendery's hands on your hips like before. they tremble with adrenaline, sweat dripping down his temple with heavy breaths passing through his lips. "can i kiss you?"

you can barely finish your whimpered consent before he's dipping his head down, lips crashing to yours in a heated kiss. he's surprisingly gentle, grounding himself by pressing his fingers into your hips. muscles flex in his jaw and his cheeks hollow, swallowing your dreamy sighs. you're fully pinned to the car behind you, your tshirt riding up and his belt buckle cold as it presses against your tummy.

your hips are pressing up against his, whimpering into his mouth, and his restraint snaps. his arm circles your waist and pulls you into him so he can open the door to the backseat, "get in, baby" he's relieved it isn't locked, watching your shirt ride up your back as you crawl in.

he wastes no time pulling your leg over his hips so you're straddling him, tipping his head back to kiss you. he has to be back inside in a few minutes, hands roaming your body to feel as much of you as possible. his lips trail down your jaw, softly sucking marks onto your neck. he leans back every few seconds to check his work, addicted to the way your skin blotches and shines with his spit.

and you're even better than he dreamed you'd be, impatiently jerking your hips against his, your chest pressed to his and your arms clung around his neck. with the way you just melt in his hands, he figures you'd let him fuck you right here in the back of the luxury car. he nearly considers getting his cock out and making you sit on it, but the bubble around you two bursts, two loud knocks striking the car window. hendery's manager shuffles awkwardly outside, his back turned to you as if he hadn't just seen you two drooling into each others' mouths.

hendery turns back to you with an exasperated expression and feign panic in his voice, "does my makeup look okay?"

"i'll fix it" you smile, wiping your lip gloss from his mouth.

#asks #hendery #wayv #nct #hendery drabbles #hendery smut #hendery x reader #hendery x you #wayv smut #nct smut #wayv hard thoughts #wayv hard hours #nct hard thoughts #nct hard hours #wayv drabbles #nct drabbles

[ae-neon]

The character decimation of Hunt and Shahar in 4 chapters:

Chapter 6

The Asteri had created the angels to be their perfect soldiers and loyal servants. The angels, gifted with such power, had relished their role in the world.

Until Shahar, the Archangel they’d once called the Daystar. Until Hunt and the others who’d flown in Shahar’s elite 18th Legion.

Their rebellion had failed—only for the humans to begin their own forty years ago. A different cause, a different group and species of fighters, but the sentiment was essentially the same: the Republic was the enemy, the rigid hierarchies utter bullshit.

Chapter 9

For context: Sandriel (Amarantha dupe who owned Hunt as a slave after the failed rebellion) and Shahar (the leader of the failed rebellion) were twin sisters.

Sandriel had been Shahar’s prime target, and Hunt had been ordered to take her out. By whatever means necessary.

And Shahar had good reason to go after her sister. Their parents had both been Archangels, whose titles had passed to their daughters after an assassin had somehow managed to rip them to shreds.

He’d never forget Shahar’s theory: that Sandriel had killed their parents and framed the assassin.

...

There had never been proof to pin it on Sandriel, but Shahar believed it to her dying day.

Shahar, the Daystar, had rebelled against her fellow Archangels and the Asteri because of it. She’d wanted a world free of rigid hierarchies, yes—would have brought their rebellion right to the crystal palace of the Asteri if it had been successful.

But she’d also wanted to make her sister pay. So Hunt had been unleashed.

Chapter 10

Bryce glanced between them. “Is this your way of feeling out whether I killed him?”

Hunt smiled slightly. “You don’t seem too cut up that Tertian’s dead.”

Those amber eyes slid to him, annoyance lighting them.

He’d admit it: males would do a lot of fucked-up things for someone who looked like that.

He’d done precisely those sort of things for Shahar once. Now he bore the halo tattooed across his brow and the slave tattoo on his wrist because of it.

From freedom fighters to personal revenge to thinking with his dick I guess?? The implication is insane???

Like that is not why he rebelled 😭 he didn't kill people for Shahar because 'males would do xzy for hot females' !!!! They were all of them fighting for freedom????

Justice for Hunt and Shahar, I hope we get more about them but I doubt it will be anything meaningful

Like I want to believe it could be a complex concoction of all three but sjm's writing is so shallow and so consistently inconsistent that it's more likely she's just switching it up as she goes - ruining her characters that are already all just different flavours of the same people over and over and over again

I knew the cruel slave master who owned Hunt was a woman before it was even mentioned just because sjm always does that. Maeve with Rowan, and Amarantha with Rhysand, and Sandriel with Hunt.

Hunt is Cassian and Jurian thrown in a blender but so far less interesting than either of them

Bryce is Nesta if she had Celaena's personality, free of the baggage of modesty and able to skip over the messiest bits of trauma induced behaviour

Maybe SJM had to make her book series all part of the same universe so the constant "parallels" would be seen as intentional and not just symptomatic of laziness and regression in her work

#anti sjm #sjm critical #why ruin them like this #ccity hoeab #anti crescent city

[lively-potter]

— trials of athena ; five

— genre ; enemies to lovers, kinda slow burn, friends to lovers

— warnings ; a hella lot of cursing, some typos ( of course 🙄😬 ), mature themes, smut, athena doesn’t like feelings, fluff, smut, angst, some violence, a teeny bit of blood and gore, JK’s a dick fr

— intro, teaser, part one, part two, part three, part four,

— find me on Wattpad ; LivelyPotter

— 2024 © LivelyPotter all rights reserved

— word count ; 2k

— taglist ; @ahgasegotarmy116 @jk97bam

chapter five ; “athena and the fortress of trust issues.”

June 2nd, 2023 10:45 AM

Ten fuckin' days had had passed since I met that bumbling shit muffin at the store – and shit had gotten so much worse since then.

For one, that little beech nut next door was cozying up with my family (mainly North) and that shit had been coming to dinner (which I had made sure to miss – and begged Grams and Gramps to let me crash at their place during dinner). Two; my entire family seemed to love that little creamed face loon.

I just don't get why they won't just adopt that fucker; with the rate their relationship is progressing.

A frown came upon my lips.

Okay. I am a little jealous of their attention on him, but still.

He's a complete dick. Why can't they just see that?

I sucked in a sharp breath.

What if he's getting closer to them to take me down?

Shut up, Athena. Not everything is about you, I scolded myself, feeling guilty by being bigheaded.

I sent another text to Sawyer, begging him to come home as I listened to North laugh loudly downstairs and rolled my eyes.

Yes, my enemy is downstairs, if you were wondering. At ten forty five in the morning, no less.

I rolled my eyes, and wondered why my eyes haven't just got stuck back there at this rate. I've been rolling them too much, I really got to stop doing that.

I got up from bed and scurried to my desk, where my laptop was sitting opened. While I confined myself to my room while the rat shit is downstairs, I reckon I should be getting some work done. I cracked my knuckles and pulled my hair back with a clip and got to work.

An hour must have passed, and I was completely stuck in my own world when the doorknob rattled and opened. My eyes never left the laptop screen when a figure stepped past the threshold of my room, figuring it was just Mom or Dad.

But I froze and clenched my teeth when that familiar mocking melodic voice spoke up.

"Hey, princess." he greeted, more than likely holding those delectable lips in a amused smirk.

"Fuck off." I snapped, not in the mood to go and forth bantering with him. I blinked and continued to tap the keys on my laptop – hoping he got the memo and left my fuckin' room.

I never once glanced at him. Honestly, I didn't feel like being hypnotized by his otherworldly beauty.

But that little bitch didn't leave.

I waited (patiently, might I add), for the fucktard to leave, only he didn't. Feeling his glare burning into the side of my face, I huffed loudly and slammed my laptop screen gently closed and snapped my head towards him.

And there he was.

Leaning nonchalantly against my doorframe, JK (as he prefers to be called, but I preferred to call him dickwad) kept his gaze solely on me, and never once wavered. His eyes held a slight glare, warning me to keep mouthing off to him.

I wanted to challenge him just to see what he'd do. Would he put me in my place?

He wore his baggy white cargo pants, held up by another designer belt, and an oversized black shirt with a large white Nike swoosh across the front, and chunky black Prada combat boots. He wore chain bracelets on both of his wrists, chains around his muscular tattooed neck – and as usual, his sexy tattooed hands grappled multiple rings on his long fingers.

Was it nasty to admit I wanted him to grab me by the neck, choke me a little, and leave some marks so I know it wasn't a dream?

My gaze lingered slightly on the dozen roses tattoo on his neck.

Gosh, he was absolute perfection.

But all people had their flaws, and his was his dickish personality.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked through clenched teeth, eyeing him dangerously.

JK smirked at his effect on me and pushed off the door frame and swaggered inside my bedroom.

I watched him, outraged, as he pursed his pierced bottom lip and looked around my girly room, wincing at the amount of pink.

Man, I would spray paint his precious little motorcycle pink and add some bling if only I could...

I smirked at the thought – and side eyed the Nair powder on my nightstand.

I'll have need of you soon, precious.

Patience is a virtue, I said inside my head, eyeing that beautiful hair of this.

It was styled to perfection, his black hair shining in the light when his tattooed hands came up to ruffle the longer strands on top.

Soon, that luscious hair would be no more if I played my cards right, and kept the Nair powder close to me.

"Nah," He shrugged, looking effortlessly handsome as his tattooed fingers grabbed the back of my heavy as fuck reading chair, picked it up and set it across from where I was sitting (with one hand, mind you).

I watched his display of strength with an open mouth. I hated to admit how impressive it was.

If Sawyer were here, I bet that little bitch would have already confessed his undying love for him and perched his tiny ass on JK's muscular solid thigh.

I leaned away from him and crossed my arms across my body. I was only wearing a pair of frilly boy shorts and a matching floral top. It didn't leave much to the imagination when I wasn't wearing a fuckin' bra.

Which I wasn't.

I blushed heavily when JK's eyes flashed to my tits and darkened significantly when he took in the indentations of my nips pressing against the tight fabric.

I cleared my throat when his adam's apple bobbed up and down when he forced his eyes to leave my body.

Wut the fuck...just happened?

"So?" I asked, raising my brows, wondering why he decided to come inside my bedroom and bother me.

JK licked his glossy lips as they pulled up in a smirk.

"No reason. Just came to get you. North and the others wanna talk to you downstairs, princess." He smirked wider, acting like he knew something I didn't.

Even if he did admit it; I probably wouldn't believe him; I got some serious trust issues after Sawyer didn't catch me in a trust fall back in the second grade and i got minor fracture in my skull. That fucking twerp. 

My face paled. "Huh?" I squeaked, "Did they find out that I put food coloring in your pool? —"

"What?" He asked, head flying up and shooting me an accusing glare. "Wait, that was you? You put that fucking red dye in my pool?"

Man, he was hotter when he was mad. He looked ready to punish me.

A shiver of fear ran down my spine as his intimidating presence multiplied. 

"No, dickweed." I scoffed, lying outta my ass, "Your old age must be getting to you – hearing things already." I giggled nervously before stopping in my tracks.

What.

Did I really just giggle?

Me; Athena Jayden Green just giggle?

I've never 'giggled' in my entire fuckin' life.

Well, I did'nt until this fucker came into my life.

Sweet baby Jesus in a comfy manger, just what was this man turning me into?

JK towered over me with a glare and clenched his hands like he wanted to reach over and choke the life out of me (which, knowing my fascination with his sexy hands, I would let him). He licked his lips slowly and backed away.

"I'm only four years older than your little ass." He spoke, a smirk dancing on his lips when I glared up at him for calling my ass little. I wanted to bend over in front of him to prove that my ass, in fact, was not little. "Now get downstairs, princess. I gotta get back home to Bam." JK said.

His dark beautiful doe eyes followed my form as I stood up with an eyeroll and left my bedroom. Hearing his heavy footfalls behind me, I trotted downstairs and entered the kitchen without a further word to JK.

He shot a cheeky wink in my direction and shouted his goodbyes before turning to me.

"I'll be seeing you soon, princess."

There it was again. A hidden message underneath his words.

What in the ever-loving earth was going on?

I also hated to admit his little nickname was growing on me.

Mom and the rest of my family, who had watched our exchange with hidden smirks, gestured for me to enter the dining room, where they were all waiting for me.

I swallowed nervously, wondering what this was all about, and settled into my own assigned chair and bit my lip nervously.

"What's going on? Wait—" I panicked, "Did I do something?" My anxiety was taking hold as Mom snickered into her palm.

"No, baby." North laughed, his burly body shaking as he chuckled. "We just need to go over a couple things before we leave."

Oh, right. I almost forgot about them leaving for Europe in two days.

I gnawed on my bottom lip and nervously nodded.

"Okay. What's up?"

Mom and Papa exchanged looks.

Papa took in a deep breath and pushed his glasses up his nose with a single finger.

"Now, Athena. We have been discussing leaving you alone for so long...and JK so graciously offered to house you while we're gone."

Huh?

Say what now?

"I beg your pardon?" with my brows near to my hairline, I coughed loudly to get past the lump growing in my throat. "You refused, right? I'm an adult, Papa. I can take care of myself."

And I can make my own fucking decisions. I get that they're worried, but I'd have to get used to staying alone, right?

Mom exchanged a look with Papa, "We agreed."

"Without consulting me first, Mom?" I squawked, "I'll say this again – I'm nineteen years old. I'm capable of staying by myself."

"But with the recent robberies happening around the area, Uncle and Dr. Roberts don't have enough people to spare to watch over the house." Papa explained patiently eyeing me sternly, "JK mainly works from home and graciously offered to watch over you while we're gone."

He may murder me while you're gone.

I sighed and banged my head on the table.

"You have to be kidding me."

"Sadly, we're not." Luke said, cheerful eyes dimming, "We just worry, peaches."

I stared at him and felt my resolve crumbling.

I hated making them worry so much. But staying with JK? That's like asking Klaus and his dead beat dickface of a stepdad, Mikael to stay in a two story home together. It would only cause chaos and disaster.

"But what about Grams and Gramps? Can't I stay with them or the Toma Team?" I asked, desperate to find a loophole.

Silas shook his head slowly, "Your Grams and Gramps had a couple things come up and they left early for New York this morning."

"—and the Toma Team is working with Dr Roberts to find a pattern with the robberies, so they're busy. Plus Raven and Sawyer are still in Russia on holiday." Victor chimed in, running his gentle hand over my head.

My shoulders slumped.

Fuck my life.

For real.

Everything is so fucked.

I'm going to be surrounded by a man who arouses feelings I've never felt before. And he was a dick, with a scary dog, and I was going to have to live with him. LIVE WITH HIM. How would I survive this?

...Wait. That was why that beaver nugget was smirking.

I clenched my teeth and made myself stay still, when all I wanted was to march next door and fuckin' strangle that handsome bastard.

Fuck him.

"Fine." It's not like I had a choice. 

A/N

hiiiiiii... thanks for reading. love u ♡ question; what are you most excited about that you think will happen in this story?

#jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #jungkook x oc #bts jungkook #wattpad #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungguk #jungkook x original character #jungkook au #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers

[aces-to-apples]

for the WIP ask game: “for a good time, call [ ]”, please?

WIP Ask Game

Less a WIP and more of an extended joke i'm hoping to work into something one day lol, this one is for Stranger Things

For such fundamentally different boys, Billy Hargrove and Eddie Munson have one thing in common: a reputation. "It's like this: if you want your first time, or few first times, to be all like low-pressure and fun, you find Munson dealing at a party. You bat your eyes, twirl your hair, laugh at his goofy little jokes, and when he tries to give some stupidly cheap weed in exchange for being all nice and flirty with him for a few minutes, you ask to see the inside of his van instead. He'll go, like, the pinkest you've ever seen a boy's face turn, and he'll do dumb stuff like bow and call you 'Your Majesty' or whatever, and he'll get you off like four times before finishing in like five minutes. It's nice, it's fun, you'll laugh and feel special and sexy, and then he'll drive you home and give you that weed for free and he'll only acknowledge you at school if you do first." "Now, if you're past all that 'first time' bullshit, and just wanna get dicked down good and proper without sitting through three months of boring hand-holding dates, you've got Hargrove. And honestly it's kinda the same song and dance? Like, you can just march up to him in the middle of the hall, give him a time and place, and tell him to bring condoms, and he'll absolutely show, but. Dude's kind of a romantic? Like the sex will be good, but if you want it to be fucking phenomenal then you gotta give him the whole girlfriend experience, you know? Go to a movie and dinner, ask about the music he likes, play coy when he seems like he wants to fool around. You gotta let him convince you, right? Cuz he talks a big game about wanting girls who know what they want and how to get it, but what he really likes is getting to talk them into trying him out. It's like a proving himself thing? Just reassure him that it isn't your first time, but also don't be afraid to point out if the other guys you've fucked were disappointing, and he'll, like, jump at the chance to ruin your for all future boyfriends. Like I'm talking 'eat you out for forty minutes then fuck you for another hour before letting you tap out', full-on ruin you for every other guy. Except maybe Munson." "Or I guess you could call up Steve Harrington if you want an actual, like, devoted boyfriend or something."

#wip ask meme #answered asks #by apples #norcumii

[vaspider]

Total side note: the first time I ever heard someone actually use the "can't you just let us have this and have your own thing instead" in real life instead of in articles in my dad's copies of National Review, it was a cishet man who got so upset about the idea of two women having an Imzadi bond on a Star Trek game that he told @dadhoc that he wanted to duel them RL over it. Like, with swords at dawn duel. Because marriage is just for heterosexuals, you see, and couldn't we just have another word for what we wanted, because our experiences are so different and our needs are different and can't we just let the cishets have marriage and Imzadi bonds and leave them alone and go do something else?

Arguments like this always sound like Fortunae on the phone with the ex who pissed on my pajamas and stole my kid's baby book, the two of them complaining about those lesbians who just don't understand that they just aren't the same.

#anyway I'm still upset about Mila #i hope Forty is less of a dick these days

[subspencer]

spencer has been on a case for a couple weeks now, and he’s coming back tonight. his plane was delayed so he wouldn’t have gotten home until really late so you try your hardest to stay awake by doing different things that google says helps, and eventually you fall asleep reading a book or something and when spencer comes home he sees you and just moves you to get comfy and kisses your head, then you wake up and then some fluff or smut doesn’t matter<33

hiii i wrote this all last night! it’s a bit of both fluff and smut! 

wc: 1.4k    

According to Google, the scent of pumpkin was known to arouse men, especially when combined with the scent of lavender. So you lit a bunch of different candles, a few of both scents, plus dozens of smaller ones to line the windowsills. 

Chocolate is another aphrodisiac, as you’ve heard. You hand-dipped fresh strawberries in the fanciest chocolate money could buy, plating them up next two two champagne flutes and a chilled bottle of bubbly. It was the least you and Spencer deserved after weeks apart. 

Everything looked great, until he texted you at nine-thirty in the evening, at the time you were expecting his plane to land.

I’m so sorry, a massive storm came through. Plane never left. We’re getting back on now, hope to land in a few hours. 

Well, fuck. You were so prepared for him; all dressed up, glasses already poured, candles lit, and a set of new lingerie on.  

But it was only three hours. That’s all that separated you from Spencer, and after so many days, you could manage to busy yourself for a few hours. He was worth the wait. 

You passed eighty minutes by watching some tv, another twenty while playing a game on your phone, and twenty more by going back to the tv. Two hours down, one more to go. But you made the fatal mistake of having some of that champagne while you waited, and staying awake seemed harder to do with every passing minute.

With no coffee in the house to keep yourself up, you resorted to the internet again. The first search result was a listicle of tips and tricks:

1. Get Up and Walk Around  

Okay, done. And while you walked around, you also accomplished tip number four, “Eat a Healthy Snack to Boost Energy”. With a whole, peeled carrot in one hand, you paced around Spencer’s apartment while chomping on the vegetable for a good ten minutes. 

It worked, but only a little. So, you tried another item.

5. Start a Conversation to Wake Up Your Mind

It was a total bust. At goddamn eleven forty five in the evening, on a week night, not many people would be excited to pick up the phone. You tried a few numbers and all of them went to voice mail. 

On to the next one.

3. Give Your Eyes a Break

Okay, so no screens. You put your phone down, shut the television off, and walked over to Spencer’s bookcase. Running your fingers along their spines, you were in awe of how many books he had. It was too many to pick from, so instead, you went to his bedside table and picked up the book he was last reading in bed. 

You almost fell into the trap of sitting in bed to read it. You knew if you did that, you’d fall asleep right away. So you took it to the couch, grabbing one of his sweaters off his armchair on the way, and tossing it overhead.

In a bid of hope, you never got out of that lingerie you put on for him, but now it was starting to get chilly. You promised yourself to take it off the second you heard his keys hit the door; he’d never have to know you were anything less than the perfectly seductive piece you were dressed up as. 

But, Jesus fucking Christ. Spencer reads some boring books.

Not boring, maybe, but ones that have words just in the damn title that you don’t even understand. You strained your mind through four of the pages, which took at least another twenty minutes anyways, and decided that was more than enough. 

You checked your phone again, hoping for a miracle. And it came to you in the form of a text from Spencer.

Just landed! 

Got news that all the roads are blocked off. Trains are closed, Morgan’s gonna drive me home, but it could still take at least an hour :(

There wasn’t even a moment to be excited about the first part before you swiped out of the messages app and angrily pulled up that listicle again. All the other suggestions were rubbish; you weren’t going to go exercise in a snowstorm, there wasn’t any fucking sunlight at past midnight, and you’d already drank tons of water. 

There was one item on the list you hadn’t tried yet.

2. Take a Nap to Take the Edge Off Sleepiness

That was tempting. Spencer did say it would be another hour, and as he’s informed you many times before, a twenty-minute nap was all it took to get the optimal nap in. 

You caved. But you made sure to set your phone alarm for twenty minutes out, and yet another after that just in case. Fluffing Spencer’s sofa cushions up, you tucked one under your head and laid down.

-

You woke up just moments before Spencer came home. He walked in to find you waiting for him, clad in the hottest red lingerie he’d ever laid eyes on. After weeks of being apart, he didn’t have the time for words. He dropped his bags at the door and wordlessly stormed over, bringing his hands to either side of your face and gripping you tightly as he covered your mouth with his own. 

Your mouths worked furiously together, and his hands dropped low on your hips before throwing all caution to the wind and palming your ass. With both hands just below your ass, he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he walked you to the wall and pinned you against it. Your pussy was leveled perfectly against his hard dick. He grinded himself against you, moaning at the sweet friction. His head was buried in your neck, sucking so deliciously. 

“Spencer,” you moaned his name, low and rolling, as he shifted your panties aside. “Mmm, feels so good baby.” 

He carefully set you down and dropped to his knees, putting his face between your legs instead. His tongue pressed along the length of your seam. You let your eyes close as you dropped your head back onto the wall.

“Fuck, Spencer!” you couldn’t stop moaning it. Every other breath became the sound of his name. 

And then, you felt a kiss on your forehead. And a palm on your shoulder. Your eyes flickered open, fully and for real this time.

Next thing you knew, Spencer was kneeling on the floor. Not between your legs, but by your side while you were laid out on the couch, gently shaking you awake.

“Hi,” he smiled as you finally blinked your eyes awake. “Havin’ a good dream, I hope?”

You grumbled, disappointed both that it wasn’t real, and that you’d fallen asleep. “No, no, it wasn’t supposed to be like this!” you pouted, sitting up. “I was supposed to wake up and, and –”

“Be ready for me?” He quirked a brow as he surveyed the room. 

There were dozens of blown-out candles under the open windows, carrying a cool evening breeze. An untouched plate of chocolate strawberries, and a less-untouched bottle of champagne. You, clad in something silky and red, that made you look like a present waiting to be unwrapped. And also, his chunky knit sweater. 

“I tried, I promise. I did everything, I even read that book of yours,” you gestured to it on the coffee table, barely cracked open.

“Well, it’s no wonder you fell asleep then,” he laughed. 

“I’m so sorry, Spence.” 

He only shook his head and pushed your shoulders back down until you were lying on the couch again. 

“Don’t apologize.” He pulled your knees closer to him, hooking the leg closest to him over his far shoulder and nestling himself inside. “To find my girlfriend waiting for me, in my home,” he stopped to kiss the inside of your knee, “in my sweater,” and then the other one, “and in this, too?” 

Spencer pushed up the hem of the sweater, exposing the fancy lingerie you had under. His large hands rested on your sides as he dove in to kiss your belly, right above the mesh garter belt you wore. From there, he kissed a line all the way down, stopping before reaching your panties.

“Well, that’s all I could’ve asked for.” He gave you a smirk before hooking one finger into your panties and pulling them to the side. He dragged his tongue over you. “So, why don’t you tell me what that dream was about?” 

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds smut #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid imagine #blurb

[professorrw]

hii can you do a professor loki x reader smut !! where she is being a tease and he punishes her over his desk with degrading or teasing ? thank you !!! 💘💘

Pairing: female reader x Prof!Loki

Requested: Yes

Warnings: smut, 18+, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, pet names (kitten, darling), age gap (reader in college, Loki is 40), some degrading, light edging, fingering, swearing, begging

A/N: Requests are open for one-shots, headcanons, imagines, and drabbles for My Hero Academia, Harry Potter, and Marvel! My taglist is open so if you’d like to be on that just tell me! Please like, comment, and reblog!

You were a broke student going to a prestigious college. Of course that school had the best professors. At least that’s what you had heard. But you weren’t prepared for one of your professors to be so hot. Compared to your other teachers he was one of the youngest at the ripe age of forty when you were in your senior year.

Everything about him just screamed sex appeal. You weren’t one to judge someone solely on appearances but damn, he was fine. He had a sexy British accent and dark black hair and the way he rolled his sleeves up showcased his arms in just the right way. It didn’t help your concentration when he wore those tight black khakis that squeezed against his ass.

To help pay for your college tuition you became a teachers’ assistant. You did a lot of work for Professor Laufeyson and soon something began to bud. At first it was just friendly banter but then it developed into more. By the end of the school year you and your professor had a secret relationship. It was easier to keep it a secret because you were a teachers’ assistant. You could go to his classroom after hours and no one would bat an eyelash.

Over the summer your romance really hit it off. By your senior year you two were still going strong. So strong in fact you would tease him during class. It was blistering hot one day, which gave you an excuse to wear a loose top and a skirt. When you leaned over your desk the top was just low enough that your cleavage would be on display.

When he was doing a lecture and caught sight of your chest his breath would catch and he would falter, then go straight back to teaching. After class though when you came back to drop off papers you knew what was going to happen.

You knocked on the door to his office and he called for you to come in. You stepped into the room which was only lit by the lamp next to him. The lamp shade casted his mahogany desk in an orange glow. His walls were lined with the same material of bookshelves, which were filled with a variety of books.

He was grading assignments but when he saw you he set his pen down and sat back in his chair. He took off his reading glasses and set them down on top of the paper he was previously looking at. He crossed one of his legs over the other and intertwined his fingers in his lap. His polished black shoes were bobbing up and down and tapping on the floor.

He gave you a sultry smile before he started talking. “You’re very naughty. I saw what you were doing earlier. Were you trying to tease me darling?”

“Maybe.”

He ‘tsked,’ “I think you’ll need to be punished. Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose I do.” You were looking forward to the so-called punishment. It wasn’t actually a punishment at all. He would bend you over his desk and fuck you until you couldn’t walk anymore. In your book that was a treat.

“Sassy little thing aren’t you? Well, you know how this goes,” he said. He picked up his stack of papers and put them in his seat which he had stood from. He set the books in a stack next to his desk and put the lamp on top of it. From the new position of the light it was harder to see than before. The light was still on the ceiling and the sides of the desk, but it wasn’t as bright as earlier.

You indeed knew how this went. You walked to his desk and bent over, plump ass sticking out just for him. He walked around his desk and placed a hand against your ass. He let out a low chuckle.

“No underwear darling? I hope you haven’t let other people see your tight little pussy.”

“I haven’t. It’s only for you,” you said.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He rubbed and pinched your butt cheeks before he even went near your vagina. He slotted his hand between your legs and pushed your feet so they would be further apart. He ran his thumb along your folds before he put it inside you. You started moaning as he moved his thumb around inside you.

“Let me hear you kitten,” he purred.

You moaned more as he increased the intensity of his movements. He took his thumb out and added two other fingers. He curled and scissored and pumped them in and out, doing everything he knew would make you cum. You were gripping the edge of his desk and he was fingering you so intensely in a few minutes of his cooing and your moaning you were about to reach your orgasm.

“I’m- I’m about to cum.”

“Not yet kitten. You’ve been naughty.” He pulled his fingers completely out of you, making a whine come out of your lips.

“Being needy will only make your punishment worse. Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

He had built you up until you were seconds away from coming and then stopped. Of course you didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to put his fingers or dick in your vagina or else you would finish yourself off.

“No. Please- Please fuck me. I’ll stop being naughty,” you begged.

“You like it when I fuck you?”

“Yes- Yes. Please-” you were cut off by something being pressed against your slit. He had unzipped his pants and lined himself up whilst you were talking.

You pushed the rest of his length in by the time he was fully in you were close to your orgasm again. He immediately started thrusting, fulfilling your need for him. He wasn’t going to go easy on you at all. He was already going fast when he started and he had to hold onto your shoulders for support. His balls were slapping against you at every thrust, filling the room with grunts, moans, and the sound of slapping.

Loki himself wasn’t the type to last rounds and if he really wanted he could cum quickly. He intended to cum right after you did so when you screamed out he knew it was time. Your cum spilled out and covered his dick, creating less friction.

Just moments later his seed squirted into you. After a few more slower thrusts he pulled out, cum dripping with his and your cum combined. You turned around slowly, trying not to aggravate your sensitive pussy. There in front of you was Loki, who hadn’t pulled his pants back up and had his dick just hanging out.

“Why don’t you make it up to me and clean this up?” He motioned to his cock and you eased yourself onto your knees. You licked and sucked on his dick until all the juices were cleaned off. When you were finished you stood back up and Loki pressed a kiss to your lips.

“Thank you kitten. Do you want to stay for a drink?”

You stayed for a few more hours and had a drink with your professor until you had to go back to your apartment for the night.

#marvel oneshot #marvel x reader #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #marvelsmut #marvel one shot #marveloneshot #marvel #loki x yn #loki x you #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #lokioneshot #loki oneshot #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki #tom hiddleston #loki imagine #avengers x fem!reader #avengers fic #avengers x you #avengers oneshot #avengers x reader #avengers smut #avengers fanfiction #avengers #fanfiction with smut #myfanfiction

[moxfirefly]

Good afternoon, this has been in the works for a while now and I finally got around to finishing it and being pretty content of it (this is gonna go up on AO3 soon along with the others that aren’t request) but I wanted to post it here first. Enjoy!

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

“Wish you were here right now

All of the things I'd do”

Gaming was always an escape.

From childhood to adulthood. There was some gaming equipment in your hands, controls, handhelds, keyboards and so on. There was just something calming about entering a fantasy world and immersing yourself in scenery and stories that made you stray from bad days and long nights.

For Donatello it was the same.

On one of his many supply scavenges Splinter had found a dumpster near a toy store that was going out of business. It was a memorable haul for them. What they expected to be routine things mixed with some type of groceries had turned into literal Christmas in July. Stuffed animals, board games, action figures and even a few gaming consoles with some cartridges and cd’s. Noticeably they were considered damaged or improperly manufactured, but they didn’t care and for Donnie he had spent a good week and a half fixing up the Nintendo and Play Station 2 consoles back into working conditions.

That alone had been plenty for him but nevertheless Mikey being so excited about playing wanted him to join him. They had played for hours and each disc or cartridge they tried out held a new story, a new set of controls to learn, new visuals and such. He was immediately hooked.

When he had gotten the first parts to start building a PC from scratch he knew there would be another world of possibilities for games.

Now gaming is a leisure for Donnie. Something he does for enjoyment and an escape when his projects become too much. The world of online gaming allowed him to also explore the possibilities of chatting with others though, the humans they were not allowed to see or speak to (with the exception of their Hogosha) but needless to say it wasn’t like Donnie broadcasted his identity and whereabouts. More so these people only came to game and speak game.

Donnie absolutely does detest the unnecessary sexism that gaming brings. Many a time he had read on chats or heard on his head set such derogatory comments thrown at female players. Never the one to stand such misogynistic behavior (he was raised better and had heard enough horror stories from April) he always shot that shit down quickly. Given his status as being far above his gaming peers he had developed respect and none of them ever shot back at him.

That’s how he runs into you.

On the opposing team nonetheless.

Once your female voice ran through the ears of the group he had been stuck in, the comments began to rain down. Some colorful, some lazy and some downright disgusting. Donnie had had enough and with some of his more illegal methods, had managed to push out the players in his party and send the audio recording to the email of the developers.

On exceptionally petty days he did far worse.

You had been stunned, wondering why the gang of immature boys had suddenly disappeared. Only one of them remained with the gamer tag specifying ‘Don_DuzMachines’ you couldn’t help but giggle at it.

You had asked if the sudden disappearance had been a weird glitch and if Don (as you assumed you should call him) had anything to do about it.

“Let’s just say I’ve got my ways” His soft voice rang through your headset.

“Well it’s hardly the first time I’ve had a gang of prepubescent boys tell me to suck their dicks” You started to move away in the map but stopped abruptly.

“Hey do you wanna play something else?” You asked tentatively. “Figured the least I can do is thank you” Donnie sat back pensively, well there was no harm in that now was there?

And so it started innocently.

Co-op games even the occasional match against one another. Each game you two always spoke through your headsets. Mostly banter about strategy or directions for who to do what or the occasional friendly jabs. You hadn’t revealed much that wasn’t the nickname you used as your gamer tag, and well Don had basically done the same.

That is until you decide to poke a little into his life. “You go to college?” You had asked, fingers gliding over the keyboard as you both partook in a raid. Donnie hadn’t expected such a question and he didn’t necessarily want to divulge much, he opted for a more ambiguous response. “I do my own studying, sort of like home schooling if you will?” Well he wasn’t wrong, Splinter had been both father and teacher to them, Donnie had just excelled more quickly and soon enough he was teaching his brothers on the academic side.

“You broke too, huh? Trust me it’s not worth the insane debt you’ll develop in six years that’ll take forty years to pay off” You chuckled with a hint of bitterness, Donnie couldn’t help but laugh and snort.

“That’s cute” You said sincerely. Donnie smiled, heat creeping up his neck.

How innocent things had been at the start.

For six months the two of you divulged little to no information. You never asked to video chat and Donnie never asked for your socials. It had just been a mutual agreement to keep the mystery that just wasn’t verbalized. Maybe it was for the better, because surely what had began as a gaming buddies situation had escalated to, well Donnie couldn’t really explain.

The first instance the two of you had been stuck on a map solving intricate puzzles. It was one of the more relaxed games the two of your partook in together when you didn’t want to deal with other players in a lobby.

“Dating apps are a nightmare, they’re only worth it for getting dumb funny stories” You had been playing but also checking some of the matches you’ve gotten on a site. Donnie swallowed, why did that settle so oddly in his stomach?

“Well any funny ones you’d like to share?” Don asked curiously hoping he wasn’t over stepping any boundaries. “One guy wanted me to cover my feet in marmalade, I really almost hit fuck it and did it” You couldn’t help but smile when Don choked, coughed and bursted out laughing.

“What kink is that even related to? I mean I know people enjoy feet but marmalade?” He was bewildered. “Come on Don don’t kink shame the poor guy, who are you to police his eclectic culinary desires?” Now the two of you couldn’t help but burst into another fit of laughter. Both your avatars were idle standing, the game somewhat abandoned in favor for the conversation.

“Hey I’m not kink shaming, we all have our weird kinks” Donnie smiled sitting back on his swivel chair. You clicked out of the dating site, chin resting on your hand. “Are we finally having this conversation? Cause I love this shit, it’s my bread and butter” You sat back in your gaming chair, tucking your knees.

Donnie felt so shy but the barrier of mistery the two of you had built urged him on. He was curious, like stupid curious what you looked like and while he had everything to figure out exactly where you were, it wasn’t morally correct for him. So why not just indulge in the conversation?

“Well it’s not feet, sorry to disappoint” He heard you laugh, an infectious sound he had grown to enjoy so much. “Feet are so passé anyways, what about bondage?” You spun slowly in your chair, the sounds of Don adjusting and clicking on the keyboard ringing in your ears.

“Bondage is a go, especially sensory deprivation” He was checking some documents April had forwarded to him in regards to a case they were dealing with, but he could multitask. You made an approving noise, nodding while taking a sip of your drink. “Into that D/s stuff?” You asked wanting to see what else he might like.

“Well yeah, but I do enjoy more um... Fem Dom stuff” He finished up the email he wrote out for April and hit send. “A man with taste, not something we get often” You chuckled but decided to add. “I wouldn’t mind having a guy submit to me” You bit the inside of your cheek a little shy suddenly.

Something about that statement made heat spread south for Donnie. The concept of being dominated? By a woman? He peaked a look behind him, pushing one side of his headset down to hear what his brothers might be up to but he heard only music and chatting voices.

“What’s your favorite thing?” He inquired almost too softly.

“Erotic ASMR” There was no trace of embarrassment in your voice and that somehow made Donnie hot.

“Maybe we frequent the same sites for that” Don boldly threw out. You made an approving face before sitting forward and typing on your keyboard. A beat or two later Donnie saw an email notification from you on one of his many burner emails. He opened it finding links to audios from various sites all catered to erotic audios. Donnie whistled, this was a gold mine and true to his predictions you did indeed have some of his favorite sites to peruse.

“It’s not just male audios by the way, there’s women too” You sat back once again, nervously playing with your hair. “Thanks... Well I do like hearing both” Donnie confessed, voice avoiding a stutter.

You grinned. Oh he was even more fun that you could’ve expected.

Curiously enough that had been the tamest experience into yours and Donnie’s sex talks. Because it hadn’t really stopped at that, they progressively escalated little by little. Fave kinks had turned to fave sites, fave sites had turned into fave videos. Donnie never pictured he’d share his hidden folder with a stranger no less.

You nor Donnie could really say how the two of you had ended up one late night, with yet another abandoned game, talking about weird but satisfying cyber sex experiences. Some of your stories had been on the more comical side but a few had riled Donnie up to the point that he couldn’t ignore it. There was a shift in your voice as well, an allure that enticed him.

“Can I be honest?” You licked your suddenly dry lips. Donnie tensed momentarily, not sure what to expect. “Of course, please” You squeezed your thighs together, ‘please’ shouldn’t sound so good coming out of his mouth. You trace lazy circles on your thighs, something pushed you. “I’m kinda turned on by this...by talking to you about all this stuff” Maybe this was overstepping it, surely there was nothing wrong between two adult friends discussing such matters.

There was no need to tell Don that you had yearned to put a face to the name. But his hesitance spoke of insecurities and you could understand that.

“I am too...” Donnie looked up at what he called a ceiling in his home, the darkness of the sewer system and concrete. He’d never have a chance with you, it was a deeply rooted desire for intimacy and if virtually he could obtain it then so be it.

For all your boldness you felt a wave of bashfulness hit, crashed around your self confidence. Then Donnie steps up and you feel your toes curl in excitement. “Do you want to have a better experience?” Donnie runs both hands down his face, who was he to provide better experiences, he’d never even physically had a partner. The slow sigh that escapes your throat is comforting static in his headset. “Yeah, yeah I really do actually” You feel a smile etch itself on your lips.

“You can call me Donnie” It’s the closest to his name, and truthfully he really wants to hear you say it.

“Y/N,” You say to which Donnie makes an approving noise, he finds your name to be pretty. He rolls it in his mouth, testing the syllables, he can envision moaning it, well he wants to moan it if he can be completely honest. He wants to put a face to that name but he quickly pushes the thought out. There’s a pregnant pause where neither of you engage or make the first attempt. Not wanting to let this mood flee, Donnie swallows and closes his eyes. The hum of the abandoned game grounding him.

“Say my name again” It’s not a forceful demand, all the contrary he wants to hear the pitch in your voice when you say it, he wants to picture how each tone would variate depending on what he would do or say. “Donnie...” You smile to yourself when you say it, a hint of desire nestled in it and Don notices that and wants more of it.

There’s a lengthy sigh from your behalf, hands wandering up your thighs towards your chest. “I’d like to be there right now, would like to say it against your lips” Your bold confessions makes Donnie’s pulse quicken. He runs a ghosting touch up his plastron, the vision of a delicate hand doing it. The imaginary weight of you on his lap grinding down on his hard member. Donnie grips himself through his shorts a soft groan escaping his parted lips.

“Want you to kiss me” He swallows dryly, the approving noise you make pushing him forward. “Feel your lips all over, feel your mouth around me...” He lifts his hips, hand cupping himself and the small hitch in your breath is a sound he wants permanently recorded in his brain.

“God are you big? I bet you are” You kneed your breast, thumb and forefinger pinching the sensitive nubs until they’re perked. Donnie smirks to himself, freeing his aching member and looking down at himself. Mutant genes aside he feels somewhat shamefully proud of his cock, he wonders if you would like it... deeply buried within you. “Yeah I am, I think you can take it something tells me” You catch that teasing tone and the urge to swallow him whole and make him see stars is too much.

Your hand finds its way into your underwear, the warm wetness making you moan as you tease your middle finger between the lips to find your sensitive nub there. You bite back another lengthy moan but recover enough to breathlessly say, “oh fuck, Donnie” and that very sound makes him shiver. Never did he think he’d hear something so temptingly good, said with such sincerity. God the things he would do to smell your arousal right now, to taste the wetness. “Push two fingers in slowly” Donnie almost pleas, his voice shakey, hand pumping his cock at a steady pace. You do as he wishes, your gutted moan making more precum gather at the tip of his member.

“God-shit- you sound so good, wish you were riding my big dick right now” He wants to chastise himself for saying something like that, but he can’t deny that statement shakes something in you. He can hear it, the sound of your fingers mixed with a continuously rising string of moans. “Ohmygod” Words tumble out strewn together by your pleasure. “Donnie please, please fuck me harder” That alone makes him sit up and push forwards, one hand on his desk as the other works himself up in upward twisting strokes.

Donnie can’t erase the idea of slamming into you right here on his desk, maybe bent over, maybe you’ll let him cum on your face...

He pushes the idea away, he can’t envision your face now, not right now, not when your moans have you sounding this deliciously in need. You’re plunging two fingers into your core as your free hand runs firm circles around your clit. “Christ Donnie you sound so good baby” You moan, perspiration covering your body and Donnie can only groan his approval.

There’s a few minutes where it’s just the two of you lost in your own pleasure together. The constant chants of ‘fuck’ and ‘god’ and ‘yes’ mixed between the two of you. “Say it... again” Donnie groans out, hand quickening, briefly gathering some saliva and letting it fall on his hard member for better traction. “Don-oh, Donnie cum in me!” You’re so far gone, not caring what comes out of your mouth. The wet sounds in your head set and a vibration you figured could be static mixed with his groans was all you heard.

Donnie’s hips twitch, feels that request swim inside of his brain and the image of burying himself as deeply as you could take is all he needs. Just as your moans rise in crescendo he feels the first twitch and relief of his orgasm overtake him. He’s never felt it hit him this hard it knocks the wind out of him, each rope shooting out onto his hand and floor. In his minds eye though, it’s your suffocating heat taking it, milking him until he’s a shivering mess. It plays perfectly like a movie, he swears he can even feel your lips at his neck and arms holding him tight.

Your sounds are enough to keep him stroking, the way your voice pitched up with the sound of his name entwined, forever recorded in his brain. Your entire body tensed to the point of uncomfortable but it was impossible to stop abruptly when he sounded so lost in you. Your leg shakes and stiffens and it takes every inch of control to not become liquid and slip away into comforting bliss.

Eventually the sounds of heavy breathing slowly but surely settling are the only things the two of you can hear in your ears. There’s a mess, for you and for him. The understanding of things transpired crossing each of you two’s brains. Should you speak first? Should he?

“Um, you with me?” You settle, skin sweaty and mouth dry. There’s movement on the other line, a quiet cuss here and there and you smile. “Yeah, sorry just... made a mess” His voice has that sheepish tone and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Great thing about being a girl, we can conceal the evidence better” You stretch your aching legs enjoying each joint pop. “The female anatomy never seizes to amaze me, trust me” Donnie leans back in his chair, napkin cleaning any other soiled spot.

The silence was somewhat comfortable, the buzzing of good chemicals slowly settling.

“Was this okay?” He asked, hesitant tone in your ears.

“More than okay if you ask me” You kept it light not wanting him to feel odd or even ashamed.

You ventured on slowly, forming the question in your brain and bouncing it back and forward with a swallow. “If, and I mean if you want to, we can maybe do this from time to time” You worried a thumbnail between your teeth. Donnie’s gaze watching the idle screen of the abandoned game, he thought hard but briefly.

“I... yeah I would” He smiles to himself, even if the nagging thought that this might not last clutches the back of his mind. Why ruin a good thing? This was good more than good and you suggested to continue.

He doesn’t want to preoccupy his brain with scenarios, or if that dreaded ‘let’s meet’ sentence decides to cross your lips. If this is the inch of intimacy he gets to have and it’s with you, who he has grown so fond of, then he’s selfishly taking that inch and guarding it with his life.

Mutely you both remain on the line, no words spoken from the agreement, just simply enjoying that the two of you were present.

Even if not physically.

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt donatello x female reader #donnie tmnt #donatello tmnt #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donnie #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #donnie x reader #Donatello #Donnie #ns*w #oneshot

[myckicade]

Prompt: OMG. Love the Taza imagine! If you're OK with that, would you be OK with a Bishop one? I'd love to see him jealous!

A/N: Uhm. Yeah. So. This is now a thing. This one is a little different, in more ways than one. (I have a feeling I’ll be doing a second part). I should warn about some ugly language in this one, just in case. I want to wish you a happy read, and to apologize, at the same time.

Title: Bottom of the Bottle

Teaser: Your world has gone on, as normal. You just haven’t included Bishop in it.

Two days.

It’s been two days, Bishop reminds himself. Two days since he’s heard from you. Two days since you left his bed, his home, his life. It’s dramatic as hell, and he knows so, but the bottom of his bottle is whispering ugly thoughts in his face.

(Y/n)’s cheating.

(Y/n)’s dead.

No, (y/n)’s definitely fucking another man.

Groaning, Bishop pulls the bottle away from his mouth, and scrubs his free hand over his face. “This is insane,” he growls, snatching his phone from his nightstand.

Two. Fucking. Days.

Opening up his recent calls, Bishop stares at the screen. He’s made fifteen calls, in the last forty-eight hours. Two to Taza. One to Marcus. The other twelve all have your name on them. All twelve, no answers. All twelve, unreturned voicemails. He scowls. He’s sent more text messages than that, even. Those haven’t been returned, yet, either.

Fuck, he has it so fucking bad.

You’re fine, he knows that much. He’s been by your apartment, more than once. The cat is fed, and content. Litter box has been changed. There are clothes all over your bedroom floor, coffee mugs on the kitchen counter. Mail hasn’t piled up. Your world has gone on, as normal.

You just haven’t included Bishop in it.

He doesn’t understand it. What went wrong? He can’t remember being that big a dick to you, before you left. He’d teased you about the smudge of mascara under your eyes, from the night before, but that was it. You’d given him a kiss, and one of your brightest smiles. There was no indication, not that Bishop can see, that you wouldn’t be coming back.

See you soon. That’s what you’d told him. See you soon.

Forgive him. He doesn’t consider fifty-four hours, and some change, to be soon.

Heaving a sigh, Bishop abandons his stare-off with his call records in favour of a swig of vodka. He can’t call, again, he just can’t. It’s getting pathetic. He’s getting pathetic. He can’t remember the last time he was like this, even before his divorce. Lovers come, and lovers go, in his life. That’s just a part of the life. But, you… God, you’re something else, entirely. You don’t intermingle with the Club, very often, but there’s no tension (that he’s aware of) over how he earns a living. It’s refreshing, he has to admit, both halves of his being playing so nicely, together. (It’s so damn close to harmony, he won’t look at it, too closely, for fear of disappointment). He can work the whole day away, and come home pissed off, and worn out, and ruin every damned plan you have for the night… And, somehow, you adapt. You. You. Bishop swears, there’s nothing you won’t alter. A nicely-set table becomes plates in front of the television. A night out drinking becomes shots at home, cards and conversation filling the spaces between. And, on those rare nights he’s too tired to pleasure you? He hasn’t heard a peep about it, by way of complaint. You just accept that he’s going to shower, and hit the hay, and that’s the end of it. Sometimes, Bishop feels like he takes advantage of your good nature.

Oh, good nature, hell, you’re a fucking Saint.

He really should have seen this coming, this all blowing up in his face.

Is that it, though? Has he really driven you away, by not paying attention to your needs? He hasn’t seen the signs. You’re such a damned sweetheart, there probably haven’t been any signs to miss, at all. You’ve just smiled, and smooched, and carried on as normal, until it got to be too much.

That’s it. He’s forced you away, and that’s why you’re ignoring him, and fucking another man.

A low roar forces its way from Bishop’s throat, and, a second later, glass is shattering against the bedroom wall. Shards are sticking up out of the carpet, vodka streaking down the wallpaper. Fuck, he hates that wallpaper. He can’t remember why he put it up, to begin with. He’s been asking you to pick a colour to paint over it with, any colour that isn’t white, and you’ve been finding it in yourself, each and every time, to remind him why he shouldn’t paint over wallpaper. Sometimes, he brings it up, just to make you laugh. Just to hear the explanation, on repeat. Now, he’s never going to hear it, again.

Fuck, he needs a fucking cigarette.

And, of fucking course, the pack is empty. Crumpling the paper in his hand, Bishop tosses it to the carpet, beside the growing vodka patch. He’s in no condition to be driving, a rarity, these days. (He won’t admit it, under pain of death, but he’s been drinking considerably less with you around, too). Probably why he’s two steps from sloshed, now. He should just stay home, yes, he should. There’s no need for cigarettes, not at this hour. He should keep himself calm, and go to bed. Wait for your call.

Standing to his feet, Bishop grabs his keys, and his wallet, and heads for the door. Without you around, what is he saving himself for?

*

Well… Okay, so, that’s decidedly not the convenience store.

Bishop stares at the apartment building – your apartment building – in something akin to wonder. He has no recollection of how he ended up here, parked in front of the entrance. It’s been twenty minutes, easily, that he’s been staring up at your living room window. The lamp beside the couch is on, the soft glow almost inviting to his impaired senses.

He really should go knock on the door.

He really should have stayed home, too.

So, you’re definitely home. Looking around at the parking lot, he doesn’t see your car. But, you never leave lights on, not on purpose. Whether you’re paranoid about fires, or worried about an expensive light bill, Bishop can only guess. Right now, he’s thankful. It gives him something to focus on, something to calm him… Something to entice him closer to your front door. Step by step, he tries to talk himself out of it. But, he can’t stand this, living this way, not knowing where you are, or what you’re doing, or who you’re doing, if it’s not him. It’s distracting, and he truly can’t afford to be distracted, not even by you, not like this. He has to go up, he just has to. He has to know, to figure this shit out, face-to-face.

Knock, knock, knock. Bishop finds himself comforted by the solid connection of your door against his knuckles. He could use his key, but it doesn’t feel right, not now. He could scare you, or piss you off, neither of which is on his list of desires. You’re a civil person, peaceful to a fault, so he might get away with it, sure, but… But…

This has to go right. He has to do this right. Whatever he did, or hasn’t done, Bishop’s confident he can fix it. You two have a good thing going. Sure, he’s got a few years on you, and there are gaps in understanding one another, every now and again. And, yeah, you’ve had a spat or two, in the last few months of your relationship. He’s always seen that as a sign of things getting comfortable, though, not a warning of bigger problems. Your arguments aren’t dire, anyway.

Who the fuck is ‘Nicki Minaj’, and why is she on my speaker system?

Why is your toilet paper on the roll, the wrong way?

How the hell can you be a Mets fan?

No, I’m serious. Who the fuck is ‘Nicki Minaj’?

That’s not enough for you to be screwing around on him, right?

As your door opens, and Bishop gets a good look at what’s been going on… Well, apparently, it’s enough.

“Who the fuck are you?” Bishop spits out, before the man at the door can even get out a greeting. Not exactly his nicest choice of words, but all Bishop can see is young, and tall, and handsome. If this motherfucker is a day over thirty, he’ll go vegan for a fucking year. Well-dressed, smells decent (he’s close enough to tell, okay?), without a frown line, or a speck of grey on him.

He’s not insecure. He’s not fucking insecure.

Handsome smiles, albeit a bit forced. “Oh, ah, hi! Are you looking for (y/n)?” He’s so polite, it stings. This kid – kid – is the poster child for Ivy League education, for all the right things in life. So clean-cut, his creases have creases. Meanwhile, here Bishop stands, in yesterday’s jeans, boots, kutte, and a wrinkled shirt he can’t swear is fresh.

He can’t stand this, either. As a result, in the blink of an eye, he has Handsome backed against a wall, hands fisted in his now-not-so-perfect shirt.

“Hey!” Handsome shouts, trying – and, failing – to shove Bishop off of him. Bishop can’t really fathom how, must be from sheer force of rage, probably fueled by his liquid indulgences. He can’t help it. His heart is in his throat, rhythm a little sketchy, at the thought that this is what you’ve chosen, over him? This? Some kid with a million-watt smile, and fucking Dockers? What fucking year is it, anyway?!

The idea forces an extra shove into the wall. Bishop hopes something cracks.

“What the fuck are you doing, here?” He hasn’t raised his voice, not a bit. If anything, it’s probably dropped an octave, settling into a low, dangerous growl. He’s two steps away from redecorating that perfect little face, just for the sheer joy of it, make it something you definitely won’t like, anymore.

That’s when he hears it.

“Obispo!”

It’s you. Even through the deluge of seething rage threatening to consume him, Bishop knows your voice. He looks over his shoulder, finding you standing in the still-open doorway. There’s a duffel bag slung over your shoulder, a bag of groceries in your other arm. You look surprised, but who wouldn’t be surprised to be caught, red-handed?

“What are you doing?” you ask, setting your bags down.

“I could ask you the same thing!” Bishop finally shouts, hands still twisted in your little boyfriend’s shirt. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Your confusion seems to be growing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He sneers. “You know what I’m talking about. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for two days!” Bishop points back to your unwanted visitor, ignoring the way his hand shakes. “You ignore me, to whore around with this prick?!”

“The fuck did you just say?” Bishop nearly has a coronary, as a second guy steps into the doorway, behind you. Where the hell did he come from? This one… He’s just as tall, but he definitely doesn’t miss a day at the gym. If Bishop tries to put this one against the wall, he’ll find himself pile-driven into the floor. His arms may be full of groceries, but the look on his face is threatening bodily harm, and worse.

Doesn’t stop Bishop’s mouth from running, though.

“Oh, wow,” he chokes out, forcing a laugh from somewhere that feels wrong, cut-up and bloodied and wrecked. He shifts his eyes from Muscles, to you. “You running a whole thing outta’ here? Taking ‘em, two at a time?”

Muscles puts his bags down, advancing on Bishop, who lets go of Handsome, and takes a step back. Muscles puts himself between Bishop, and everyone else. Defensive. Protective. And, does that ever fucking hurt. If this guy is so ready to go to bat for you, he’s known you a lot longer than two days.

How did he fucking miss this?

Again, Bishop’s eyes find yours, and the sight of your beautiful face completely destroys the bravado. He feels his shoulders droop, chest deflating, defeat slowly creeping in. He’s still angry, he’s still hurt, but the devastation, the thing he’s worked so hard to avoid having to feel, in his life, ever again, is beginning to win.

“How?” he asks, arms spreading out to either side of him. “How could you do this, (y/n)?” He shakes his head, slowly. It’s been so good, everything has been so damned good. He’s trusted you, all this time. How could he be so stupid? “No, you know what? I should’ve known.” His words are blending with his thoughts, a little mismatched, but he doesn’t much care. A finger is suddenly pointing your way. “You’re full of shit, just like every other cunt out there.”

Instantly, he knows he shouldn’t have said it. He can’t take it back, no matter how hard he prays on it. Your expression is one he’ll remember for the rest of his days, coming back to haunt him in his darkest moments. Hurt, betrayed… Heartbroken… Oh, but, your words. The quiet murmur that follows that look, voice teetering on the edge of tears, will put the final nail in his coffin.

“This… This is my cousin, Alexander…” You gesture to Muscles. “And, his husband, Curtis.” A nod to Handsome.

Those… Those names sound awfully familiar. A recent conversation, if memory serves. And, shit, as he thinks about it, you did mention them, didn’t you? Which means that, all this… The last two days, no calls, no texts… It means that you were-

Is it really possible for blood to ice over?

“We just got in from that music festival…”

Music festival. The one Bishop hadn’t wanted to go to. The one you’d had your heart set on. Who the hell went into the desert to listen to music? How the fuck did instruments even work, in that much heat? He remembers asking those questions, remembers telling you to go with whoever you wanted, but to leave him out of it. You… You’d laughed, thanked him for his permission. He’d found your snark so damned cute.

Now… God, now, there’s nothing he won’t do to get that wet shimmer out of your eyes.

He just can’t get a single word to come out of his fucking mouth.

Silence stretches on, uncomfortable, no one knowing what to say, what to do, and with good reason. As the tension reaches its peak, you clear your throat, gently. “Sit down, Obispo…” You instruct, quietly, before he can even try to offer anything. You’re already heading for the kitchen, not looking at anyone, any longer. “I’ll make everyone some coffee.” You want him sober up, and he knows it. Won’t let him drive back, so obviously drunk, even after what’s just transpired. A Saint, to the fucking end.

Fuck, what has he fucking done?

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#mayans m.c. fanfiction #mayans m.c. #Bishop x reader #Bishop x you #obispo bishop losa #anonymous request #fanfiction requests #ask box fic #Jealousy Thursday

[buck-nialled]

I think 41 and 46 would be a good fluffly one for Niall, can you do that? <3

NOTE: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED. JUST CLEARING OUT MY INBOX. and yes, I sure can anon :) hope ya like this one!

TAGLIST: @fedorable-killjoys​ @isisferreira27 @niallberry @swiftmendeshoran @theshyspy @niallerbbynialler @camhoran00 @letmecarryu @franchesca-791 @niallers-potato @clarabsevero @nerdypartytrashpsychic @golden-hoax @upallniall @ms-emily119 @dudethisiswhyyoudonthavefriends @hoodhoran @wowitsel @candyharries @rhymelynne​ @pantoneariana2 @umadirectioner @bi-lmg @evanjh @fairyvex777 @rueplumet

41. Who tries to make the other laugh the hardest and how do they achieve that?

46. Who snorts while they laugh?

Laughing Fit - N. Horan Headcanon

Niall will attempt to make you laugh in all sorts of ways

That sounded kinda promiscuous, it isn't really like that

But if you were wondering, yes, goofy sex does occur

Giggles lost into your hair or his neck and every love bite made with a smile.

BUT LESS PROMISCUOUS ATTEMPTS INCLUDE:

God awful jokes that are so bad, you just have to laugh at them

Impressions varying from people the two of you know, or his infamous “valley girl” voice which always makes a comeback at--oddly--perfect times.

But the one that gets you the most are his ambush tickle attacks

You never see his fingers diving to your sides until they are already gliding against your skin at an intensity so great it pulls laughs that echo around the entire house and pleads for him to stop

One day, niall swore he’d learned his lesson and would never tickle you again

Because he never understood why you’d tell him to leave your hips alone and quit tickling you there

But he decided one lazy afternoon to follow your instruction

And take a chance at your bare feet instead.

Truthfully, you were taunting him and put the idea in his mind--though you will still refute this argument today--by placing your feet in his lap while staring at his large television displaying a golf match.

With you distracted enough at one of the commercials, Niall took the CHONCE chance, and darted his fingers to the soles of your feet and began tickling you.

Your response was almost immediate, you screaming while thrashing your body around like a fish out of water. Like your hips, you cautioned Niall to remove his hands, but he chose not to listen

More tickling ensued, and therefore, more kicking was produced by you

Moments passes, and all at once, his hands halted their ministrations on your skin.

Niall fell to his side, clutching his crotch over his sweatpants with his face scrunched up in pain.

Realizing that you had laid a powerful kick straight to his privates, a hand flew up to cover your mouth. That however, was not a powerful enough barrier to guard your laughs.

While you carried on cackling at the scenario, Niall stared at you, pouting

“Why are you still laughing, that hurt!” He’d whine, and his accent made it all the more funny

“Petal” He’d cry out, and your sides began hurting as you attempted to suck in short breath after short breath which would only come out as wheezes.

Finally, you snorted from being pushed to the brink from laughter.

“Oh my god I’m gonna pee!” You exclaim amidst your humored fit.

“Lucky you! I probably won't be able to get my dick up till I’m forty!”

His complaints receive the exact opposite effect that he yearned for them too, as he only heard more snorts and wheezes exiting you for the next few minutes. After finally calming down, you couldn't help yourself.

“I told you to not tickle me.” It is said with a shrug of your shoulders.

“I told you not to tickle me.” Niall mimicked in a mocking voice.

All at once, you were stuck giggling again.

#niall horan #nh #njh #niall james horan #niallhoran #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan imagine #niall horan imagines #niall horan oneshot #niall horan blurb #niall horan fluff #niall horan smut #niall horan angst #niall horan x you #niall horan x y/n #niall horan x reader

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 10

WC: 777

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: alcohol consumption, mentions of intoxication, mentions of institutionalization, age difference

A/N: professionals like to party too :P

🧠

“There is a party downstairs if you would like to attend. I imagine it would be an opportunity for you to let loose or whatever the college kids say these days,” Dr. Kreizler says to you as you leave the seminar.

“Pfft,” you huff out. “I’m 26, I don’t exactly hang out with ‘college kids’ these days.”

“No, you just act like one.” You want to be offended by his remark, but his teasing grin prevents that. The two of you make your way downstairs to the hotel’s conference hall.

Club music with a thumping bass assaults your ears. The overheads have been turned off in favor of strobing neon lights. Swaths of bodies move about; some hang at the bar, some chat in groups, and some gyrate to the beat in the center of the hall. A woman in her mid-50s drunkenly giggles at something her colleagues say next to you. You know that at least half the population here is composed of university professors and people with PhDs. Crossing your arms over your chest you face the doctor. A brow lifts to your hairline. “Oh, is this what you meant by ‘college kids’? Seems more like you old folks than anything.”

“Old?” he questions you.

“If the shoe fits, Doctor.”

He blinks. “Just how old do you think I am?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, maybe 45.”

He rubs his jaw in thought as he speaks again. “I’m 41.”

The slight pout on his face makes you smirk. “Eh, don’t take it to heart Doc, it was just a guess. Age is but a number. And I think you look great for being in your 40s.” You clear your throat and twist yourself in the opposite direction. Fuck, lets hope he doesn’t think too hard about you saying he looked good… who are you kidding, of course he will. “I’m going to get a drink. You want something?”

“Whiskey, neat, please.”

Forty Five minutes later and you and Dr. Kreizler are still standing along the back wall as other conference-goers party. Sipping on your second vodka cranberry, and he on his second whiskey, you make it a mission to point out who in the room seems the most intoxicated. “Look right there - green sweater, blue slacks. Horrible dancer too.”

“Perhaps you should join him,” he suggests.

“Uh, absolutely not. I don’t dance.” You take a sip before tipping your glass towards the dancefloor. “Believe it or not this isn’t really my scene, never was.”

“You did not go out with friends during your years of undergrad?”

“A few times, but not after sophomore year. Nobody wanted to go out with the girl that ended up in the nuthouse.” You say it so casually, yet you don’t know why you told him that in the first place. The alcohol must be making your tongue loose. Quickly you change the subject back to the illusive professor. “What about you, go to any catillions or the equivalent in Germany? Wear bowties and white gloves?”

He studies you before answering. “No. I spent my time reading and studying. Dancing was frivolous and unnecessary.”

You hum in response. “That’s right, the ‘Good Doctor Kreizler’ and his love affair with the library.” You laugh into your drink, noting that this is the first time you’ve said the moniker aloud without adding ‘dickwad’ at the end.

“Laszlo.”

“What?”

“I suppose by now you should call me by my name, Laszlo. It is certainly less of a mouthful than 'Dr. Kreizler'.”

Now it’s your turn to study him. “Sounds like something you reserve for friends only.” Is that really a line he wanted to cross with you after everything? You know you’ve had some interesting… thoughts and dreams… of him, but you’d known the man for two months and for all intents and purposes you loathed each other. This weekend was an odd exception.

Right?

“I think we have been through enough with each other that it is acceptable. John believes this will help our working relationship.”

You call him out. “So you have talked about me with them,” you tease. For as long as you’ve known the man you have never once seen him look embarrassed. The ruddy blush on his cheeks is cute. But he’s still a dick, you remind yourself. Even so, maybe you will play along with this little game of his. “You sure it won’t sully your reputation around campus if they hear me call you that?”

He tips his head; “I’m sure my reputation can manage.”

Once more you study his expression. “Yeah alright, Laszlo.”

He finds that likes the way his name sounds on your lips.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #laszlo kreizler fanfic #scuttle-buttle

[puckrph]

' FALSETTOS ' STARTERS

taken from the broadway revival!

' what we need's a miracle! ' ' i do not wish to offend. ' ' i want a tight-knit family. ' ' i swear, we're gonna come through it. ' ' i want it all. ' ' i'm sure you're not disgusting or indiscreet. ' ' love isn't sex. ' ' put your head in my hands. ' ' you're a lovely girl. ' ' love is blind. love can tell a million stories. ' ' love's unkind, spiteful in a million ways. ' ' love is pretty often debris. ' ' love reads like a bad biography: all the names are changed to protect the innocent. ' ' i admit i admire you. ' ' god, you're impossible. ' ' we fit like a glove. ' ' passion dies, but i'd kill for that thrill of first love. ' ' i think chess is the most beautiful thing. not love. ' ' when he's naked, does he thrill you? is he vicious? would he kill you? ' ' don't despise what you feel. ' ' i'm too smart for my own good. ' ' sweetheart, i worry. ' ' this little thing that we have will not last. ' ' i'll help you mend. ' ' love me, please. or break my heart. ' ' you've got a temper that redefines temper. ' ' oh sure, i'm sure, he's sure he did his best. ' ' i'm breaking down. ' ' you ask me "is it fun to cry over nothing?" it is! ' ' i hate admitting i've become perplexed. ' ' i want to hate him but i really can't. ' ' i want to sleep. ' ' i only want to love a man who can love me. ' ' it's a slight exaggeration, but he's sick in the head. ' ' stop asking questions. be yourself. ' ' i'd rather die in this position than remain the saint. ' ' i get apoplexy thinking of my father. i resemble him in far too many ways. ' ' so you feel alright for about ten minutes. if you feel alright for ten minutes, feel alright for twenty minutes. feel alright for forty minutes. ' ’ i crave your wrist, i praise your thigh. ' ' i'll love you until i die. ' ' i'm tired of all the happy men who rule the world. ' ' it's a goddamn surety we're lacking in maturity. ' ' visit when you please. you are not required to phone. ' ' i've a good and a bad side, but they're one and the same. ' ' it's tough, with love. love's tough to show. ' ' how i despise your need for stupid conversation! ' ' i never wanted to love you. ' ' i'm not ashamed to have loved you. ' ' what i've done to you is rotten. ' ' i loved you, i love you. ' ' religion's just a trap that ensnares the weak and dumb. ' ' you're looking sweeter than a donut. ' ' would it be possible to see you, or to kiss you, or to give you a call? ' ' sometimes i'm a lout. ' ' saving lives, i feel invincible. ' ' do you know how great my life is, saving lives and loving you? ' ' sex and games in new york city have got to be played with flair and passion. ' ' you have paintings of dicks! don't talk to me about taste. ' ' everyone hates his parents, don't be ashamed. ' ' i'll do nothing that gives them pleasure. ' ' in fact, god said to moses: "moses, everyone hates his parents, that's how it is!" and god knew, because god hated his. ' ' it's a strange thing about parents: push turns to shove, and what was hate becomes more or less love. ' ' when you sparkle, the earth begins to sway. what more can i say? ' ' how can i express how confused i am by our happiness? ' ' we'll laugh. we'll fumble. we'll take it day by day. ' ' if i'm a bitch, well, i am what i am! ' ' do you know all i want is you? ' ' anything you do is alright. ' ' life is never what you planned. life is moments you can't understand. ' ' it's days like this i almost believe in god. ' ' who'd believe that we two would end up as lovers? ' ' just go home and turn on the tv. drink a little something till you're dead, and think of me around, sleeping soundly in our bed. ' ' here's the good part: at least death means i'll never be scared about dying again. ' ' death's gonna come. when it does, screw the nerves. i'll be eating hors d'oeuvres. ' ' i hope in the end he takes me in his arms and lets me hold his face. ' ' give me the balls to orchestrate a graceful leave. ' ' i feel more helpless than i have in years. ' ' what would i do if i had not met you? who would i blame my life on? ' ' who would i be if i had not loved you? how would i know what love is? ' ' i'd like to believe that i'd do it again, and again, and again... ' ' i'd beg or steal or borrow if i could hold you for one hour more. ' ' lovers come, and lovers go. lovers live and die fortissimo. '

#falsettos starters #meme #ask meme #memes #rp starters #rp sentence starters #askbox meme

[arhvste]

KIYOOMI SAKUSA - INVESTED

➵ summary : sakusa is a pain when it comes to movie night but to yourself and atsumu’s surprise, hinata has a suggestion that might give you the reaction of interest you’ve been looking for from your blunt boyfriend

➵ genre : fluff and a bit of crack

➵ an : this is dedicated to the anon who sent me the ask about what sort of films sakusa would watch, i hope you see this and thank you for giving my little fried brain an idea >:)

➵ inspo : this ask

“No.”

“Sakusa.”

“Fine.”

It was Friday night which meant it was movie night for the two of you in your shared apartment. Most couples would opt to head out for Friday nights but your boyfriend had insisted that he take you out on weeknights as less people would be out and “Contaminating the air”. So you and Sakusa would have an actual date night every other Wednesday and Fridays were stay-in-nights for the two of you.

This worked out well as Sakusa had no training on a Friday night, finishing at 2pm and you always had Friday off work so both your schedules were clear for each other.

Every week, the two of you would alternate between whose turn it was to pick out a film for the two of you to watch. Sakusa was very particular about the genre’s he’d pick out and would tend to select films no longer than an hour and forty-five minutes maximum. His attention was something that had to be worked for and most of the films the two of you would watch just didn’t meet his requirements to win over his full focus. He’d either fall asleep or find himself silently watching you and seeing all your little reactions during the film seeing as you were able to give your attention to the films all the time.

This week it was your turn to pick and you’d thought over what film you were going to pick over the last few days. You had even gone as far as to ask Atsumu and Hinata what they thought you should pick for the two of you to watch this week seeing as you weren’t exactly spoiled for choice due to Sakusa’s specific preferences.

Atsumu was eager for the two of you to watch a horror insisting he had to know what Sakusa’s reaction would be. You revealed you had already watched a handful and Sakusa hadn’t flinched once but instead critiqued the film production and how “unrealistic” everything was. Atsumu replied he wasn’t surprised over the latter’s lack of response to such films but Hinata suggested a romance film. To this, both you and Atsumu cackled, deeming the idea ridiculous. As if Sakusa would sit down and enjoy a romance film, you had to laugh at the thought.

Hinata didn’t laugh though. He insisted that Sakusa might even enjoy it and anyway, you didn’t have much choice on what to pick anyways so it was worth a shot surely. You agreed but told both boys no promises as to whether you’d get much of a reaction out of him when they asked you to let them know how it played out.

The look of distaste was clear on your boyfriend's face when you selected ‘Titanic’ for the two of you to watch. You turned and raised an eyebrow at his expression.

“Why would you want to watch this? It’s not historically accurate.”

“It’s a film love, of course it’s not going to be one hundred percent historically accurate.” You rolled your eyes and pressed down on the play button despite Sakusa’s resentment.

“I’ll watch but I won’t enjoy it.” He huffed as he sank into the couch letting you cuddle up to his chest as the film started to play.

“We’ll see.” you hummed quietly as the screen darkened.

Sakusa scoffed as the two of you settled down as the starting scene opened.

The film hadn’t even been playing for five minutes when Sakusa decided you were more interesting to watch. He observed the ways your eyes followed Leonardo Di Caprio across the screen. A small smile tugged at your lips as the american actor played his role of the protagonist, Jack, who Sakusa was going to later sympathise with; he just didn’t know it yet.

He could put up with this for the sake of you and he managed to tear his eyes away from you and observe for himself just what it was about this Leonardo guy that had you so captivated that you were able to ignore the ‘boring plot’.

-

“Isn’t he just amazing?” You sighed as you watched Jack and Rose position themself in the iconic Titanic pose on the rail of the boat.

Sakusa grunted.

He half heard you but he found himself somewhat invested in the protagonist's romance. He’d already mentally labelled Rose’s mother a ‘cow’ and Cal, Rose’s finance, ‘an arrogant dick’.

You glanced at your boyfriend due to his lack of response and a small smirk graced your face. He looked genuinely interested. Maybe Hinata was right about Sakusa falling into the trap of investment romance films always seemed to lay out for their viewers. You turned back to the screen to focus on the film yourself but the satisfaction never left your system.

-

It was 11:46PM and the two of you had just finished the film. Small dried tear stains remained on your cheeks as you sat up from Sakusa. The two of you hadn’t spoken for the majority of the film but allowed yourselves to watch the whole thing play out, both of your attention completely held by the screen.

You yawned and rubbed your eyes and tried to rub at the tear stains in the process. You mentally cursed and prayed Sakusa wouldn’t be too upset about your tears potentially dampening his shirt but when you turned to look at him, to your surprise you weren’t met with an agitated face but rather a confused and slightly bothered one.

“Baby… you okay?” You spoke softly as your hand stroked his bicep.

“Y/N, forgive me if I’m wrong and completely missed the point of something but tell me,”

“Tell you what?” you nodded for him to continue.

“Rose was a bitch for leaving Jack wasn’t she.”

“Huh?”

His blunt tone of voice caught you off guard as you tried to hold back your laughter. Sakusa had a completely serious look in his eyes as you tried to contain your amusement at his conclusion of the film.

“There was clearly enough room on the door as she didn’t even try to grab him. Did she really even love him? I would’ve left her raggedy ass behind and swam if she even dared try to act like she was helping me the way she was only half heartedly ‘helping’ Jack.”

At this point you couldn’t hold back any longer as your laugh echoed through the walls of the apartment.

“Sorry? This wasn’t a comedy Y/N, I don’t find murder very funny and I’m concerned that you do.”

“Murder? Sakusa! Hypothermia killed Jack and so many others it was an accident, Rose didn’t murder Jack it was a tough sitauion!” Your laughing had calmed down but a wide smile was still spread across your face as Sakusa tried to understand why you had a lack of anger towards Rose for her ‘betrayal’.

“Whatever, like I said it’s not historically accurate. She’s still a bitch for that though, I don’t sympathise with her at all.”

You stood up and shook your head as Sakusa took your hand and led you back to your bedroom to get into your warm sheets.

“Well I suppose you’re kinda right, there did look like there was enough room but I don't know, it’s a situation they were panicking in so I understand her too.”

The wing spiker grunted and pulled back your sheets letting you climb in first before joining you. You pulled yourself close to Sakusa as curled up beside him, one arm slung over his body. If it were anyone else, Sakusa would’ve gagged and moved to a different bed by now. You were privileged to be able to be close to him like this and Sakusa would never admit out loud just how much he looked forward to going to bed with you cuddled up close to him. It gave him a short while to forget about his germophobia before he’d have to wake up the next morning and leave the apartment for training.

“Goodnight Y/N, I love you and… maybe those films aren’t so bad.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before letting his head sink in the pillows.

“Mhm, I knew you’d like it...I love you.”

The affirmations of love spoken and now the two of you could fall asleep peacefully as you always would. You’d have to thank Hinata later on and tell him and Atsumu all about Sakusa’s interest in the dialogue but for now, being cuddled up with your Titanic enthusiast was your priority till morning.

-

“Hey.”

“Huh? Sakusa? It’s like 3AM? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing it’s just… you’d share your door with me right?”

“...Yes, I’d share my door with you.”

“Promise you’d actually try and grab for me too?”

“I promise.”

“Good, just checking. Night, love you.”

“I love you too Sakusa.”

general taglist → @atsumuwoah @bloody-bella @bbymilkbread @miracleboy420 @doggonudez @atsunakaashi @peteunderoos @saturnfarie @toffees-main @zumisace @boosyboo9206 @totorosleaff @27kei

ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO @KUROOSKULT ON TUMBLR 2020 PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, CHANGE OR PLAGIARISE

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa imagines #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #hq #haikyuu fluff #sakusa fluff

[ordinaryschmuck]

The Bright Side of 2020

It's easy to say that 2020 was an awful year. Because it was. 2020 is easily one of the worst years in a while, filled with death, depression, economic collapse, a pandemic, and even the word 'poggers' becoming a thing. 

Seriously, what the hell is 'poggers?!' The more I see it, the less it makes sense to me!

2020 was filled to the brim with so many awful moments. In no way should we forget any of it, and heaven forbid that we ignore all of it.

But that doesn't mean we should let the bad overshadow the good.

As we enter the last month of the dumpster fire that is this year, let us look over the good that came from it. Because I don't want to end 2020 with a whimper, but at least with a little glimmer of hope.

So here is my list:

Joe Biden has been elected as our new president, and the entire world had collectively celebrated. Sure, Trump is reacting to the news like a toddler who won't share his ball and decided to run home crying to his mommy. But by January, we will never talk about this man again, and America will remember him as he was back in 2016: A bad joke that wasn’t that funny to begin with, and has been annoying to hear since the beginning.

Our new vice president will not only be the first female VP but will also be a VP who is an African American, an Asian American, and an Indian American. It doesn't make up for the years when old white dudes were in charge, but it's a start. So let's take a moment to appreciate our new VP, shall we...That was nice. Next!

Voice actors who are people of color are given more of a chance to voice characters who are POC as well. It gets better as white VAs are getting replaced with VAs with the correct background to perform as specific characters. You can make the argument that a voice is a voice and that it doesn't matter who the face behind it is as long as the performance is still good. But if you're going to go the progressive route anyway, then why not go all the way with hiring actors to portray their own race/culture?

Several comedians kept us laughing despite how the year got worse and worse and how emotionally drained they were because of it. Laughter is the best medicine and boy, does it help that I can still laugh off the pain this year brought.

On a darker note: Online personalities Ryan Haywood from Achievement Hunter and Adam Kovic from Funhaus were revealed to dealing in sexual misconducts with their fans. On the surface, this seems like a bad thing. And with the betrayal and heartbreak that came from it, it certainly seems like so. But look at it this way: These monsters would have continued to do such awful things, regardless if they got caught this year or not. And while it pains me to know so many good videos are going to be deleted, some of which helped me on days that I needed a laugh the most, it is good knowing that Haywood and Kovic won't get away with what they did again. Because we won’t let them.

Back to a lighter note: A rare yellow turtle was discovered in India, and I am in love with this thing! I thought it was a mustard stain at first when I saw the photo, but it's a turtle. And it's adorable. And I will not rest until I find it and give it cuddles it deserves. Which is all of the cuddles.

So many incredible LGBTQ+ representations were given this year! Yes, that whole thing with Dean and Castiel was unforgettable as much as it is unforgivable. But if you ignore the live-action side of things and look at animation, you will find things are brighter than a rainbow over a pride parade. Catra and Adora finally kissed in a moment that was both satisfying and beautiful. Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn became a couple in Harley Quinn, giving comic fans something they wanted for years. Adventure Time fans were given a forty-five-minute episode filled with adorable moment after adorable moment of Marceline and Princess Bubblegum being an operant couple. Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts has a character who explicitly says, "I'm gay," and even gets a boyfriend in the end (I think. I haven't finished the show yet). And Disney has finally, F**KING FINALLY, taken steps in the right direction with their new hit: The Owl House. A series where the main character is a bisexual Latina who has a same-sex love interest that has an explicit crush on the main character.

And while we're on the topic of entertainment: HOLY S**T, have you seen the quality content we got this year?

Amazing animated shows came out with hit after hit with series like The Midnight Gospel, The Owl House, Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, Central Park, and many, many more. Shows that are hilarious, beautifully animated, and tell compelling stories with equally compelling characters.

Adventure Time, Animaniacs, Eddsworld, Phineas and Ferb, and Crash Bandicoot came back with revivals, reboots, specials, and long-awaited sequels that were not just as good as they were before leaving, but in some ways, are even better.

A recorded performance of Hamilton can now be seen on Disney+, meaning that theater kids can finally see the show they have been obsessing over since that soundtrack came out.

HBOmax took shows from DC's piece of s**t streaming service, meaning that fans can watch Doom Patrol and Harley Quinn on a service that's actually worth the price...Titans can suck a dick. But Doom Patrol and Harley Quinn! Doom Patrol and Harley Quinn!

Avatar: The Last Airbender and Community is on Netflix now...so go watch them.

Spider-Man: Miles Morales is a game that stars the famous bi-racial Spider-Man, that also shows off the color and diversity that is present in the people of Harlem. And given what happened this year, that is definitely appreciated. Not to mention that I’ve heard it's a fun game on top of that!

And that's just the s**t I can think of off the top of my head. There are plenty more good things that came this year, some of which I'm sure is better than what I put on this list. All a person has to do is do some research, which I encourage you to do yourself.

Don't let 2020 win by beating you down. Instead, let's focus on the bright side to stop the dark shadow of a year from taking over.

And I'm begging you: Keep this list going! It's not a bad thing to give people good news for a change.

#2020 #joe biden #kamala harris #achievement hunter #funhaus #supernatural #she ra and the princesses of power #harley quinn #adventure time distant lands #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #the owl house #the midnight gospel #central park #animaniacs #phineas and ferb #eddswolrd #crash bandicoot #doom patrol #avatar the last airbender #community #spider-man miles morales #the bright side of 2020

[smol-and-grumpy]

Way Down We Go

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Watching an online concert with Jensen. Naked. I don’t know how to summarize.

Warnings: NSFW, oral, fluff

WC: 2335

A/N I: There was a time in quarantine when I had a conversation with @dean-winchesters-bacon​​ about online concerts. I said, imagine it would be Jensen you’re watching a Kaleo concert with. And well, I ran with the idea and finally I have gotten around to write it down. It’s beta’d by @dean-winchesters-bacon​​

A/N II: This is also written for @deanwanddamons​​ 1st Blogiversary and 2k followers celebration. My prompt was: “Go ahead. Make my day.”

SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Y/N sweat her ass off the last two hours of the morning with cleaning the living room and kitchen. Now she’s in Jensen’s gym sweating off some more of the food they have been indulging in while on lockdown. 

There are lots of greasy or sweet treats and whenever she is forced to wear clothes — it doesn’t happen a lot being locked down with him, though, but it does every now and then — she feels that her clothes just don’t fit quite right anymore. Not that there is much difference but it’s there and it’s apparent to her, and she doesn’t feel comfortable in her own skin.

That’s why she ran on the treadmill for the past forty minutes, while Jensen had some work-related online meeting.

Her face is flushed and she thinks there’s no pore on her body that she hasn’t sweated through as she makes her way out of the gym to get into the house. It’s not even 6 PM but the house is silent. Usually, she’d find Jensen sitting on the sofa. He’d watch TV or work on something on his laptop. Sometimes, he’d write some lyrics or play the guitar, but it’s never silent in here. There’s always music coming out from somewhere. Not now, though. 

She thinks that he might be in his study, but the door to that room is wide open and there’s nothing coming out of it. She can’t hear a thing but there’s a smell in the air that she recognizes. It smells of food. Pizza, fries, it smells greasy and probably just the thing she needs because her stomach starts to rumble when the smell hits her nose, and her mouth starts to water. 

“Hello? Jensen?” she calls out as she makes her way across the living room to get to the stairs. And sure enough, the smell of food gets stronger the closer she gets to the stairs. 

“Ya! Up here!” he shouts down. 

Y/N takes two steps at once, is still out of breath when she reaches the landing. By now the smell is heavenly and she follows her nose that for sure will lead her to the source. 

When she steps into the bedroom, though, the curtains are drawn and the only light source is coming from the lit candles he had set up.

“What are you—”

On the bed, there’s a carton of pizza, there are also container boxes of what she thinks are fries and maybe chicken wings. She hopes there are fries as he knows she loves them. On the nightstand is a bottle of wine, already opened to let it breathe. Her eyes travel across the room and only now did she see Jensen standing there while he lights up the last of the candles he had set up. 

He’s naked.

“Jensen, what are you doing? What’s this all about?”

There’s a smirk on his face and it widens into a grin. His hair’s long, his beard too. It makes him look absolutely soft. She loves it.

He sets the lighter down and walks towards her, his thick cock hanging down between his thighs and it moves every time he takes a step. It’s irritating how perfect he is, and she tries not to look but fails miserably. There’s no way she cannot not look.

Jensen knows because he swings his hips extra hard as he walks on his bowed legs, chuckling as he goes.

It’s not fair that he knows what effect his nakedness has on her because he’s grinning even more, cocks his head a little as he reaches her. He places his hands on her waist and pulls her close, kisses the top of her head where she was sweating profoundly just moments before. And while they stand so close, she can feel his dick pressing into her lower stomach, feels it stirring a little at the touch. 

“Go take a shower, I have a surprise for you.”

“I take it the surprise has something to do with your dick?”

“Hey,” he chuckles, “You like my dick.”

“Never said I didn’t.” Her grin is cocky and his hand goes to her back to palm at her ass. He kneads them and pulls her closer.

“Kaleo’s playing an online concert, I have a ticket to it. It starts in ten minutes so you better hurry.” Jensen places another kiss on her nose.

“What about the food?”

“Hey, how many times can you watch a concert horizontally while you eat food, huh?” Jensen shrugs.

He’s not wrong but there’s still one thing she’s curious about. “And you’re naked because?”

“Duh,” he chuckles, “How many times can you watch a concert naked?”

“So, I have to be naked, too?” She cocks an eyebrow while she looks up to him.

“Yeah.” He captures her mouth, tongue lazily teasing at her lip, and it’s not fair because she can never resist his kisses. Jensen breaks the kiss soon after. Too soon for her liking, but he leaves his forehead on hers. “Now go take a shower or you’re not going to be watching with me,” he chides, spanking down on her ass playfully.

Her mouth opens in surprise. She wants to say that she doubts that they’ll get to watch a lot of the concert with both of them being naked but she thinks better of it. He seems to be really excited and so she closes her mouth again as she makes her way over to the bathroom. 

  *

 When she gets out, Jensen has already poured wine into glasses and he’s laying in bed, his head propped up against the headboard, the pizza box sitting next to him along with other containers of food. The screen of the TV is still black but it says that they should stay tuned as the program will start in a couple of minutes.

Well, she’s hungry but she could also eat him up alive with how good he looks naked on the bed, his cock out and all. It’s soft but it doesn’t mean that it’s any less impressive or less delicious, for that matter.

Her hair’s still damp as she climbs into bed next to him and Jensen hands her a glass of wine so that she can settle it on her own nightstand. 

Next, he hands her the delicious smelling fries, and her stomach grumbles. 

Jensen cocks an eyebrow, “That doesn’t sound healthy. You sure you didn’t work out too much? It sounds like your insides are dying.”

Y/N elbows him in the rib and Jensen just chuckles. 

They dig into their food and soon the band appears on the screen and the familiar tune of “Broken Bones” starts to sound out of the TV.

Jensen wriggles his toes as he hums with his mouth full of pizza; it prompts her to smile while she bites on her fries and she leans her head on his shoulder. He turns to her then, offering her a bite and she gladly takes it. 

“Nice huh?” he asks, as he watches her chew. 

“Uh-huh,” she answers with her mouth full and he leans forward, steals a greasy kiss from her.

By the time they played “No Good” which is the seventh song of the concert, they laid tangled together in bed, with him half on top of her, kissing her lazily. The food was long abandoned. His big hand cups her right tit, fingers pinching and tickling her nipple. One of her hands is on his face, fingers buried in his scruff. Her other hand is on the back of his head, fingers weave into his long hair as she pulls him even closer. His hardening dick rubs against her hips and Jensen groans into her mouth as he rubs himself on her skin. 

After a while, her hand that’s on the back of his head goes down to his shoulder, and travels along his chest. She takes the time to flicker her finger against his nipple, making him hiss out hot air. He’s always been so sensitive there. She absolutely loves it. The tip of her fingers skims over his stomach, palms his soft and firm tummy until she reaches between his legs to wrap her hand around his shaft. 

“Jesus,” Jensen moans into her mouth and bites on her bottom lip. 

“Call me, Y/N,” she chuckles and he pulls his face back to frown at her before he rolls his eyes. 

She’s thumbing at his leaking slit, spreads the drop of liquid around, and takes a moment to bring her hand up to suck the taste of precome into her mouth. He groans audibly when he sees her doing it, presses his mouth eagerly to hers to suck his own scent off of her tongue.

Her hand goes back to jerking him for a moment and she enjoys how he grows even harder and warmer in the palm of her hand. 

He kisses along her jaw, licks and sucks at her throat and she arches her back, her hands on his head, pushing and pulling him right where she wants him. 

Making his way down her body, his beard rubs against her skin, scratches along her flesh until he sucks a nipple into his mouth as he hums the melody to “Automobile”, the ninth song. 

As Jensen makes his way down, she lets out a whine because of the loss of his dick in her hand. But she knows what he wants to do and god, she doesn’t want to stand in the way.

Y/N spreads her leg to accommodate him better and Jensen slots himself in between as he plays with her tits, humming and singing along to the tune of the song. 

As soon as the band starts to play the tune to “Way Down We Go” Jensen chuckles against her stomach, and he kisses down her tummy, leaving nibbles and kisses in his wake. The beard scratches up her skin, she has gotten used to it, would probably not want it any other way anymore, if she has a say in it. 

 Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve?

 Jensen chuckles again, places a kiss right below her navel, and she spreads her legs further apart, “I think I got what I deserve.”

 And way down we go

 He sings along, “And way down we go,” as he places a kiss on her pubic bone. He leaves his tongue sticking out, teases at her clit, his big hand goes to the back of her knees and pushes her legs up and apart, holding her there while he works his tongue down her slit, flicks it over her hole just to drag the wet and wide tongue up to her clit again. 

“Oh my god,” she breathes out, her one hand toys with her nipple while her other hand fists in his long hair and she arches her back at the feeling.

Sealing his mouth around her clit, he sucks it in, hums to the music, his deep bass sends vibrations to her core, and her toes start to curl. 

God, it’s ridiculous how fast he can make her come.

“Jen—, I’m—, fuck, please don’t stop, don’t stop, go on, right there, you’re going to fucking make me come.” Her voice comes out in heavy pants, she’s so fucking close and the song hasn’t even reached its chorus. 

 Way down we go

 Jensen hums again, uses his teeth to nibble too, it fucking sends her over the edge. 

Her nails dig into his scalp but Jensen doesn’t mind, he always enjoyed a little pain. Instead of letting go, he keeps on licking and sucking as her whole body shakes and trembles. His hands are tight on the back of her knees, not letting her wind herself away as he keeps on eating her out like she’s the next best thing after the pizza and sure enough, her next orgasm is just right around the corner.

Y/N doesn’t get how he can do it but he can and he does every time she’d let him. Making her come more time than she can count, making her come on his tongue or cock alone and it’s really not fair. He still hums the melody as she comes a second time, bathing his face in her juices. 

Jensen does not mind one bit as he looks up at her from in between her thighs. His nose is shiny, his beard so wet, but there’s that crooked grin on his lips, “I wanna try something.”

“What?” She props herself up on her elbow as she looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes. 

God, the two orgasms already took a toll on her but she knows that it’s not the end. It’s never enough for him, unless they’re having a quickie, which they rarely have because he likes to take his time with her.

 Way down we go

 It sounds from the TV again and Jensen places a gentle kiss right on her clit, making her jerk a little.

“Wanna see how many times I can make you come for the rest of the song.”

“Jensen, no!”

There’s a chuckle as he blows air against her clit, “Jensen, yes!” He sticks his tongue out, applying kitten licks to her pussy, places gentle kisses on it too as he looks up again, “Please?”

It’s not really fair. He knows she can never say no to him when he looks at her like that. And with the combination of his wet face and stupid glistening eyes, there’s no chance in hell that she can deny what she knows brings him pleasure.

“Well,” she waves him off, “Go ahead, make my day,”

His face lights up immediately and he doesn’t even answer. Instead, he begins to make out with her pussy. And all she can do is to grab a fistful of hair on the top of his head, holding on to it for dear life.

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