#(It's worse than you think I promise I'm not exaggerating)
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Yeahhhh maybe I shouldn't be experimenting with drugs
#T#Technically. I mean. They were prescribed to me.#I wanted 2 give them a second chance but I can't tell if now was a good time to do that#On the one hand I think I'm more productive than I would have been? Maybe?#On the other I'm so stressed and nervous that I'm not sure I'm handling the not sleeping and not eating as well as I could#I keep only sleeping 3-4 hours a night and even when I go to bed I feel quite awake#Thankfully it doesn't take too too long to fall asleep but that's probably because. I am tired from being awake for 20 hours.#Also am I really more productive or just less sleepy so I think I'm more productive?#Today I didn't focus that well bc I screwed up big time this morning and have been super down all day bc of it#and wanted to distract myself#so I didn't even really try redirecting my focus#Anyway tomorrow is a new day maybe I'll forget about how I humiliated myself and burned the best professional bridges I had#(It's worse than you think I promise I'm not exaggerating)
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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
summary eddie munson is super weird. he holds your hand too tight, he has a fascination with your neck, and he can’t give a hickey to save his life. good thing you’re super weird, too. [20k]
warnings two losers falling in love!! vampire!eddie munson, ditzy!reader (kind of), fem!reader, smut mdni (p in v, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, general heavy petting and kissing, praise), fluff, hurt/comfort, angst (eddie struggling with guilt and grief). canon divergent (the events of volume 2 take place but there’s a mostly happy ending i.e. everyone good lives and everyone bad dies) TW eddie doesn't have suicidal thoughts, but he does think about it briefly. not with intent or anything like that though. requested here for my halloween party <3
(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)
Eddie Munson never wanted to be a vampire, and he wants that on the record.
It's a ridiculous existence. It's embarrassing. It's nothing like all the movies and books promised him.
He's looking at you, Bram Stoker.
In Eddie's mind, Stoker’s nothing less than a liar and a sycophant.
"Who's dick were you bouncing on, Stoker?" he demands to know, kicking fallen leaf mulch under his feet angrily. "Need'ta fucking impress some vampire lover with your over-exaggerated, over-powered, ridiculous descriptions? Great. Hope it was worth it. Meanwhile I'm here, self-esteem half the size of a grain of rice because I can't scale a building with my bare hands."
Eddie would know. He's tried.
He's not genuinely angry with Bram Stoker, but he'd rather take his frustrations out on a guy who's been dead for a hundred years than take them out on the demobats, because he doesn't want to even think about the demobats. They're all dead too. Not before they'd had (see: devoured) their pound of flesh and changed his life for the worse, though.
He shakes his head to drive out the memory like water in his ears. It's easier to pretend none of that shit in the upside down ever happened. (Impossible to pretend. He begs himself to try anyway.)
He’s pissed because science fiction has promised him a lot of things and reality has delivered on none of them. No super strength, no impermeable skin. He is faster, but that's more a reflexive thing than anything else. And being faster doesn't make running fun. That’s impossible.
Sunlight breaks through the treeline and his skin crawls. Science fiction didn't get that right, either. The sun doesn't hurt. It's just really, really annoying.
He covers his eyes, winces at his itchy hand, pulls his sleeve over his fingers and covers his eyes again. "This blows," he says, and means it.
In Dracula, the sun nulls Dracula’s supernatural abilities. Eddie doesn’t have any abilities worth nulling, unless you count echolocation.
He doesn’t.
He walks another five minutes up the road toward Forest Hills when he realises you're behind him. His senses are enhanced now as a bat’s might be, hearing fine-tuned and dialled up every second of the day — which makes living in a trailer park where everyone thinks he's a murderer an acute misery — but he's as prone to distraction as anyone else. Especially when he gets stuck in a memory.
Eddie throws his gaze over his shoulder and finds you thirty or forty feet away, talking to yourself under your breath. He knows you more for your sounds than your appearance. To be able to put a face to your mindless babbling is a mystery solved. Of course you look like that. A skirt made of soft looking fabric bounces over two cute thighs, a pretty lacy corset type of thing that isn't too tight outfits your top half. You look more like a vampire than he does.
"Hi, Eddie," you call.
His eyes widen, a deer-in-the-headlights kind of surprise. If you notice how he's frozen you don't show it, continuing to push your bike toward him. The tick of the wheels grows louder as you get closer, two hands on the handlebars with wrists draped in bracelets, both silver and fabric.
Besides your jewellery, your arms are bare. You must be freezing.
"Hey," he says.
He doesn't know your name. He doesn't know how you know his, and he’s too awkward to ask.
Your sounds peak as you close the gap. The wet scrape of your dirty black canvas shoes over shining asphalt, the soft puff of your breath, the clinking sounds of whatever trinkets you have in your bag. If he focuses, he can make out the tiniest pinches of fabric. Your short sleeves rubbing against your arms, your bra straps stretching over your shoulders.
Eddie takes a deep breath and tries to diminish his senses.
"Where's your van?" you ask curiously.
"Piece of shit kicked it in the middle of town. Just my luck."
You pause at his side, looking him up and down obviously but without the judgement or irreverent disgust he's come to expect from near about everybody in Hawkins.
"That's not good," you say succinctly.
It's such a genuine response that Eddie can't find it in himself to be sarcastic.
"God awful," he agrees sullenly.
You nod and start to walk again. Eddie falls naturally into step beside you, matching your pace without thinking.
"You should get a bike."
He laughs. Coughs to cover it up. "Yeah?"
"They're way more reliable than a car, and it doesn't hurt the zone."
Eddie squints. "The o-zone?"
"Is there another one?"
You're still so serious that he spares you the ridicule he might dole out to anyone else. If Dustin had said something like that he would've ripped the kid a new one, but you're rather sweet in an odd way. You have a soft manner of talking — each word sounds like you've thought its pronunciation through meticulously beforehand.
He ignores your question and points at your bike, ring catching the sun. "Why aren't you riding it?"
"My chain slipped."
"So much for reliable."
That makes you smile. Eddie feels it like a punch, a flat palm slapped into his chest.
"You can't put the chain on yourself?"
A brisk breeze whips your hair, your earrings. The left kisses your cheek, a silver heart-shaped hoop with pink beads that click together. You lean into it, face tilted to one side as a perplexed smile plays on your sticky lips. "You can do that?"
"Sure, you pull it back around the gear. It's easy." He hesitates for a moment, and then feels guilty about hesitating. "I'll do it for you, if you want."
"The guy in no. 62 has been charging me ten dollars." You don't sound as angry as you should, in Eddie's opinion.
"I'll do it for nothing."
You beam at him. His chest feels like a bruise.
Pretty girls don't like Eddie. Not before Chrissy, not after. He's trying to work out your angle, what it is that you want.
Or maybe you don't know.
As soon as you find out who he is, you'll turn your pretty nose up at him and walk the other way. He shouldn't smile at you, he definitely shouldn't fix your bike.
He can't help it. He's so starved for positive attention that he follows you all the way through the park, westside to east.
He checks the driveway of his own home and smiles mildly when he spots Wayne's new car. It's new in the sense that it's different. It's actually way older than the one he'd had before, the one he'd pawned to pay for Eddie's — well, Eddie's everything. His check-ups, his court dates, his goddamn bail. In the same way that this trailer isn't the trailer, but an older, smaller one as far away from their first as possible.
Kid, if I had the money…
Wayne hadn't needed to finish. If he had the money, they'd leave. Leave Hawkins, leave Indiana. Settle down in some other mediocre Midwestern state with all the same creature comforts and none of the "You were acquitted but literally none of us believe you didn't kill someone," motif.
All they have now is debt, each other, and the Great Munson mug collection.
Eddie keeps his head down as they pass the old trailer. Nobody lives inside now. Only termites.
He can taste blood by the time they reach your home. Far from the metallicity of his human blood, Eddie's blood now harbours a bitter taste. Not quite like coffee but with that same overwhelming earthiness. He pulls his teeth from the bitten flesh of his bottom lip and quickly raises a hand to his teeth, alarmed.
No knife-like points. Normal teeth.
"Are you thirsty?" you ask him.
Eddie flinches and drops his hand. You've parked your bike against the wooden lifts of your porch and are halfway up the steps to your front door, hand clasped loosely on the railing.
His heart fucking pounds.
"I have grape juice?"
"Right," he says hurriedly, "right. Yeah, that would be awesome."
Duh, you meant juice.
You send him another endearing smile and pop up the last of your steps and into the front door. It's not locked. He doesn't follow, thinking you must live with somebody (who's gonna know exactly who he is and tell him to get lost).
He turns his attention to your bike instead. It's easy enough to fix. He rolls the bike so its handlebars are resting against your concrete driveway and covers the top bar of the metal body with his sneaker to stop it from toppling. He rolls up his sleeves and bares his arms, but pulls them back down immediately when he remembers the white-purple whorls of scar tissue lurking underneath.
"Fuck," he mutters. Everything is a reminder, all of the time. He can't escape what happened.
It's everywhere.
He's getting his fingers under the chain when you reappear. You've layered up, bracelets and naked arms hidden by a black hoodie.
The wind blows and your skirt shifts. From his position he can see a ladder hiding in your tights where your inner thighs are pressed together. He whips his gaze up like a high-school perv caught sneaking peeks in the girls locker room and notices the stitching on your chest for the first time.
"You like Dio?" he asks excitedly.
"Who?"
He wilts. "Uh, your hoodie. Dio."
"I got it for three dollars in the bargain bins," you supply helpfully, all pep as you climb down the stairs and offer him a glass cup adorned in dainty enamel flowers. "Is Dio good?"
He waves his hand at the glass apologetically. "Two seconds…" Lifting the chain with the second hand, Eddie tugs and then feeds until the links are lined up with the bumps on the big chainring. The skin on his fingertips get pinched and his eyebrows pull together in pain, but it's a mild irritant at worst and after a moment the chain is back in place.
He pulls his hand away and wipes dark grease down the front of his jacket. "I think I did it."
You're glowing, earrings like a metronome as you ask, "That fast? You're awesome."
He turns the pedal and your back wheel spins in time with his heart. You're awesome. When was the last time somebody who wasn't Wayne said anything like that?
Although Dustin had told him he thought Eddie was a much cooler, more fucked up version of the guy from Van Halen the other day.
You're just saying that 'cos we're both called Eddie, Eddie had said morosely.
Learn to take a compliment, dude.
When they aren't pity compliments, he might.
Eddie lifts your bike back onto the wheels to show you that it's working perfectly. You giggle your evident pleasure. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" you say, super sweet even as grape juice sloshes over the rims of your flowered glasses and drips down your fingers.
"Here, let me," he says, taking the glasses from your purple-stained hands.
You kiss your hands clean which is a thing, a lot to watch. Eddie admits to himself that he thinks you're really pretty, recognises that that is a bad thing to think considering the likely very short life span of your acquaintance. God knows you won't be saying anything as friendly when you find out who he is.
"You're so nice," you say. It feels like you're talking more to yourself than him. "Thank you. It's slipped off three times this month, and ten dollars is ten dollars. Wait, do you want ten dollars?"
"My services were administered charitably.”
Your smile grows. You accept your glass and take a small sip, eyes lit up as Eddie steers your bike one-handed to rest against the porch.
"Do you wanna come inside? I don't have any of the Dio, but I have Blondie."
He holds in a throwaway comment about real rock and roll, astounded that you’d ask him. "Your folks aren't home?"
"I'm twenty-two."
Eddie squints at you. "Seriously?"
"You didn't think so?"
He shrugs. It's not that you don't look twenty two. Or even that you don't act twenty two. But it's been a long time since he met somebody living alone in the park. Forest Hills is where poverty comes to settle.
"A boyfriend?"
"Just me and mister Porterson."
"That your grandpa?"
"That's my pet fish."
He smiles. It's his first real, authentic smile in days. He's genuinely elated by your offer and your attitude, but he doesn't know how to handle it, struck with a sudden nightmare of you, afterward, telling somebody you'd invited him in and he'd tried to hurt you. It isn't fair of him to assume you'd do anything like that. You've been nothing but sweet and sincere this whole time.
Eddie hasn't let his guard down in a long time.
You're giving him this wide-eyed, imploring look that promptly suffocates any fear.
And in a week, when she finds out who you are and feels betrayed, feels tricked? What then, Munson?
"You know what happened?" he asks.
"What happened?"
"Two years ago. Chrissy… Chrissy Cunningham?"
Don't say her fucking name.
Your expression clears as clarity blooms. You take a step. He needs a second to realise you've come forward rather than away, fingers twitching toward his hand.
"I know about it. I'm sorry that happened to you."
He stares.
This is a trick. Two years and he can count the amount of people who believe him on his two hands, and only because they'd all gone through it with him. Sometimes there are outliers, logical people who seem to realise Eddie couldn't have killed all those people, couldn't have been in all those different places without leaving any evidence behind. And sometimes there are people who agree he didn't kill Chrissy, but he's a coward for leaving her to die. (She’d already been dead.)
Eddie doesn't know what he thinks. Wayne sets the record straight every now and then with a clap on the shoulder. You did what every parent wants their kid to do. You lived. I can't ask for more than that.
"You don't believe it?"
"That you hurt her?" You hold his gaze, face practically impassive. "No, I don't believe it."
He pulls in a breath that fills every inch of his chest. "I could learn to like Blondie," he says.
—
You're standing in the driveway of Eddie's trailer with a heavy bag over your shoulder, face to face with a man who kind of looks like him but not really. You assume it's his uncle because who else could he be? If you hadn't seen him here you'd never guess.
"Eddie's mom must've had strong genes," you say. You bring your shoulder up toward your cheek thoughtfully. "He didn't get any of your face. Was she pretty? Eddie's really pretty."
"She was," he says, peering down his nose at you.
"I got sandwiches. Do you want one?"
"What kind?"
"I have ham and cheese, or ham and lettuce and tomato, or I have pumpernickel cookies. Is Eddie a vegetarian?"
"Why?"
"'Cause I only brought one cheese and cucumber, and I have dibs."
He climbs down the last couple of steps and is still taller but definitely less imposing, face covered in scratchy salt and pepper stubble and crows feet deeply embedded into the corners of his eyes. He looks like a man who has been tired for a very long time. You make a mental note to bring him some lavender for his pillow on your next visit.
"You're Eddie's new friend?"
You nod your head briskly. "Yes, sir. I'm Y/N."
He opens his box of camels like a pro, bottom pressed to his chest. He tucks a cigarette between his lips and pulls his lighter out. He doesn't light it.
"It's nice to meet you," he says eventually, voice warming.
You search through the mess of your skirt for the zipper on your bag and peel it open, pulling out your tupperware of cookies and cracking them open to release the fragrant smell of cinnamon and almonds. It's a heady scent, fitting for the holiday season approaching.
You offer Eddie’s uncle a cookie.
"Thought pumpernickel was bread," he says gruffly, taking one.
"It is, but there's this little town in France that makes these every year at Christmas and they call them pumpernickel biscuits," — he takes a bite and winces at the hard snap — "you're s'posed to dip them in hot chocolate."
"You don't say."
You nod happily and he moves aside to let you pass.
"Thanks, kid."
You turn back to him with your fingers curled around the door handle. "Of course! It's really nice to meet you, Mr. Munson, sir."
"Wayne is fine."
You laugh and repeat his name in a similarly rough voice, letting yourself in as Eddie had told you to do. You find him immediately in a man-made corner of the living room, pale and in his pyjamas. The trailer is open planned, a living room they’ve divided by propping a couch against the kitchen counter, a slim hallway leading to a cramped bathroom and the single bedroom. It's exactly like in your home.
You're somewhat surprised to see him in pyjamas. Eddie doesn't wear comfy looking clothes out of the house — you've only ever seen him in jeans and jackets like a real rockstar.
"Are you ready?" you ask.
You've invited him to come and search for bugs with you. Catching any kind of bug, whether beetle or butterfly or spider, is really scary, but you need to be able to catch them to draw them.
You'd expressed this to him over the phone and he'd said, "I can come and help. I have good reflexes."
He rubs his hands over his knees. There's a blanket pooled around his feet, a quilt he must sleep with, and the room is decorated with not a whole lot of stuff but enough to make you take a step back.
"Is this your room?" you ask, enchanted.
"Kind of." He pulls his hair from behind his ear, obscuring a pale cheek. "I don't think I can come with you today, I'm sorry. I meant to call you."
You toy with a dark thigh high sock as you ease out of your shoes, height drastically decreasing. "That's okay, we can stay here. I brought you a sandwich. I brought you two sandwiches," you correct.
He nods. Rather sadly, in your opinion. "Alright. Thanks."
You step over a tented paperback and hand off the cookies before sitting down beside him on the couch he's occupying. It's smaller than the one against the wall and round like a clam, lots of room for your legs to stretch out.
"I feel like a pearl," you say.
You and Eddie have been friends for a little while now. Long enough for you to realise he's either depressed or mentally unwell in some way. You hardly mind keeping him company on his bad days if he needs somebody, so drawing bugs will have to wait.
His hair is limp, not totally greasy but not super clean either. His face looks fresh enough, though the bags under his eyes make you frown.
You pull your purse into your lap, thighs covered by the thin layers of your midi skirt. "I have just the thing for you," you murmur.
"Yeah? Bring me another bracelet?"
You like that he sounds eager. Making his bracelet had been a challenge, lots of knotting and double knotting, three restarts and one small under the breath tantrum. It's not anything special, black and white hearts seven strands wide, but he'd been very appreciative.
"No, but I can make you another one if you want. I mastered the inverse chevron last night."
He hums. You pull a saran wrapped sandwich from the depths of your crowded bag, glad to see it's mostly intact. When you open it up you find that it's the ham and lettuce and tomato one, so you drop it into his lap haphazardly and move onto the next.
"Aha! Here," you pull a cucumber from your sandwich. "For you."
He takes it between two tentative fingers. "Thank you?"
"For your eyes."
"There's cheese on it."
"I'll still work," you assure him.
"M'not putting cheese on my eyes."
You laugh because he probably shouldn't put cheese on his eyes, cucumber adjacent or otherwise. "Okay, don't. I'll make you a hot towel."
He drops his hand on your arm as you go to stand. You like how he touches you, soft but not scared. "You just got here. Stay here." He pats you nicely. "Tell me about work last night."
You settle heavily into the seat beside him, your thigh to his thigh, your hip squished against his hip, doughy flesh separated by nothing more than a strappy tank top and a cotton long-sleeve t-shirt. His heat quickly becomes yours, a sinking transference of warmth.
"Well," you begin, cheek turning into the couch to face him. "It was mostly okay. I dropped another plate, but this time it didn't have a stack of waffles on it."
He smiles ruefully and sinks back as you had. Neither of you eat your sandwiches. "Progress. Taking it out of your pay?"
"Yes, definitely."
"Discrimination."
"That's what I said! I said, Sarah, I was born with butterfingers and you know that."
"She didn't budge?"
"Dishwashing all week next week. Whatever, though, 'cause it's Saturday."
He laughs and shakes his head, his gaze dropping to your neck. He does that sometimes. You can't blame him; you wear a varying assortment of necklaces because you think they're pretty, and you're glad he likes them too.
"See my new one?"
"What?"
"New necklace." You look down at your chest and pull the newest addition from between the cups of your bra. "It's real silver."
"It's nice."
"It's surprisingly heavy. Wanna feel?"
"That's okay," he says, slightly strained.
Right, you think. I'm talking a lot.
You press your lips together in a mild pout and look at him through appreciative eyes. He's a very pretty boy, all soft and pale and sweet dark curls.
"Do you want me to put your hair up?"
His lips part before he talks. "I don't know if you should."
"Sure I should. It's getting in your eyes, right?" You take his hand where it's laid unsuspectingly in his lap and slip the hair tie from around his wrist, his fingertips tickling the inside of your palm. "Sit forward, Eddie."
He takes a deep breath, holds it, and sits up. You twist and then realise you need some more height, pushing a leg under yourself to kneel next to his lap.
You weave our fingers softly into the hair at the front of his face and rake away in lieu of a brush. After it's mostly tamed you pull it all into one hand and wrap the tie at the base of his head. You hum to yourself as you go, pleased when his lovely curls behave.
"Voilà," you announce, moving back on your haunches.
He breathes out. "Thank you."
You reach for a curl you'd missed at the very front and encourage it behind his ear. He has subtle indents in his cheeks today like he's in need of a good meal, and his skin is colder than it should be when you flatten your palm.
"You need something to eat," you fret. Your fingertips stroke under his eye, your thumb his smile lines.
He moves away slowly.
You pull your hand back into your lap. "Maybe we can go out and get something, if you don't like the sandwich?"
"What?" he asks, pale lips taut as he simpers at you. "Are you kidding? This is about to fix everything that's wrong with me."
His enthusiasm emboldens you. "It so will! There's ham and cheese too, if you prefer that one."
"Get it! I'm gonna eat both of them." S
Eddie eats both of his sandwiches and you eat your own, the two of you with your heads dropped back against the couch as you watch TV. There's a guy you've never seen before running around the streets of Chicago city centre looking for people to be in his play. Eddie's seen it before. He repeats dialogue in time with the characters, performing each line. Impressive, what with how tired he looks.
"What did he just say?" you ask, mouth full of cucumber.
"He said he's gonna throw himself off a bridge," Eddie informs. "Poor guy. I know the feeling."
You swallow harshly.
"Seriously?"
Your sad tone surprises him.
"I- No, I'm kidding," he says, scratching the base of his throat, friendship bracelet his only adornment.
His nervous itching makes you even more worried.
"If you did wanna do that, you can talk to me-"
He baulks, tongue poking out past his lips as he licks the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, sweetheart," he says, pet name like a kiss. It sounds silly but it really feels like one, right in the centre of your chest. "But I'm fine. Promise. It was a bad joke."
"Okay," you say, letting your suspicion shine through. You hold his eyes.
You haven't known Eddie long. It feels like you met yesterday, though really it's been two or three weeks. You fit together in a way you hadn't expected and adore more than you can articulate, two funny puzzle pieces.
"Well, I just wanted you to know. I like being your friend, I don't want you to disappear."
He laughs and licks his lips, a rough, chesty sound. "I don't want you to disappear either."
Tires crunch outside, a shushing sound and then the sharp shriek of a jeep being put into park. Eddie perks up considerably, his shoulders straightening.
"Hey, Chief," Wayne calls.
Trailer walls. Basically made of cardboard.
"Hey, Wayne. Where's the kid?"
You can't hear what Wayne says after that, words stolen by the TV.
"Is that Chief Hopper?" you ask, trying to catch a glimpse of him through the mostly shuttered blinds.
"Yeah, he- He's friends with Wayne."
"Why's he wanna know where you are?"
"'Cause I got into so much trouble."
You bite your tongue. His tone is hard, not stern but almost, and you realise you've overstepped as you usually do. You want to apologise but you don't want to pick the wound, eager to gloss over and make him smile again.
"It's pretty cool, isn't it?" you ask him.
"What?"
You spread your legs wider to slide onto your thighs and make him the taller one again, legs bent in a 'W' shape. "Coming back from the dead! First Will Byers, then Hopper."
Something surfaces in his expression. An irony.
"The undead," you croon, aiming for a smile, a laugh.
He cracks. "The undead," he agrees, smiling in bemusement. His eyes are a funny shade of brown.
—
Eddie shoo’s you home early that night but tries to do it kindly. He feigns exhaustion, a facade that's difficult to uphold when his entire body is thrumming with want. If there's one thing Eddie hates about being a vampire (there are literally hundreds of things he hates, but this one's special) it's that he wants to hurt the people he likes a thousand times more than the people he doesn't.
He can't explain it. Your blood is more appealing than any lonesome stranger's. Your pulse is practically music to his ears when you sit beside him. He'd kill himself before he ever hurt you, though. Or that's what he likes to think. Whether he has that amount of control is debatable.
No. He would kill himself before he hurt you, or Wayne, or any of his friends.
Steve can see the way that he's feeling on his face.
Hopper's delivery set to one side, a tall glass with blood congealed in a sticky ring at the bottom, Eddie curls under his huge quilt and tries not to pass out. Blood sate feels the same as a thanksgiving food coma. It's awesome.
He hates how good it feels.
"Stop feeling guilty," Steve says.
"He doesn't look guilty to me," Dustin says beside him, taller than the last time Eddie had seen him but still miles off of Steve's tall stature. He's changed his hat again, this one a garish green. It's not a good look.
"He looks like he's napping," Robin says, delighted.
"Can you guys go home?" Eddie asks.
"Shithead."
"What Steve means to say," Robin corrects, grinning her huge, catching smile, "is that no, we aren't going home. We brought games."
"I don't wanna play games." He does. Eddie needs the distraction, because eventually the blood sate will fade and all that will remain will be self-revulsion and a cruel desire to do something awful.
"I do not care even slightly," Steve says, deadpan, as he sits right there next to Eddie where you'd been sitting before. Steve's nowhere near as soft and he doesn't smell as nice, but Eddie's honestly glad someone is willing to sit next to him at all.
"Ouch, what the fuck?"
Dustin looks up from where he's sat himself on the floor. Robin giggles in her seat on the coffee table.
"Munson, are you fucking shedding? I just got stabbed."
"They don't work like that. They retract."
Eddie feels at his broken gums with his tongue. There's a clean incision where his fangs come out and then snap back inside after a time. They're remarkably thin, fitting in front of his natural incisors neatly.
Steve grumbles, hips lifted and hand searching under his butt for whatever it is that jabbed him. He retrieves exactly what Eddie had been expecting but hadn't had the forethought to prepare a lie about with a shocked gasp.
"Is this an earring? You don't have your ears pierced."
He swallows, knowing it's a very guilty gesture, and meets Steve's eyes straight on.
Funny how Steve's hair speaks as much as his expression, bobbing as he nods his head to emphasise each word, "Munson, do you have a girlfriend?"
Silence.
"...Not really."
"Holy shit," Dustin says, sounding extremely pleased. "No way."
Robin tucks her short hair behind her ears, hands paused in disbelief at her neck. "Actually?"
"I have a friend," Eddie admits.
"Thank god," Steve says, dropping your heart earring onto Eddie's thigh. The silver feels extremely hot over his pyjamas, like it's been held in the centre of a blistering hearth.
"I really thought Steve was gonna have to take one for the team and give you a pity handie," Robin says agreeably, scratchy voice coloured by genuine awe.
Eddie groans, "Harrington, get this shit off of me. You know I can't touch that."
"I forgot," Steve lies. "Can you wait? My hands are busy."
—
He has Steve put your earring between two pieces of kitchen towel and holds onto it. He doesn't see you for a week, and he keeps your damn earring in his pocket that entire time worried it's gonna slip out and brand him at any second.
Finally, you call him. He pretends he wasn't waiting.
"Hello," you say, like you're announcing something.
"Hey. How are you?"
"Eddie, I need your help. Badly."
He flinches up where he'd been leaning casually, hard enough to make Wayne jump. Eddie smiles at him placatingly and mouths a poor sorry, turning away to pretend there's a semblance of privacy to be found in such close quarters.
"Are you okay?"
"I gotta find a rainbow leaf beetle. Do you have a torch?"
"...What?"
"They only come out at night, so I'm gonna go look but I don't have a torch that works."
He relaxes, the lilting cadence of your voice enough to make his whole night. You sound so pretty even through the phone. He suspects you could hold any pitch, deep or high, and you'd still sound nice.
It's all in the way you — he says this with love — perform the words. You speak like each word you're saying has equal importance, and it's calming.
Even when you say stuff that's nonsense to him.
Right now, you don't sound upset or even worried about not having a torch, simply curious to know if he has one. If he focuses hard (and he's been trying not to, as you deserve your privacy) he can hear you all the way across the park, shifting from foot to foot in your bedroom, carpet crushed under your heels.
The action makes him think this might be more urgent to you than you'd first admitted.
"I have a torch." He also has amazing night vision. Like, impeccable. "Can I come help?"
"You want to?"
"I'd love to. Are you going out tonight?" He leans back to glance out the window. "The rain is finally stopping."
"Yeah, tonight! Is that okay for you? We could go tomorrow if you can't."
You're willing to change your plans now that he's asked to go with you. It's a gesture as lovely as you are. Eddie doesn't think you'd ever think it of yourself; your kindness is so intrinsic you don't notice it, like the fine stitching of a leather bound book. Integral and widely unappreciated.
"That's perfect."
Wayne raises an eyebrow when Eddie relays the conversation. "You're going out in the middle of the night with this girl to… look for bugs."
Eddie crosses his arms over his chest. "I swear."
"Be honest with me, kid."
"I am!"
Wayne swirls his coke can around in his hand as he thinks, a reluctance evident in his scowl. Eddie knows he's way too old for a guardian's oversight like this but he lets Wayne have a say because Wayne loves him, and Eddie doesn't ever want to put his old man through the turmoil he went through when he ran away. If that means a curfew in his twenties, Eddie's okay with that.
"If you're going to have sex with this girl, I'd prefer you did it here. You have to treat women with respect."
Eddie shivers, full body. "Wayne," he groans, covering his face. He can feel his cheeks pink under his palms, that's how quickly his embarrassment rises.
"I know you're more responsible these days, and you're a grown up. If you want a girlfriend and you want to do adult things with her-"
"Jesus Christ."
"- then that's alright. You don't have to fool around outside."
He drags his hands down on his face, pained. "It's not like that. You met her, you know she's…"
"Strange?"
"Alternative."
"No, you're alternative. She's cooky."
"Don't," he says. He knows his uncle isn't actually being cruel, so he lets it lie and fights for his own cause. "We aren't messing around. She genuinely wants me to go find these bugs with her. And…" He hates himself. "She has her own place, you know? If we were going to-"
Wayne seems stricken by the same mortified embarrassment as Eddie, raising a calloused hand in surrender. "Spare me."
"Thank you," Eddie says, spinning on his heel to hide in the bathroom for a while. It's only when he's sitting on the closed toilet does he realise Wayne hadn't mentioned his more dangerous ailment. For a time, he'd been a normal (debatable) person having a normal (horrifying) conversation with his dad. Not a vampire. Not somebody who ruins everything he touches.
—
"It's so quiet," you whisper.
For you, Eddie thinks.
You're in the forest surrounding the aptly named Forest Hills trailer park, wielding your borrowed torch carefully into the dark. Eddie's following in your footsteps, trying not to smell everything that's on you today and failing.
You smell like a person as everybody does. Over that is your soap, a faint hint of milk and honey that sticks to your skin even after you've washed it away. Over that is your deodorant, 'unscented', and over that is your perfume, which he likes most. It's a mix of smells, some Eddie doesn't know and some he does. There's lavender, though that might be down to the bunch you'd brought for his uncle wrapped in newspaper, and there's something fruity he can't quite put his finger on, all of it wrapped up in a cloying pairing of vanilla and coconut.
"Eddie?"
"What?"
"Are you okay? You're almost as quiet as the trees."
If only you knew the trees aren't quiet.
"I'm alright," he says quickly, catching up to you where you stand a few feet ahead. "What are we looking for?"
Best change the subject. How to explain he'd been smelling the notes of your perfume?
"They rest on tree trunks. You have to be careful, any sudden sound or light will scare them away. But if you flash the torch on them, they shine like oil stains."
He loves when you talk. "Where'd they come from?"
"Place called Snowdon. They're so rare, they think there's only about a thousand alive there."
"Well, how did they get here?"
You laugh under your breath, so quiet he would've missed it if he wasn't enhanced. "I don't know. How do beetles get to different places?"
"They fly?"
A twig crunches under your shoe.
Eddie tips his head to the side, thinking. "If there's only a thousand, how-" He stops, your circle of torch light growing further and further away. "Are you sure that they live here?"
"No, but if they do we'll be the first to find them."
"So they've never found any out here? In- In the midwest?"
"Not yet. Where'd you go?"
He shakes his head in an affectionate disbelief. "Right behind you."
You search in silence for a while. Eddie wishes he could say he was mad, or even mildly annoyed, wishes he had even the slightest regard for his own time, but really he thinks any time with you is time well spent. Especially if it's helping you do something you want to do. Whether you find your rainbow leaf beetle or not, he feels better knowing he's out here with you to keep you safe and in company.
Conversation is sparing. He doesn't mind. Your footsteps fill the sound and he finds even that stupid detail charming, the crunch, the pick up. His own are silent, a rare advantage to his terrible affliction.
"Any other beetles you want me to keep an eye out for?" he whispers.
"I'm not sure…" You turn to face him, torch pointed at your shoes. Rubber toes touched together, you lean in until you're all he can smell. Perfume. Blood. "If you see any cool spiders, too."
"You have the mason jar?"
"You know I do."
More than you realise, he thinks. The glass clicks in your bag.
There's enough light reflected to see the most minute details of your face. Your nose, the circle of your irises but not their colour. He suspects Eddie from early '86 wouldn't have been able to see hide nor hair, and it wouldn't shock him if you were technically blind right now.
"Thanks for coming out with me. I was gonna ask you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, but I didn't want to come on too strong." He can sense your smile even though he can't see it. It's in the way your breathing deepens. "I know I can be a lot to deal with."
"Who told you that?"
"What?"
Eddie doubles down.. "Who told you that?" he sounds heartbroken.
He kind of is. Yeah, you're weird — Who cares? Who isn't? — but you're not a lot to deal with. He doesn't 'deal' with you.
"Everybody tells me that. All the time."
"Everybody's stupid." To say it so loudly, scathingly, is sweet. It's therapeutic. "They are. This whole town is stupid."
Your fingertips touch his thigh. He's willing you to turn the torch up and see his face, because he has a lot of feelings on display that he isn't brave enough to say out loud.
"You never make me feel stupid," you say softly.
"You're not."
You giggle breathily at his vehemence, fingertips pressing in with a touch more pressure before you pull away and shine the torch deep into the trees.
"This whole town is stupid," you mumble. "But not you."
He thinks of his friends who are definitely stupid, but he loves anyways. He's about to add them to the not-stupid (subjectively) list when he remembers Steve's discovery: your earring burning a hole in his pocket. He'd been carrying it for long enough now to forget all about it.
"Hey, I have something for you."
"You do?"
"Don't get too excited. It's not a gift."
He digs in his pocket for the tissue paper wrapping and hisses in shock as the silver plating of your hoop graces his index finger. You shine the torch at him. His eyes ache like he's been stabbed and he slams them closed, hand pulled to his chest.
How embarrassing.
"Eddie, what happened?" you question loudly.
He winces at the sudden overstimulation. Slowly, he blinks, and finds you staring at him in a worry that softens every feature, even your nose. He doesn't know the logistics.
"It's okay. Stabbed a paper cut on the back. Your earring's in my pocket, the heart?"
"The hoop? I thought I lost it." Your worry turns to confusion and then melds into joy. You step forward and fish in his jacket pocket for your earring.
"Steve found it."
"'The hair'?"
"Yeah, the hair."
You both laugh and yours heightens when you find the earring, pulling it out like a knife to be brandished. "Yes."
"I meant to tell you a dozen times that I had it."
"You're the best."
There's a crunch of wood somewhere to the left like something heavy falling over.
The forest sprawls in every direction and the trees tower, their presence looming as skyscrapers. The wind ruffles the topmost branches and their trunks groan with pressure. It's enough to freak Eddie out super sense or not, feeling suddenly like he couldn't protect you. He could hear the individual droplets of drool dripping from a lynx's bloody maw, and he can sense each twig underfoot before he takes his next step, but none of that is going to keep you safe in the face of real danger.
"Maybe we should head back," he says tentatively.
"Okay. Do you want to come over?"
His breath catches. "You want me to?"
"Yeah, we can watch movies, I have leftover pasta."
That sounds more like what he should've been thinking. "I don't wanna keep you up."
"What kind of pasta?" he asks.
The torch flickers. "With the tiny tomatoes. You'll like it, super creamy."
"How do you know?"
"You like Alfredo," you say astutely, hitting the torch into the palm of your hand. It flashes weakly, the shadow of the trees flickering and so dark they're violet.
"Try tightening the handle."
You turn the barrel of the torch and the light switches off completely. You try to undo what you've done to no success, the sound of plastic rubbing plastic almost as loud as your heartbeat. Your pulse falters and then grows to racing when the light fails to come back on.
"Eddie," you say, sounding unsure. It's a new sound on you. "I don't know where we are. How are we gonna get home?"
Your admission is like a dousing of ice water over his head. "You don't know what direction we came from?"
"No, do you?"
Eddie wouldn't know if he couldn't hear the sound of the electricity pylon buzzing somewhere to the right. But how can he explain that? "Uh, we were turned around."
You creep to his side and grab his arm with both hands. "Are you sure?"
"Hey," he says gently. "Hey, it's okay. I know where we are. We'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" you ask again.
"I'm positive."
You take a deep breath that doesn't erase your shakiness, a failed attempt at self-soothing. "I really don't know where we are."
"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?"
"Not really… I don't wanna get lost out here."
"You won't. I know how to get back. C'mon," he prompts, pulling his arm to encourage you forward.
You let go of him and navigate a few steps by yourself. He weaves through the trees, waiting for your heartbeat to slow.
It doesn't. He opens his mouth to reassure you again when you gasp, kicking your foot against a root and tripping. You barely fall, catching yourself on the trunk of a tree, and Eddie remembers himself. You can't see the trees. That's why you're worried. You can't see anything.
Then the smell of blood hits him like a freight train.
—
Your hand stings where you caught yourself, palm scraped down against harsh bark.
"Shit," you mumble.
You're panicking badly, and you're confused as to why Eddie isn't. Not only was it fucking stupid of you to come out here with only one torch, it was stupid of you to assume you'd remember what way was home. It was stupid of you to come here tonight for that stupid beetle, and stupid of you to drag Eddie along. You're an idiot, and now you're bleeding.
Your eyes sting with tears, pain like a popped seal. I'm so stupid.
"Hey," Eddie says, his tone silky soft, "you're okay. Let me help you up."
You hold your hands out.
"Eddie, this is weird." Hopefully he understands that weird means scary.
He takes your hands, fingers closing slowly over your bloody palm. His breath is loud as he pulls you up toward him like he's panicked but his grip stays kind, and you abandon the notion when he rubs over your knuckles with his thumb. "It's alright."
He doesn't sound the same.
"Eddie, we can't see."
"We'll go slowly, okay? I'll put my hand out and we'll walk around anything that gets in the way."
"Yeah," you say hurriedly, heart bump-bump-bumping against your ribcage.
He keeps one hand, the injured one, and starts to drag you slowly through the trees. His grip tightens as you go until it starts to ache, until it feels like it might bruise.
"Ouch, Eds. You're hurting me," you say, going for a lightly teasing tone and missing the mark.
Instantly, he eases off. "Sorry, sweetheart. You hold onto me, alright?"
You do as he'd asked, hand clinging to him as he leads. He doesn't squeeze you again, walking slowly as he'd promised, and the closer you get to the edge of the forest the clearer it becomes. Light pollution from the centre of town leaches through the trees like water trickling from an overflowing basin.
His second hand is in his pocket.
"Here," he says after you've traversed to the very edge of the forest. "There's the park. We're bona fide explorers."
He looks out toward the park and you look at the side of his face. Something isn't right. Something uncanny.
You drop your gaze from his face to your joined hands. They come apart, blood smeared in both your palms like two halves of a dripping heart.
—
There is something weird about Eddie. As a residential freak of Hawkins you think you're an authority in this, and you don't feel guilty for judging him. Your brain can't stop going over your night in the forest. For days you play the scenes back and for days you lose the details. You forget how the wind had tousled his hair, how he'd smelled, what he'd said.
You remember the way he'd squeezed your bloody hand. You remember the way he'd spoken, strained.
Not strained like he didn't want to comfort you, he had, but strained.
Restrained.
You're poking at the shallow cut half-healed now in your palm at work when a dude walks in, very tall, handsome, and gunning straight for you.
You straighten your badge and hide your bracelet heavy wrists behind your back, receding slightly as he approaches. He slows in front of you.
You have a light bulb moment.
"The hair," you say.
He scowls. "He told you that, huh. Typical."
"You're Steve?"
"That's me." Steve crosses his arms across his chest, his back to a booth, your back to the diner bar. "You're Eddie's new friend."
"What counts as new?" A month and a half doesn't feel so new to you.
"Trust me, you're new."
He has the strangest patch covering the outside of his left wrist, the same peculiar scarring that you can see on Eddie's waist when he reaches for a glass out of the kitchen cabinet. You don't ask because you're not a dick no matter how curious you find yourself, but it makes your heart skip. What is that? You'd assumed Eddie's was road rash. Now you're not so sure.
He tucks it under his arm.
You meet his suspicious gaze.
"You want coffee?"
"No."
You kick your foot, shoe sliding over the shiny waxed floor with a squeal. "Is Eddie okay?"
"Did you want to come to a party next Friday?"
"No," you say honestly. "Like a cult?"
"What?"
"Are you initiating me into your cult?"
He finally smiles, eyes creased with amusement. "I'm inviting you to our club."
"Club where you chew on each other?"
You look pointedly at Steve's wrist.
"No. Club where we play board games and drink jiffy pop. Come or don't, doesn't matter."
"If it doesn't matter, why are you asking me?"
It's a strangely intense conversation to have this early in the morning. Patrons chatter about work, coffee gets poured. The diner smells of syrup and sugar and bitter cold-press. You're both in work apparel, both refusing to move back. If this is some kind of shovel talk then that's fine, and if it's a test you're determined to pass, even if Eddie's been super weird lately.
"I'll come if you promise not to eat me," you say.
"It's really not that kind of club."
—
"I had the weirdest visit in the entire world today," you declare, stopping in front of Eddie's porch with a smile.
"Yeah?" he asks without looking up, guitar in his lap and pen scribbling over a lined notebook.
You wait for him to stop before you continue, leaning forward with both arms braced on the porch by his feet. "Steve Harrington came to see me, and he was super mean. You said he was nice."
He frowns at you. "I told you he was a dick."
"You like him when you tell me stories."
"How mean?" Eddie asks, patting the seat beside him.
You climb up onto the porch and plop down onto the couch, worn leather cold with the weather and damp in the seams.
You take a strand of his hair and curl it around your finger. "Not really super mean, but he was, like, acting like I killed a baby."
"He's like that."
You sigh and lean your cheek against the couch cushion, watching Eddie's stubble move as he tamps down a teasing smile. "He invited me to a party next weekr."
"It's not a party- Sweetheart, what are you doing?"
You tickle his cheek with the end of his hair. "Nothing."
"M'gonna sneeze."
You tickle him again, fine dark strands brushing over his pale cheek. He's a very ashen guy, you've found. Likely because he barely goes out in the sun and he doesn't eat enough. You draw circles around the apple of his cheek and grin softly at his growing smile, a sweet, silly thing.
"I'll tickle you back," he warns.
"Promise?"
He steals the curl back and tucks it behind his ear.
"You're not a cannibal, are you?"
Eddie chokes on air. You startle at his coughing and move to pat his back, palm slapping a steady rhythm into his shoulder. When he calms down you run your hand down the length of his arm, long sleeve t-shirt soft beneath your touch. You linger at his wrist and decide to hold it.
He drops his pen and your hand travels until he's caught your thumb. He kneads it in his fingers.
"I'm not a cannibal. Why would you think that?"
"I don't, but you and Steve are in your club, right?"
"Hellfire wasn't like that," he says heatedly.
"No, not- Not that one."
He doesn't say anything.
"You have… He has this scar, on his wrist. Like something bit him, or-" He turns to you and he looks formidable and upset and himself, not mad at you but raw emotion in his expression anyhow. It's gone as quick as it came.
"When all that… stuff happened," he begins quietly, "we got hurt. A couple of us."
You drop your head, ashamed at having pried. "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me anything else."
"Don't be sorry…" He squeezes your hand and lets it go. "Don't worry about it."
"Okay."
"We usually call ourselves a party, these days. Not a club."
"Do you really play board games and drink jiffy pop?"
"Sometimes we get really crazy and order a pizza. You should come."
You realise as he says it how much his wanting you to go had mattered to you. Eddie's your friend, and you don't think that you're going to stay friends much longer.
"You think your friends will like me?" you ask, voice descending to a new kind of gentle.
He puts down his guitar and his notebook. His full attention is something you've come to really enjoy, not because of the hunger you often see flitting across his face — though that's neat —, but because of the inklings of adoration clinging to his smile when he looks at you. His blinking lashes. He smiles at you and just slows. A usually frenetic boy calmed.
"Maybe not Mike. Mike doesn't like anybody. Except for Will," he muses.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Who do you like?"
"I like all of them." He juts his cheek toward his shoulder, conceding, " I think Dustin's my favourite. He's funny. He's funnier than I am, and he's the smartest kid I've ever met. And he knows it."
Your eyes focus on the pink outline of his upper lip as he speaks. It's a pleasure to be this close, and see him in this kind of crazy detail. When you go home tonight you might try to draw him. You'll probably forget.
It's the kind of smile that deserves to be immortalised.
"I really like your smile," you tell him, hoping it'll last a little longer.
It stretches. The pink outline turns white. "Shut up."
"I do. I've seen a thousand different smiles but I've never met someone who smiles like you do."
"How's that?" he asks, edging toward you, face a mirror in which you can see your own charmed expression.
"Like you," — you shake your head with your lips parted — "know a secret. Something you won't tell anybody."
His smile abruptly ends.
You've nothing if not a talent for saying the wrong thing.
"A good secret," you amend.
He picks up his acoustic and gives it an experimental strum. "Maybe one or two," he agrees.
Relief catches you. You nibble at the inside of your lip and watch his fingers work over the neck of his guitar, tipping your head so you can read the words he's markered over the body.
"This machine slays dragons," you murmur to yourself. "Yeah? How many?"
"Just the one."
"Save any princesses?"
"Not yet." He plucks at the strings, lost in thought, before turning to you with eyebrows raised. "Can you play?"
You exhale out of the corner of your mouth as he pushes the guitar into your lap, an arm coming around your shoulder, the other reaching to guide your curled forefinger to the strings. You turn to face him, watching him talk with a growing fondness.
"It's easy, I swear. We'll do Call Me. Blondie's basic, even a baby could play it."
He realises you aren't listening and raises his gaze, shiny brown irises stuck on your lips. This close, it would be worse if he didn't look at them.
You glance at his, an obvious thing, half a wish. If he only lifted his chin.
Your breath mingles.
"It's easy," he says again, a murmur of his usual volume as his gaze pulls back up to yours. "I'll show you."
You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding; it's deafening. You wait, and you wait, and you turn your eyes back to his guitar and clamp your fingers down against the struts so he can't see them shaking with adrenaline.
—
Eddie sits beside Steve and tries not to admit to himself that Steve Harrington is, horrifyingly, his best friend (along with the rest of the party, obviously). Steve is the closest in age and Eddie can't make excuses (though he tries and tries and tries), Steve understands how much Eddie doesn't ever want to talk about anything that's happened to them, so he talks about literally everything else instead.
"It was the weirdest pawn shop I've ever been in. They had, like, a wall of combi's playing the same video at the same time but all slightly delayed."
Eddie blinks.
Steve turns his head from the TV, having expected a response. "Did you say something?"
"No." Then, because he's not a dick. "Sorry, Harrington. Want me to sit on your other side?"
"What for?" Steve says. Not because he denies how he's hard of hearing, but because he denies having conversations with Eddie.
He does end up moving to Steve's other side with a pathetic excuse. "I can't see the TV."
Steve doesn't say a word until he's sat down again. "Sorry I was mean to your girlfriend."
"Yeah, what was that about?"
"I was cranky because it was early and I don't want her to damage the integrity of the party." He gives equal weight to both reasons.
Eddie snorts at him. "Since when do you care about the integrity of the party?" Steve barely acknowledges that they are a party. He thinks that's a very nerdy way to say friends.
"Since always, dipshit."
"And inviting her to join the party was the solution because…?"
Steve drinks the rest of his coke and pretends to really care about what's on TV. "If," he begins after a minute, refusing to look at Eddie, "something happens with her, and something happens to you, that damages the integrity of the party."
"Steve," Eddie says, jaw dropped down to his chest, "do you have a crush on me?"
"Oh my god," Steve mutters. "Oh my god," he says louder. "I can't stand you."
To prove his point, he gets up from the couch with a wrinkled nose, stops to tap his shoe gently against Max's where she's sitting in the armchair across from the coffee table, and disappears into his kitchen.
Steve Harrington cares about me enough to give Y/N the shovel talk.
He feels kind of great about it.
But he's not sure your the one who needs warning.
That night in the forest, Eddie had almost snapped. There are rules to follow if he wants to keep people safe, self-imposed, Hopper-imposed, and he's broken too many with you already, the most important being no close proximity when he's hungry. Eddie doesn't even realise he is hungry half the time. He'll be standing by you and he'll want to touch you, and suddenly it's like he's three weeks in to the month without sating.
He thinks about kissing you and suddenly he's thinking about biting you, and hurting you, and it's literally tearing him up from the inside out.
How can he want to do that to you?
"You look so depressed and pathetic," Dustin says out of the blue.
Eddie pouts and falls back into the couch, Steve's fancy throw falling onto his shoulder. "I used to like you," he says, taking in Dustin's outfit with a kind of parental approval. He's getting older and it shows, slightly more handsome than he had been — he's kept all his baby weight and it suits him, his full cheeks surrounded by the softest brown curls Eddie has ever seen. The outfit stays immature, a funny t-shirt and ill-fitting pants.
"Sad. You have a sad face," Dustin says.
"Go play with your nerd squad, please."
He doesn't listen, collapsing in Steve's still-warm seat like a cheap tent and crossing longer, thicker arms over his chest. He smiles at Eddie genuinely. "Where's your girlfriend?"
"No."
"Where's Y/N?"
Eddie tips his head so he can see past the coffee table and points to where you're almost hidden, sitting with Robin on the floor by Steve's sideboard. You have a basket of tapes in front of you, the two of you trying to choose what's going in the stereo. Eddie prays for anything but Blondie.
You will most likely choose Blondie.
"What does she like?" Dustin asks curiously.
"Everything, kind of. Why?"
"I wanna know what to say when I talk to her."
Eddie smiles at his friend's face, a soft, surprised thing. "I don't know if she knows anything about the radio but if you're happy about it she'll be happy too. She's a good listener."
Dustin picks at a piece of lint on his t-shirt bearing a white and black print of a dog wearing sunglasses. "So you talk to her?" he asks without looking up.
"I mean, yeah. What else do you do?"
"With a girl that likes you? Huh, let me think." Dustin laughs and ruins his own sarcasm, pointer finger laid against his chin in a show of thoughtfulness.
"It's not like that," Eddie says lightly.
"It could be."
"Could it? I mean… I don't even know if she'll stick around. And I feel bad 'cos I can't be honest with her."
"Why not?"
"Hopper said he would literally put me in the hole if I even thought about it." There's no need to expand. Dustin would know better than anyone what he's talking about.
He cringes at the thought, self hatred a hot poker down his throat. He must've said it to Dustin a hundred times when he finally came around from his coma (that wasn't a coma, but a death, and then a rebirth). I can't believe I put you through that. I can't believe I put you through that. I'm so sorry.
I'm just glad you're alive, Eddie.
And for a while, Eddie hadn't felt the same. The world he'd woken up to was hard. There had been lawyers and grief and guilt and becoming. He doesn't have the words to describe how it feels to become something new, something that needs to hurt people to live, something that will hurt people to live, whether Eddie wants to or not.
The loss of choice is suffocating.
Though moments like this with his friends– they don't make it 'worth it', they're just how it had to happen. There isn't a scenario where Eddie could give up. He can't leave Wayne, and he can't leave Dustin. He can live with the grief of what he is if it means other people don't have to live with grief of what he isn't.
"Eddie, are you okay?"
He's missed something. Dustin isn't the only one looking at him.
He curls a hand around his forearm subconsciously. "I'm fine. I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom, actually. Gotta piss real bad."
"Eddie-"
"I'm fine, Henderson." He puts on a good show, patting Dustin's arm. His heart, usually so slow these days, has enough life in it to ache.
He can't have been in the bathroom for five minutes when somebody knocks on the door aggressively. He's expecting Steve, pissed at his disappearance and likely preparing a speech on attention seeking behaviours and how they're hurting the youth of America, so he opens the door with a tired glare.
He finds you, beaming and pretty, dressed ridiculously nicely for his idiot friends.
"Hi," you say. He can hear something from Blondie's Parallel Lines playing from the living room, familiar because it's your favourite album. "Any room for me?"
Eddie moves back. You close the door behind you. The bathroom becomes a vacuum of your sounds and smells.
"They didn't have any Dio," you say with a smile.
"I honestly wouldn't expect any different."
"You could've brought some tapes, your mix from the van," you suggest. "I love that one."
"Which one?" he asks, and he can't help it, whenever he's with you his voice crops to a dulcet murmur. The urge to speak to you as you speak to him is unconquerable.
"One with the winking smile on the slipcase. I really like it."
"You can have it."
You lean against the sink. "I can?"
"Mm. Whatever you want." Especially when you look like this.
You smile at him, your 'thank you' smile, all sticky fondness and mischievousness. He has no idea what you're thinking.
"'S a small bathroom in a huge house," you marvel. Your voice echoes "Where does he shower?"
"There's an upstairs bathroom."
"Two bathrooms? That's-"
"Audacious?"
"I was gonna say overkill."
Your candidness has him shaking with laughter. He clutches at his sides, arms crossed and leaning forward. You visibly take in his appearance, eyes panning slowly over his clean hair. He'd taken care to look like somebody you might want to look at tonight.
"Why don't you sit down, Eds?" you ask, eyes creased with an unreadable emotion.
Eddie feels blindly for the toilet lid and pushes it down so he can do as you ask, wondering why you're asking.
"You look very handsome today."
He hugs himself. "As opposed to every other day, when I don't?"
You take a step forward, a second, hands playing with the hem of your shirt. Your outfit today is delightfully simple, a pressed black t-shirt long enough to cover the waistband of your pleated skirt. There's an expanse of thigh that makes his heart beat spin out, one longer than the other where your thigh-high is falling down.
He wants to pull it up.
"C'mere," he says.
You take that last step between his shoes and he reaches out, getting his fingertips under the elastic of your sock and tugging it upward over the soft fat of your leg. Your hands come up to his shoulders for balance, and you say, "No, you look handsome every day. Today you look very handsome. I made the distinction."
He covers your thigh with both hands, looking up into your face as you look down. "You look really pretty today," he says boldly, fingers spreading behind your knee.
"Thank you. Do you like my t-shirt?"
It's a screen print of Debbie Harry. Eddie tries not to roll his eyes. "I love it, but your dedication to Blondie is seriously worrying, sweetheart." He gives your leg a short squeeze and pulls the most giggly smile out of you yet.
"Like Madonna."
"No!" he bemoans.
You laugh and grow closer, arms on his shoulder, a hand threaded into his hair. "Cyndi Lauper?" you suggest.
He puts a hand on your waist as you move in for a hug. Your arms wrap around his neck and the tops of his shoulders, cheek crushed to the top of his head.
He'd ask if you were okay if he thought you weren't. You're not upset or seeking comfort. You're affectionate. You've been getting more and more touchy for weeks, as he has. Stolen touches, your almost-kiss on the porch last week.
"No, not Cyndi Lauper," he says, his hand skirting around your back to pull you in properly.
"R.E.M?"
"God, no. Where are you hearing all this junk?"
"The radio."
"Tuned into the wrong station."
You pet the back of his head. "Yeah," you say softly, "I think I was."
The hug is shorter than Eddie wants it to be. You make one of your happy sounds and pull away to get your hands on his face, stroking curls from his cheeks with a protective touch. "Handsome," you say, turning your hand to stroke his cheek with your knuckles. "Pretty. You have really big eyes, Eddie, so brown, and so…" You tilt your head to one side, face inching forward.
He turns his face to suit, to fit, breath held as you close the gap.
"So pretty," you murmur, and kiss him.
His hands are limp and then alive, one clutching your hip, one splaying against your chest. He can hear the thud of your heart clear as day — you're bumping with excitement as you kiss him. It's a delicate, tender thing, the party suddenly far away, the music drowned by the sounds of your breathing. You kiss as you talk, as you move, gentle but with bursts of ardency. Your lips are a blissful heat, the tip of your nose smushing into his as you part your lips over his.
He lifts his chin higher, his neck craned to receive you. He's savouring every movement. Each pause for breath that you take. The feeling of your inhales over his quick-bruising lips.
Your hands play in his hair so sweetly it makes his eyes burn with an embarrassing amount of emotion. He screws them closed and squeezes up your waist, steadying himself as you feel along his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue.
You don't get much further than that, seemingly pleased with your own brazeness or perhaps his touch, eyes glowing with mirth as you pull away.
"Sorry," you breathe, not sorry at all. "You just really looked like someone should be kissing you."
You're flushed. Eddie can practically see the heat emanating off of your cheeks. He can feel it.
He stands up, your pulse a ringing in his ears. The wet valves of your heart opening and closing.
"Eddie?" you ask quietly, lifting your head to meet his eyes as he walks you back into the door.
His gums sting. A click.
It's a compulsion.
His hands curl around your elbows, holding you in place. Your eyes are wide with confusion, your lightly swollen lips parted. He can see the tiniest slip of your pink tongue.
He holds your gaze as he leans in. Your eyelids flutter closed. You wrap your arms around him as he descends, totally trusting.
He's a meaner kiss than you are. He starts slow but swiftly loses a handle on it, kisses short but insistent, hot presses like little crescent moons against your barely open mouth.
His hands move up your arms, a near vice-like grip until he finds your sleeves. His fingers slip underneath, hands hungry for your warmth.
You make the worst sound anyone has ever made as he moves back, like something has been ripped from you. A gutted gasp, near silent.
He placates as he wades back in. Thumbs rubbing your arms, lips mouthing damp kisses down your face. The corner of your pout, the hill of your chin, the skin under your jaw. Your head tips back against the door with an audible thud. You exhale hard.
Eddie can't feel his hands.
Your pulse hammers under his lips. He kisses it once. He can't think. He can't breathe.
"You're always cold," you whisper, your hands drifting lazily under the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingertips trail up his spine. "But your lips are warm."
He kisses your neck, his lips parting slowly, a hair's width a second as he sucks your skin into his mouth gently. It's barely a kiss. He does it a second time. A third. You start to laugh, a golden sound.
The point of his fangs touch your skin and you stop.
Eddie closes his mouth abruptly. His hand leaps to your neck and he feels your heart skip as he holds you still. "I'm sorry," he says, nose rubbing over the damp spot he's left behind, your teased skin.
Your heart hikes again.
"I'm sorry," he repeats. He pulls away, an agony.
"It's okay," you say. Your breathlessness says otherwise.
Eddie takes as many deep breaths as he can stand, wanting to clear his head and filling it with you instead. Your everything; your smell, your skin. Your limp hands against his back.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks when he gets a look at you, your unreadable expression. He takes care to keep his head angled down so you can't see the lower half of his face.
"I don't think you could."
You cup his cheek in your hand and he leans into it, his weight against yours.
"I wanted to tell you something," you confess.
"What-" He licks his lips, wincing when his fangs slide into his tongue and scrape grooves across his taste buds. "What was that?"
"I know you…" You pause, fingertips rubbing at his cheek.
Does she know? Eddie thinks, horrified. He hadn't realised how scary waiting could be. A thousand worries condensed into a handful of seconds. Does she know?
How could she not?
You press your palm to his cheek with more insistence. "I don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me. I know you have scars," you say, fingers sliding into the soft baby hair at the back of his neck. "You don't have to cover up. You don't have to cover any of it."
"I won't hurt you," he says, trying to convince himself.
"I know."
-
You stay a while longer. Eddie's friends pretend that you hadn't been alone in the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time together. You thank them all silently and less so, trying to talk to as many of them as you can.
There's Lucas, who's really, really nice, and his girlfriend Max, who's less so. She gives you an unimpressed look through her thick-lensed glasses, but you compliment her crutches and she comes around.
There's Mike, who actually isn't anywhere as bad as Eddie had described him. He's not frosty or standoffish, he's sweet and he asks questions. There's a girl with him that you don't catch the name of, and a boy on her other side.
There's Dustin, who you adore immediately, Robin, who you adore more, and then there's Steve.
Steve offers you a pretzel like you're more than familiar. He strolls right up to you with a bowl of them in hand and doesn't leave until you've eaten half of them.
There's a couple of people you don't manage to talk to at all, and you feel guilty about it all the way home.
"What if they think I'm rude?" you ask, tired eyes locking onto the stereo system. The time blinks analog in the dark, 12:59AM.
"They don't, don't worry about it. You have lots of time to get to know them, anyway."
You hum and turn to his face, indulgent because you know he can't look back. "You're not too tired to drive, are you?" He's spent. Yesterday had been one of his bad days.
"I'm fine."
"You say that all the time," you observe, dropping your cheek into the passenger seat's headrest.
"I'm fine all the time."
"Liar."
"Nuisance."
You huff a laugh through your nose. The strands of his friendship bracelet, the small beads at the ends, swing like pendulums in the gap between his arm and the steering wheel. You can see the rough skin of a scar creeping out from under his sleeve.
"Mike was really nice," you say.
"He has a bleeding heart."
That feels accurate. "He reminds me of you."
Eddie rolls his eyes. You feel for every detail, the strange tension between you like a gaussian filter over everything. He's gorgeous in a horrific way, heartbreakingly pale, eyes dark as pitch, hands restless. They squeeze alone the wheel, thick fingers curling tight until his knuckles are stark white. Running down the back of his hands are veins like rivers. They're more purple than green.
"Eddie," you say, playful, a tiny bit insecure.
"What?"
"Wanna stay the night?"
His hand moves forward on the wheel like he's revving a motorcycle, the tendon in his wrist rising to the surface. He clenches. "Not sure it's a good idea."
"Just to sleep. It's late."
"I don't know if I can sleep next to you."
You don't wanna say please. You don't want to ask Eddie to do anything he can't or doesn't wanna do.
He pulls up outside of your house with his mind already made up. He gets out of the car and you follow his lead. He locks it, shoves the keys in his pocket as you join him on the path up to your porch.
He's been in here enough times to know what it looks like, but for some reason you find yourself checking his face, worried about what it is he thinks of your things, all your mismatched trinkets, your stained glass lamps, your life as you let yourselves in. He ducks through the beeded curtain into your bedroom wary that they'll get tangled in his hair like they sometimes do.
"Do you wanna call Wayne?" you ask, gesturing to your telephone on the right hand side, nestled between a stack of books and a cup full of coloured pencils.
You pull your knee up to your chest and unlace your shoes one at a time. Eddie punches the number into the phone and holds the receiver to his shoulder to do as you're doing. It takes him less time to pop his sneakers off than for you to get out of yours. He's just taken the phone back into his hand when Wayne picks up.
"Wayne?" he asks softly. "Didn't wake you up, did I?"
You can't hear his response.
"I'm gonna stay with Y/N tonight. Yeah, we had a good time. Yeah…" His eyes drift to you as you peel out of your thigh highs.
"Yeah, I'm still here. What?" He meets your eyes and it feels accidental, because he throws his eyes to your bedsheets and turns his face to the wall. "No," he says firmly.
You scrape together something to wear for bed and some fresh underwear and leave for the bathroom, telling yourself that nothing is gonna happen so don't get your hopes up but not wanting to get caught out if it does. You freshen up, brushing your teeth and washing your face.
You stare at yourself in the mirror and wonder if you should've left your face-powder and your mascara on. Maybe even the skirt. You'd looked nice and pretty for the party. Now you look like yourself, still pretty but without those extra touches. Will he care? Does it matter?
You debate your pyjama pants considerably.
There's a lot happening.
Eddie is… Eddie is something else. He's different, you'd known that for a long time, and his kiss had confirmed it.
He's something out of a science fiction book.
Well, nobody's perfect.
Whatever he is, he'd kissed you. You'd kissed him and he'd responded, he'd come back for more, and now he's sitting in your bed when he could've gone home. You bring your hand to your neck and crane to one side, fingertips poking at your unbroken skin. His hickey's haven't even bruised.
You screw the pants up and drop them into your laundry basket. You take off every piece of jewellery on your person.
"Do you wanna use the bathroom?" you ask from behind the beaded curtain. "I left a new toothbrush for you on the sink."
"Yeah, desperately, I…" He takes you in as you emerge. Fresh-faced, bare-legged. As naked as you've ever been in front of him, physically and otherwise.
Eddie meets you where you're standing. He's ditched his jacket, and for the first time since you met him you can see the full length of his arms.
"You're not wearing your bracelets," he says, looking between your bodies. His hand twitches toward yours.
"You have tattoos," you say.
"They were better, before."
There's a misshapen mess of black splodges near the crook of his elbow broken up by scar tissue. One arm is less scarred than the other, an almost perfect flank of white skin.
"Is that a puppet? He's super spooky."
"Mh-hm."
You bring your hand to his tattoo and feel over the skin. It doesn't feel like it's there. Eddie holds your wrist and the two of you move together, your fingertips stroking up until you're wrapped around his bicep.
Eddie brings his free hand to your collar. His index finger straightens, encouraging your chin up so he can ease forward and kiss you. He's firm, eager, and your lips curl up into a smile underneath it. He turns his head to the right and you fall left, smile worsened when you feel his own start to form.
He nudges your nose. You take it for a telling off and laugh. "Sorry," you apologise, kissing his top lip.
"You're making this difficult," he chides.
Despite any sternness, Eddie loosens his grip on your wrists to slide his fingers between yours, pressing your joined hands to your chest. He leans back down and he's careful, almost methodical in the way he kisses. Chaste pecks, hot and precious as tiny stars.
You reach for his waist.
Eddie kisses you a final time and steps back. "I'll be back," he promises.
You lower your chin, flustered and perplexed by his sudden departure.
Walking around to the right side of the bed, you click on your bedside lamp — a beautiful glass and foiled contraption that throws dainty stripes of stars and hearts over everything close in the dark — before climbing in. You sniff one of your pillows experimentally, trying to remember when you last changed the bed. You decide they're acceptable even if they really smell like your hair oil and flip them around to be safe, plumping them up with your hands.
You've curled up on your side and almost succumb to your fatigue when Eddie returns, bringing with him the smell of spearmint and a fuzzy feeling in your stomach as he shuts off the light and sits on the opposite side of the bed, facing you. The hair around his face is damp with water, baby hair's limp.
"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to wear, I-" Youre cut off by your own gasp as Eddie kisses you, his hand on your neck, his nose bridge sliding into your own. You hadn't been expecting it, and it's no less dizzying than any other kiss he's given you today.
"It's okay," he murmurs lowly, lips pressed to your lips, "have to wear you, is all."
You huff a laugh into his mouth. "I swear I'm always laughing when I'm with you," you muse as Eddie dedicates himself to your bottom lip. You cup the back of his head. "You're amazing."
Eddie groans and eases back. "I'm not good with words, sweetheart. To tell you how I feel about you."
You push one of your legs toward his knee. "...You can show me."
He shifts in the bed until he can lean over the entirety of your chest, hands cupping your face and lips poised hovering over your own, a millimetre of space between your mouth and his. "Okay," he says quietly.
He dips down. You can feel his bottom lip tremble, and then he's kissing you too hard to feel it anymore. You wrap loose arms around his back.
"Are you sure?" you whisper to him.
He rests his nose against your cheek, eyes closed, drawing the tiniest left to right. "I want you," he reassures.
"And you're okay?"
"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm okay. Do you want to?"
"Yeah. More than anything."
Another loving kiss against your cheek, Eddie moves down, down, down. "Tell me if I do something you don't like," he murmurs, top lip dragging and leaving a line of dampness to the base of your throat.
He adorns the canvas of your neck in half-moon contusions, big hands caressing your shoulders, your chest. You hold your breath as his fingers pass over your nipple, fighting to keep in any embarrassing sounds.
Eddie disagrees with his plan of action. You shiver as he brings his lips to a close and his bottom teeth scrape upward, as he pulls his head up and says, "C'mon, angel, breathe."
He follows his command with a manipulative touch, a circle over your nipple that makes you shudder. He kisses you and it feels like a thank you, pressure, a heat as his palm smooths over the bump of your tummy to your thighs. He squeezes the outside of one and for a while you can kiss him back, and then he pulls your thighs apart and you break away. Eddie follows, kisses you even when your reciprocation is weak.
He pushes your thigh flat to the bed.
You feel the heat of your excitement start to grow. Your stomach aches with the want to be touched.
"You're like a space heater, you're that warm," Eddie says, hand coasting down the inside of your thigh. He squeezes until fat melds under his fingers. "Are you scared?"
His whispering in your ear, his hand as close as it is to where you want it, it winds you up like a coil. You sigh as his thumb strokes the edge of your panties, sound coloured by an awful, devouring desire.
His face presses further into yours in reaction.
His touch is like the tide. He wades in, away. His thumb strokes inward over something soft and then his whole hand moves back to your thigh.
"Teasing," you utter.
"A little… Why, is there something you want me to do?"
His clueless whispering is infuriating and exciting at the same time. Your heart races and you can't discern if it's more lust or love.
"Touch me," you plead, pouting, knowing he's a pushover.
Anticipation stabs like a needle in your tummy as he slides his palm over your cunt completely. He rubs a careful, almost casual rhythm into your panties with the breadth of his fingers, lips kissing a lazy stripe up to your forehead, where he rests his face. You both watch his hand move past the valley of your rising chest.
"M'gonna pull these off, yeah?" He sits up, fingers pushing under the sides. "Lift your- yeah, thank you, sweetheart."
You buzz with his pet names, his soft voice, the feeling of your panties sliding up to your knees and his gentle exhale. You swear you can feel it fan over your slit. "Shit…" he moan, pulling at your spread cunt.
He looks like he's in pain, eyebrows pinched together and murmuring curses as he circles the wetness gathered at your entrance. You turn your head searchingly as he starts to ease his index finger inside your heat, a gentle probing.
One becomes two. He muffles your sighing with firm kisses, amorous praises, "That's it, baby, relax," as he works you open, fingers wet with slickness but not enough. He changes his position, pushing his middle and marriage finger inside and curving as his thumb slides up your slit looking for the bead of your clit.
Slow, slow circles. "There, huh?"
You shiver as he pushes in deeper, fingers as far as they can go. He spreads them wide, drops reassuring kisses all over your face when you keen. It's so new to have him kiss you at all, and to have him touching you — you're melting into nothing right there in his hold.
"I got you. Tell me if it hurts, okay?"
"Want you to- I want you to fuck me," you murmur, arms wrapping around him so you can hide your face in his neck.
"Fuck. Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck you just as soon as I can fit," he murmurs back, sinking three of his thick fingers into your snug cunt. He pulls wetness out with every thrust, a line of slick dribbling down onto the sheets underneath. He wipes it upward and pushes it back inside, his chest heaving. "Y'so tight, gotta take my time. Take our time." He rubs his nose against your head until he can kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Make sure you can take it."
"I can."
It doesn't bear repeating how quietly you're speaking, a mouthing inaudible under the wet, rhythmic thud of Eddie's pinky finger slapping your sticky cunt as he ups the pace of his finger-fucking.
"I don't think so," he coos, pulling his fingers from your cunt and making a show of spreading them wide. Your slick ribbons between them, almost invisible in the dark. "Ruin your sheets before any of that, maybe."
Eddie sits up and gets his hands under your armpits. You laugh as he tugs you up so your shoulders are on top of the pillows, but you don't have time to be confused. He quickly moves to kneel at your feet and pulls your leg over his shoulder, your back lifting unevenly from the sheets.
He starts with a sweet kiss pressed to the skin closest to his mouth, your lower thigh, and then works his way up, open mouthed, barely kisses at all until his hair whispers against your sensitive cunt and he's nipping at the stripe of skin between your thigh and the place where you most want his attention.
"Pretty," he says into your damp skin, lips shining. You reach down to stroke his hair behind his ears, worried he's gonna get it dirty.
He looks at you from between your thighs, his eyes dark in the dim light, their lashes long and soft where the outermost flutter into your skin. He's lovely.
He holds your gaze as he pulls back to your inner thigh. "Pretty everywhere," he says salaciously.
His lips part over your skin and you think he might bite you, a bruising hickey, but he pushes you down flat to the bed by your hips and kisses your clit, a simple kiss. Your fingers weave deeper into his hair. Your fingernails scratch lightly against his scalp, every tiny lick or kiss reflected in the minute tightening of your hands.
He goes slow, mouths down, kisses wetter and wetter as he reaches your entrance. "Poor girl," he murmurs, hands pulled down to further scandalise. He sinks two fingers inside and laughs into your cunt. You squirm.
"What happened? You're dripping on my fingers." Your thighs draw closed around his head as he curls his fingers against a soft spot.
"Eddie, can you-" You swallow. "Please. Please."
He pries your thighs open and rubs them soothingly, lapping at the heat of your cunt in face of your pleading. His tongue appears broad and flat up the centre of you until he's kissing on your clit, fingers pumping in rhythm. Your fingers work into his hair and he groans, the vibration enough to make you whimper under his mouth.
He laps at your clit messily and you tip your head back, breath coming in tight pants. You don't know what you say, only how you say it, desperate "please,"s and keening "Eddie,"s.
His thrusts grow in enthusiasm, fingers rubbing eagerly against something sweet. You pull your legs up and nudge his face to your cunt insistently, thigh shaking as you hold it up. Eddie doesn't need any more encouragement, his pretty pink lips suckling at your clit until you see stars. You make a pained little sound and try to move away from his kissing, startled at the intensity of your high.
Eddie lets your clit pop out of his mouth with a lewd, slick sound, his hands moving under your thighs and pulling you closer. "Good girl," he says, rubbing his wet face against the inside of your thigh. He inhales hard as you are, though he pauses to kiss your kneecap and pat your leg. "Good girl, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry," you say breathlessly, hands pulling his hair from his face. Pleasure rolls through you in hot waves.
"For what?"
"Tugging on your hair," you explain, shoulder pulled up to your cheek.
Eddie kisses your tummy lovingly and climbs on top of you to do the same just under your chin. "It’s okay, sweetheart, I like that shit. That was good, huh?" he asks, lips dropping down to yours all wet and warm.
He's not bragging, he's genuinely asking.
You nod into his kiss, your hands coming up to his sides. You swear your ears perk up as he unzips his jeans and eases them down, a hand disappearing into the mess of fabric. He moans quietly at the first touch.
You move his hair out of the way to watch. Eddie tugs at the length of his cock with a cruel hand, a short dribble of pearly precum sobbing down the tip and under his fingers. He spreads it as it goes, the slickness emphasising the ridges and veins of his cock. You can see it throb, if you look close enough.
He sits back and eases his jeans and boxers down enough to reveal a thatch of curls that brush his hand with every pump downward.
"You okay?" he asks, smirking.
You pull your shirt over your head and your chest warms at his adoring smile. "Will you take off yours?"
He doesn't hesitate like you worried he might. He sheds his t-shirt, pulling the fabric over the back of his head and dumping it off the side of the bed.
You take in his chest and it's abundance of ragged scarring still purpled with newness. He has a tattoo over his heart, a black whorl of legs and eyes. Fine dark hair crawls from the middle of his chest down his navel, joining with the thatch of coiled hair surrounding his aching cock. You shuffle forward and wait with two tentative hands held aloft until he says, "It's okay," before you touch him. You run your hands down the soft slopes of his waist.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore."
"Can I kiss it?"
He snorts. "Prefer you kiss something else."
That really makes you laugh. You dot a kiss against his jaw and can't make yourself stop, dropping them all the way to the skin behind his ear. Your hand creeps lower as you go, held to the curve of his tummy. His skin is hot to touch the lower you go, and his stomach feels solid, a heaviness you know all too well.
"Can I touch you?" you whisper into his ear.
"Please."
You drop your forehead against his chest and he brings his hand up to cup the back of your head. His cock pulses as you wrap your hand around it, skin smooth and slick as you palm slowly up and down. You watch in awe as a bead of precum wells at the tip, Eddie's rough breathing loud overhead.
"Lie down, Y/N," he says, hand moving behind your naked shoulders.
"What way?"
"How do you want it, sweetheart? We'll do it whatever way you want."
You think about it. Whatever way you want. No matter how indulgent, you know he means it.
"Will you spoon me?"
He pushes you gently and follows behind, dragging your body into his front and angling your hips, cock hot and prodding your back. He gets his hand under your knee and pulls it up, splaying your cunt. You jump in surprise as he pushes his cock through your folds, tip rubbing against the still sensitive bead of your clit.
Eddie wraps his arms around you, hugging you from behind. "You wanna put it in for me, baby?"
You reach between your bodies and take his sticky cock into your hand, shifting until the head nudges against your hole. He sinks in inch by inch, arms tightening around your waist and grinding you down onto his cock until you're whimpering.
You grab at his arms with your hands and tether yourself to him as he starts to rock his hips, his thrusting tender and his face turned into your neck.
He presses his hand flat to your abdomen, an anchoring point as he moulds your weepy cunt around his length, each slovenly movement into your heat spreading you that little bit wider.
"Fuck," he says finally, sounding seconds from a black out. "Oh, fuck- You're tight. Gonna fuck you open slow, okay?"
You're pretty sure you'd let him do just about anything. You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss every white knuckle, every freckle you can see on the back, and when he bottoms out your cover your lips with his stolen hand to smother a tearful gasp.
Eddie's thrusts are spearing in their steady rhythm, a dirty slap ringing with every punching thrust forward. You curl in on yourself and hide your mouth in the sheets, wet pants smothered by fabric. Eddie's grip falls to your hip, where he pulls your body back and forces your cunt open even deeper.
His cock pushes into your sweet spot sudden and emphatic. You moan and he stills, rutting into that same space without pulling out until you're babbling his name, body knocked forward with every thrust.
Eddie turns your face toward him as much as he can without hurting your neck, your moans echoing in time with each thrust. "There you go," he says, "wanna hear how good it feels."
If he cares that you can't answer him he doesn't show it, arm coming up under you arm to grasp at your chest, your breaststroke soft and aching under his hand as he squeezes tenderly. His cock kisses at the sweet spot inside you intermittently; you're dizzy with it.
Eddie can't keep quiet either, his moans breathy, his breath hissing between his teeth when you clamp down around him. "Fuck," he begs, dragging his cock out of your heat, "fuck, Y/N."
He says your name like the syllables alone are appraising.
You can tell when it gets too much for him. He slows. His face drops into your shoulder, and he matches his pace to the wet kisses he leaves behind. Your wetness feels stickying, each of his thrusts snug.
His breath hitches, ragged pants accompanying every slow push of his hips. "Where's my girl?" he asks, eyes still closed as his hand abandons where it'd been squeezing the bump of your tummy to search further downward, fingers disappearing into your folds, short curls wet with slick. He can't find any purchase. You roll your hips, chase his touch and the pleasure that comes with it.
He groans into your shoulder. It sounds more pain than pleasure.
"Are you okay?" you ask, trying to turn in his arms. He holds you in place. "Eddie?"
"Yeah, fuck, I'm okay." He grinds up into your cunt. "Fuck, you're perfect."
"Will you kiss me?"
He does. It's nowhere near the bruising press you'd wanted. It's too careful.
"Listen," he murmurs, "I'm gonna get you on your front, okay? Gonna make you feel so good," he promises, waiting for you to nod before he pushes your shoulder away from him and climbs up behind you. You lay flat on your stomach and Eddie settles on your thighs, a heavy weight.
He pushes into your cunt with two fingers first, the new position allowing for a new pleasure. He pumps in and out and swaps his fingers for his cock quickly after, bearing the full weight of his body into your back as sinks to the hilt.
You both moan in time, hands fisted in the sheets.
He kisses your neck, lips parted, and his teeth feel so sharp that your heart sinks as it had in the bathroom.
"Eddie-" you start.
He pulls away, stops every movement.
"Eddie," you say again. What are you supposed to say? You both know what he is.
There's a lull where neither of you knows what to do filled by your too-fast breathing.
"I won't hurt you," he says, hands rubbing up the length of your back and then under. He holds a hand over your heart. He drops his lips to your back. "Do you want me to stop?"
He must feel your pulse calm under his touch, but he still asks again when you don't answer. "Do you want me to stop? It's okay if you do. You're okay, baby, I promise."
You steal a pillow from against the headboard and rise up on elbows. Your admission comes weak but completely honest. "Fuck me, Eddie, please... I want you. I want you-" Your murmuring's interrupted by a sharp breath as Eddie starts to move again, the head of his cock pushing into your cunt, a slick, perfect feeling.
He moans from the back of his throat as his cock pushes into you again and again, hips smacking the dough of your ass as his pace quickens. You hug your pillow tightly, tears popping up in the corners as he ruts deep.
"Being so good for me," he groans, clamped down on your hip with a vice-like grip. "Fuck, you feel so good. Fucking clinging to me every time I pull out, baby, Christ." His blasphemy is punctuated by a thrust that has you sliding up the bed, sheets wrinkling under your arms. You spread your thighs and wetness pools at your clit as his pelvis thrusts into you, driving pleasure so deeply it aches in your hips.
You moan pathetically and reach back to hold his hand, wiggling your fingers. He takes it in one and presses your arm against your lower back with the other, struggling to maintain a steady pace as he gets close to cumming. You're a babbling stream of sounds as he fucks in deep, swollen sweet spot tapped against mercilessly.
He throws himself back on his haunches, cock dragged out of your heat.
You pull your legs out from underneath him and curl onto your side to watch, eyes wide as white spurts of pearlescence jump out of the head of his reddened cock and drip down the bumps of his fingers. He leans back, his stomach and thighs tensed with every pump.
He groans through a smile, moan's coloured by a happy, relieved laughter. "F-uck," he drags, fisting his cock dry.
He meets your eyes as the last of it slides down onto his stomach.
You smile softly. "Fuck," you mumble.
Eddie wipes his hand in his jeans like a fucking hooligan and tucks his cock back into his boxers with a wince, and then he collapses on top of you. He's sort of nice about it, his arm over your shoulder and his face behind your ear.
"Fucking beautiful," he praises, dropping his head back on the bed so you're face to face. "You're so fucking pretty. So perfect." He kisses you. "You're perfect," he repeats, staring intently into your eyes.
You pull a hand from between your legs, smelling of sex. Eddie literally couldn't care less if he tried, and he lets you take his face into your hand without complaint.
He gets his arm under your arm and starts to rub your back. "You want me to take care of you again?" he asks, eyebrows raised gently. "Yeah?"
And you would let him, you would, but you need to see them for yourself.
You touch your index fingertip to his lip.
"Can I see?" you ask.
He loses his boisterous joy, tamps it down. He realises that he can't lie, that he hasn't been lying, and he nods. You tremble as you pull his lip up over his canine tooth, excited and scared.
A sharp, exceptionally white tooth pokes out of Eddie's gums. You're taken aback, though you'd known exactly what you'd find.
A fang.
Blood oozes at the gums.
"You're bleeding," you worry aloud, touching your finger to the dark beading at the base of his tooth.
Eddie's eyes rove over your face thoughtfully. He pulls your hand away from his lip and sets it on his neck instead. "They always do that. The gum heals, breaks when they wanna come out."
"How often do they come out?"
"A lot more since I met you. Whenever my adrenaline spikes, they seem to think it's… feeding time."
That is a dizzying thing to learn.
You're not sure how you feel, but you know one thing: he's Eddie. "It's too bad," you say, forcing a lightness that turns real more easily than you expect. "I really want to kiss you right now."
He strokes your cheek with his thumb. "I really wanna kiss you too. Maybe a small one?"
You find yourself leaning forward, unafraid.
He kisses you once, twice, three times, the two of you holding each other's faces and covered in mess. Slick and sweat and blood. The hearts and stars from your lamp spray over his hip and paint him with pinks, greens, oranges, a rainbow cutting over his trim waist. You rest your hand overtop, feel his keloid scars like hills under your fingers.
"My boyfriend's a vampire," you mutter, bemused at fate.
Eddie blinks at you. "I'm your boyfriend?"
"Yeah, I think so. Don't you?"
Eddie pulls you into his chest and doesn't let you go for a long, long time.
-
Your first time watching a blood sate is weird.
For one, Chief Hopper is firmly against it. He's got his kid with him, the boy from the party that Mike had been so heavily doting on, and if he didn't you might think he was a pretty scary guy.
"I think this is stupid," the chief says plainly. "I think this is stupid, I think you're stupid," — he points at Eddie where he's sitting sickly in the round couch — "and I think you're plain crazy, kid." He points at you last.
You beam at him. "People have said that about me."
His kid laughs.
"Will," Hopper says tiredly, "go sit in the car."
"Look, Chief, I know I messed up, okay, but she kind of stuck her hand in my mouth and I didn't really have a choice."
Wayne looks at you with new eyes. "You did?"
You nod at him faux-seriously.
"And what gave her the inkling that you might have had something in your mouth worth looking at?" Hopper says, which is hilarious. You laugh behind your hand.
He gives you a disapproving look that you completely ignore. If you'd taken notice of disapproval you would've stopped having this much fun years ago.
"Uh, well, she might have… felt them?" His pitch rises.
Hopper looks like he's about to blow a gasket when Will says, "What was he supposed to do? Never talk to anyone new ever again?"
"He did a lot more than just talk to me," you say. There'd been a fixed bike, phone calls, lots of sandwiches, bug hunts, an entire sketchbook full of drawings.
"I told you to wait in the car," Hopper says.
Will grins and raises his hands in surrender. "Bye," he mouths. You wave.
Hopper waits for the door to close before he continues. "I get it, when you're a teenager you think your hormones are the end of the world-"
"I'm almost twenty three."
Hopper pinches his hand closed. "But you do not understand the danger that you are creating here."
"Like a stake-ing," you whisper, very very quietly. Eddie's the only one who can hear you, and he laughs so hard he snorts.
"I'm glad you find this funny." Hopper's tone could not imply the opposite any more.
He hands Wayne a paper bag that audibly sloshes and stalks out, his anger a palpable cloud of steam rising off of his shoulders. Eddie seizes up beside you at the sound, lips parting as his fangs come through. You don't touch him because you value your blood inside your body, only slide away from him and smile. "You okay, handsome?"
"Kid, maybe the chief is right. We don't know how Eds is gonna act with you here," Wayne says.
You nod respectfully. You like Wayne, and he knows about all of this stuff more than you ever could.
"No," Eddie mumbles, putting his hand out for you across the couch.
You take it without thinking.
Wayne sighs. You can hear him grumbling as he disappears from view into the kitchen and puts a pot on the stove. There's the sound of a bag being punctured with a knife, a wet slosh. Eddie's grip on your hand tightens.
You're still fascinated that he even drinks blood in the first place. That's wickedly sickening. Wicked, because it's cool that he's a vampire, with his impressive hearing, senses and smell. But sickening, because if you had to drink a pint of blood every couple of weeks you'd throw up.
"I read about a new blood-sucker."
Eddie raises his heavy head. "Another bug?"
"No, a finch! A vampire finch. They're really pretty, Teddy. They're small and brown with long beaks and they drink blood because there's barely any water on their island." You give him a loving smile. "They aren't parasites. S'just how they had to change to survive."
He squeezes your hand, this time on purpose.
"Are you gonna come and have it in here, Eddie?" Wayne asks, one last shot at separating the two of you.
"I'm okay," he says loudly. His eyes trace your smile. "Really."
It can't be fun to have two people watch you drink a warm mug of blood, but Eddie finds it funny. He keeps laughing every time he brings the rim of the glass to his mouth.
"I can't do it if you're looking at me," he says.
Wayne rolls his eyes and looks away. You cover your face with both hands and part your fingers to spy on him through the gaps. He makes it look easy, draining the mug basically in one long pull, though his hunger turns violent as the cup empties. He chokes. Blood trickles down from one corner of his mouth.
You automatically want to reach over and wipe it away. Wayne grabs your arm before you can and gives you a fatherly look that says, I wouldn't do that if I were you.
"Shit," Eddie says, slamming his now empty mug down on the coffee table. It makes a grating sound like a ground mortar and pestle. He sits as far back on the couch cushions as he can, nausea clear on his face.
"Deep breath," Wayne says.
"Fuck, Wayne."
"You're aces. Deep breaths."
Your heart hurts watching Eddie like this. He covers his mouth with eyes closed tightly and breathes hard through his nose. Already there's colour coming back into his face, not a lot but anything is an improvement. He'd been practically grey.
When Eddie pulls his hand from his mouth blood has spread over his lips and jaw. Your eyes widen.
"I'll get the shower running," Wayne says, slapping his knees as he stands. He stops before the hallway. "Good job, Eddie."
The boy in question slouches into a ball on the sofa and nods into a cushion. You wait for the sound of Wayne pulling the shower cord that turns on the hot water before you stand up, head tipped to one side.
"You okay, handsome?".
"Tired."
"You want a hug from me?"
"Is anyone else offering?" He opens one eye to peek at you and grins at your distraught expression. "I'm joking, I'm kidding. C'mere, before I start bawling." You sit and then flop onto your side, pulling your legs up next to his. "Such a frowny face." His voice is adorably tired.
"Better than yours. You look like someone from Night of the Living Dead, baby."
Eddie's arm lies limp like a dead fish over your waist. "Lemme nibble on your brains," he says, words thick as dark honey, eyes closed. "Just a snack."
You're waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under your feet. No way your boyfriend, your cries at the end of every movie, brings you flowers because he felt like it, won't step on cracks in the sidewalk boyfriend just skulled a glass of O-negative like it was a milkshake.
You feel guilty as soon as you think about it. He's not confined to all his softest parts and he never will be. He's snarky and angry and loud. He plays guitar like a real rockstar and he doesn't take anyone's shit. He's a survivor. A glass of blood every now and then was never gonna stop him.
You keep wondering if you should let him suck your blood. It could be hot. It could also probably be the worst idea ever, a relationship faux pas up there with proposing after a month or saying I love you on the first date.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks.
You brush the hair out of his eyes with your ring finger. "Embarrassing relationship fumbles."
"Oh yeah? Like letting your girlfriend watch you drink human blood from a mug shaped like Woodstock?"
"Least it wasn't Snoopy."
"God forbid."
"Is it always like this?" You stroke your hand down his face and rub along his jaw with your thumb. "D'you always get sleepy?"
"Yeah." He turns his face so your hand covers his mouth.
You've stopped wearing silver jewellery, your wrists bare besides the endearingly awful friendship bracelet he's constructed for you. Not a friendship bracelet, he'd corrected. You're not kissing other friends, are you? Because that's really gonna put a downer on this whole thing.
You dip your forehead to his chin and the two of you lay there in silence. You can smell blood, a thick, metallic stick permeating every corner of the room. It's especially strong between the both of you.
"Do you wanna bite me right now?" you inquire without opening your eyes.
"Not really. Blood sate kicks in quickly. It's the worst for, like, the first ten seconds after. Now I wanna sleep, but Wayne's gonna make me shower."
"Maybe I can shower with you."
"I'm sure he'd jump for joy if you suggest it."
"Really?"
Eddie kisses your hand. "No," he says with a giddy laugh.
"I'll pretend I'm gonna sit on the toilet. Keep watch."
"How will you stop your hair from getting wet?"
"I'll lean out."
Eddie laughs even more than he had been, peeling laughter that warms you from the inside out as he kisses your hand again. "That'll definitely work."
Wayne clears his throat.
"Shower's hot. I'm going out. For an hour." Eddie perks up. His uncle looks him dead in the eye. "Don't make me regret this."
And while Wayne had been under the impression you and Eddie were gonna have some grown up fun together in the shower, what you really do is an innocent act of affection: you wash Eddie's hair.
"You have to lean your head back," you chide.
"I am."
"More than that."
"There's no room."
You're lucky you both fit. You're freezing standing behind Eddie, the only relief the warm water that trickles down from your hands to your elbows as you draw circles in his scalp, working the shampoo into a fine lather.
"How did you get blood here?" you ask, scratching rusty flakes from the hair behind his ear.
"I don't know. It gets everywhere. Like eyeshadow."
You push your chin over his shoulder. "You wear eyeshadow?"
"For shows."
"Really?"
"Is it hard to believe?"
You encourage his head under the water and rake your hands through his curls, encouraging the soapy water down to the ends with patient hands. "Lip gloss too? Hey, can I do your makeup?"
"Maybe tomorrow," he bargains. While the shower has helped to wake him up, lethargy remains thick and unshakeable as adamant.
You kiss the wet ridge of his shoulder blade, picturing his pretty face decked out in dark liners and sticky balm. "Thank you."
"I haven't worn any in a long time. Haven't played a show in a really long time."
You wring the water out of his hair and search in the steam for his conditioner. It's mostly empty. "You could put on a show for me. I never got to see you play," you say, shaking it really hard. A dollop collects in your hand and you work the dregs through the ends of his long hair.
"You want that?"
"I think you're the best guitar player in the world."
You're not joking. He's the best, and he plays guitar. And he's pretty good, semantics aside. You love sitting out on the porch with him and listening to him play old rock songs off the top of his head. You could watch his hands move over the strings for hours.
"If that's the case, I can definitely put on a show. Make-up, costume, stage dives. The whole nine yards. Anything for my girl."
You roll the ends of his hair between two coated palms and step back. "There. You have to let it soak in for a couple of minutes."
Eddie turns with a grin, angling his chest and hair forward, away from the stream.
"Whatever will we do?"
You wipe an escaped streak of blood off of his bottom lip and smile. "I have no idea."
You kiss. Eddie leans down and you move up, damp noses glancing off of each other. You're used to short kisses, never enough to make his heart race in case it prompts an unnecessary appearance of his fangs, so when Eddie encourages your lips apart to wade in deeper you pull back questioningly.
"Blood sate. I'm 'sated'. They won't come out."
Your jaw drops. "For real?"
He shakes his head with a pleased smile. "For real. Kiss me sick, sweetheart."
You throw your arm around his neck and drag his face to yours, kissing with an ardency that both surprises and amuses him. He laughs into your open mouth until suddenly he's not laughing at all, only breathing, pushing against you with the same urgent force and the same adoring smile.
"Does this mean you can give me a hickey?" you ask enthusiastically. Eddie has yet to give you a proper love bite.
He leans back under the show spray and pulls you in with him, laughing when you dissolve like rice paper in his arms, finally warm. There's never been a sweeter sound.
/\^._.^/\
thank you for reading! | my masterlist | my halloween party
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#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader hurt/comfort#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x afab!reader#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#eddie munson smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#stranger things#vampire!au#vampire!eddie#vampire!eddie munson#vampire eddie au#vampire eddie smut#vampire eddie munson#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#stranger things 4#stranger things 4 spoilers#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson x afab!reader smut#fem!reader#luveline's halloween party
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Keep Up With Me
Sub!Eddie x Dom!Fem!Reader
Description: your boyfriend breaking up with you because you're too much for him to handle might be the best thing that's happened to you. It's certainly the best thing that's happened to Eddie!
A/N: bitta angst, mostly smut, best friends to lovers, not me and my horny ass projecting again promise, I'm English excuse my language tally ho what what
Warnings: use of pet names (baby girl, sweetheart etc) reader uses she/her pronouns, NSFW, minors DNI or I'll smack you with a wet fish, F!Masturbation, lap riding, M!Oral receiving, slight M! Orgasm denial, p in v protected sex
5k words
Masterlist
You perch on the corner of the checkout counter at Family Video, legs swinging, fingers tapping on the side.
"So, apparently that makes me some sort of slut." You looked at Robin, one of your closest friends, and shrugged.
"Shit, what an asshole! So he basically dumped you because he couldn't keep up with you?"
"Yup. Sad ain't it." You inspect your fingernails, trying to come off as more aloof than you actually felt. You weren't in pain as such, not from losing that asshole, it's just his words kept ringing in your head.
Why do you want to fuck all the time? Must be some sorta slut. Are you a freak or something? What's wrong with you?
The harsh, sobering words ran through your head on a loop, wearing you down even further.
"Hey, I know that look, stop thinking about that jerk he did NOT deserve you, seriously! You just gotta find someone else, you always do." Robin stares at you, hand hovering over yours.
"That's the problem aint it. I just do this over and over. Too fricking horny for my own good!" You laugh; Robin giggles with you. "Hey there's worse problems to have!" You both chuckle for a bit, but you're still upset about his words. Slut. Freak. "Maybe I am a freak." You sigh.
"Whose a freak?"
You jump, and look around. Eddie Munson, your other best friend and long time crush, had just walked in the door. He flashed you a lazy smile, brown doe eyes creased at the corners.
"We are not talking about you Edward if that's what you think."
Eddie mimes being shot in the chest. "Oh sweetheart you wound me! Don't call me that." He pouts at you.
"It's your name, isn't it?" You poke your tongue out at him.
"Urgh, yeah, government name, but it's so not metal." He picks you up off the counter and spins you round, whilst you squeal.
"Put me down Edward!"
"Whose Edward?" He grins, still holding you, lightly tickling your sides.
"Okay Eddie please!"
He places you on your feet with exaggerated care, brushing imaginary dust of your shoulders.
Robin's eyes flick between yours and Eddie, widening and gesturing her head at you. You know she's dying to say something, but you had told her a million times, Eddie was just a friend. Sure he did shit like that, but it's like you were his little sister or something. There's no way he felt the same way about you.
"Well if you two are done flirting, I've got a job to do." You open your mouth to protest but Robin smirks, grabs a few videos and runs off like a baby deer to shelve them. looking at Eddie, you see his face is flushed. Silence for a heartbeat.
"So aren't you seeing loverboy tonight?" Eddie waggles his eyebrows at you.
"Oh I've just come from EX loverboy's house. Here to pick a horror film and pretend all the victims have his face. Oh and eat ice cream until I'm sick."
"Oh shit sweetheart I didn't know, sorry."
"It's all good, just trying to get some stuff he said out of my head. He's a dick anyway."
Eddie frowns, his brow furrowing. He knows this is affecting you more than you are letting on but he doesn't question it.
"Look, I've got a deal to do, but do you want to come over? I can drop you at mine and I'll be like 20 minutes max. I'm up for horror movies, ice cream and a joint or two?"
"Sounds good Eddie. Thanks."
"No problem sweetheart."
You pick a movie each and summon Robin from her hiding space to check them out.
"Okay you kids have fun!" She beams at you both, waving over enthusiastically.
"Robin you are such a dork." You laugh and leave, turning back to make sure the door shuts and doesn't leave a draught. Robin's still staring at you two, gesturing and putting her thumbs up. You roll your eyes and make your way to Eddie's van.
*******************************
Eddie, true to his word, dropped you off at his trailer. You were standing in his room, all alone since his uncle was at work. It was odd; you'd been here before several times, but never alone. You sat on Eddie's bed, surrounded by his smell. Laying back against the pillows you grab one and drink in the scent. Okay you've definitely crossed over into freak territory. He wasn't even here and you were obsessed; surrounded and engulfed by his scent. You felt a familiar warmth between your legs, your desire growing for him with each passing second. You hadn't even realised you had unbuttoned your jeans until your fingers met your underwear.
What the hell are you doing he'll be back any second! Despite knowing this, it gave you a little thrill to think he might catch you with your hand down your pants. Maybe he'd finally give you what you've been craving. Working your hand into your underwear, you find your clit with a gasp. You already felt wetness creeping from your folds, desire being something that seemed to run hot within you, all the time. Teasing at your clit, you run your fingertips in soft circles, building up that tingling feeling in your core.
Throwing your head back you groaned softly, increasing the pressure on your sensitive bud. You imagined it was Eddie's fingers doing this, rubbing you, teasing you into an orgasm. It definitely helped. Soon you were panting, chasing your release.
Your mind races, thinking about how he picked you up earlier so effortlessly, you thought about his strong hands holding you firmly, rings pressing into your flesh. You think about what it would feel like, his hands on you whilst you grind against him and that did it. You come undone with your own hand, your release shattering through your nerves. Laying there for a moment you gather yourself, feeling a twinge of guilt. You shouldn't be thinking about your best friend like this. Maybe there was something wrong with you.
Freak. Slut.
No time to unpack all of that, hearing the crunch of gravel outside. The front door opens.
"Hey honey I'm home!" Eddie chuckles, and you hear him coming towards his room. You quickly try look less dishevelled, wiping your hand and hoping against hope that what you just did wasn't written all over your face.
Eddie struts in, chucks his metal lunchbox on the bed and throws himself after it. You can't help but laugh at his exaggerated movements.
He lays there on his side, propping himself up on his elbow.
"Ya miss me?" He grins.
"Always." You smile at him, trying your hardest not to appear flustered.
"So, I'll roll, you pick what to watch, and we'll make a nest."
You laugh at that. "A nest? What am I an egg?"
"Just do what you're told baby girl." Jesus that's a new one. That nickname went straight to your cunt. He sits up, cross legged. "Oh and hand me those papers on the bed side table."
You bend across and grasp the papers, passing them to Eddie. For a fraction of a second he looks down and looks back up at you, face flushed pink.
"By all means get comfortable." He coughs and looks away.
You look down and realise you left your jeans unbuttoned. A small triangle of red is exposed from the front of your black jeans. Trust me to pick bright red underwear today. Flushing magenta, you try and cover your tracks.
"Shit, sorry Eddie the jeans were digging in you know."
"No worries princess, you want a pair of sweat pants? You need to be cosy in our nest" he grins at you.
"Sure, thanks Eds."
He grabs you a clean grey pair from a drawer and you go to the bathroom to change, cursing yourself for being so stupid. When you return, sweats hanging low of your hips, he had rolled and was waiting for you with a lighter in hand.
"Shit Eddie you could have started without me."
"Nuh-uh. This is all for your benefit, and I'm a gentleman. The lady gets first toke." He reaches over once you've sat down and puts the joint in your mouth and lights it. You take a drag, holding it in for a couple of seconds, then release it. You take another, deeper toke.
"Wow this is decent." You smirk at him.
"All my stuff is decent babe."
"Oh so we aren't talking about the other week with that shit that was all twiggy?"
"No idea what you're talking about." He looks pointedly in the opposite direction. You snort at his actions and pick the first film, loading the VCR.
You both lay back, arms touching, watching the film. The joint goes back and forth, and you begin to giggle at the movie, feeling your high settle in. Laughing with each other at the ridiculous plot, you feel so much better about everything that had happened that evening. You were with Eddie. He always made you feel at ease.
Once the movie had finished Eddie started rolling another, and you ejected the film to put the next one in.
"So, you ready to tell me what happened?" Eddie asks, licking the spliff into place.
Your eyes go wide thinking about what you did in his bed. Shit, how did he know?
"What- what do you mean?"
"I mean why did lover boy break it with you? You never said."
Relief started to spread through you, then you remembered the reasons. Freak. Slut. No way you could tell Eddie that. It was too embarrassing.
"Just standard guy commitment shit. Nothing new." You try and brush it off. It might have worked with someone else, but Eddie could always tell when you are lying.
"Nope, nope. You weren't even serious, you said. So go on, tell me?" His soft brown eyes bored into you.
You started to feel hot and bothered at this amount of attention.
"He said some stuff, it wasn't nice, I don't want to go through it again."
"Did you tell Robin?"
Ooft. How did he always know?
"Okay he said some... stuff that got to me. Jesus Eddie its not important!"
Eddie strokes your arm and looks you in the eye, "if it wasn't important it wouldn't have gotten to you. I just, I want to help."
You look into his eyes and see pure love there, and it does help. You take a deep breath, and, looking anywhere other than Eddie's eyes, you explain the real reason for the break up. Eddie sits silently, listening to you recount the events. When you are done, he looks at you and begins to smirk.
"Eddie it's not funny." You scowl at him. That throws Eddie over the edge. He laughs out loud, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Feeling embarrassed, you move to get up. Eddie's hands grab your waist, holding you still.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I'm not laughing at you I swear." He's grinning, face slightly red from his outburst.
You stare at him. "Then what the hell are you laughing at?"
He chuckles a bit, then strokes your arm, "it's just, it's like he's gotten rid of any man's wet dream, seriously. What man doesn't want a hot girlfriend who wants to do him all the time? He's clearly fucking crazy."
"You- you think I'm hot?" You stutter at him.
"Of course, look at you, you're fucking incredible. Baby girl, any man would be lucky to have you."
Part of you thinks this is just Eddie being a good friend, but the way he looks at you and the lingering hand on your hip; that tells a different story. You decide to push it a little further.
"Any man, right?' You look into his eyes.
"That's what I said sweetheart."
"So, that includes long haired, metal loving, tattooed men right?" You look up at him through your lashes.
"I mean yeah if that's your type..." you see the penny drop behind his eyes. "Oooh, Er yes, those too. Maybe lead guitarist men. Men who like to play D&D?" His voice getting higher. He tilts his head to one side, looking at you with hopeful doe eyes.
"You think there's guys like that in Hawkins?" Batting your eyelashes at him, you move closer.
"Well, I can certainly think of one or two," he says, moving one hand to the nape of your neck, stroking your skin.
"Well, give me their numbers and I'll mmmph!" Your reply is muffled as he presses his lips onto yours.
His touch is electric, the feel of his lips on yours heated. It's more than you could have ever dreamt, the passion of the kiss is something you've never experienced before.
You press your tongue into his mouth and deepen the kiss. Eddie's hand holds you by the hip, fingers pressing into your sides, rings warming against your hot skin. You need to feel him closer so you move to straddle him, but in your eagerness you manage to push him onto his back. Leaning into him, legs either side of his hips, never breaking the kiss. You caress his chest with one hand, the other moving to grab him by the waist, as if he could get any closer without being inside you.
Both of your breathing becomes laboured, desperate. You break the kiss, panting at each other. Eddie's face is a picture, he looks like he's in heaven. A stupid grin is plastered across his features.
"So I've wanted to do that since forever." He beams at you, hand moving to cup your jaw.
"Why didn't you?" You frown at him.
"I dunno, I just thought you weren't interested in me like that."
You look down at him, gesturing to how you were straddling him. "Well, I mean, you're okay I suppose..." you tease him.
Eddie thrusts up with his hips, rubbing against your clothed pussy. You feel he is hard, almost busting through his jeans, and you whimper.
"Seems I'm a bit more than okay pretty girl." Eddie smirks at you.
"Shut up Eddie." The teasing that was a daily occurrence between the two of you puts you at ease. You hold him by the shoulders, and grind your core over his hardened cock, back and forth. Eddie groans low in his throat, his eyes rolling back.
"Jesus Christ, shutting up." You laugh at him, and reach to pull your top over your head, exposing your red cotton bra. It's just plain, soft cups with the tiniest bow on the front. Eddie gazes at your chest as if it were clad in the finest lingerie. You continue to rock against him, feeling your own pleasure mount up.
"You're gonna be the death of me sweetheart" he says but there's no malice in it, just pure admiration. You smirk at him and start planting kisses on his chest, fingers feathering their way to his belt. You undo it and his jeans, yanking them down to his knees, and continue leaving hot, open mouthed kisses to his stomach. Your fingers dip into the waistband of his boxers and you look up at him for confirmation. Eddie stares at you open mouthed for a second, then nods frantically. You smile back at him and bite your lip, pulling his underwear down slowly.
His member springs out to greet you, bigger than average but what really surprised you was the girth of it. You couldn't help but feel your pussy clenching around nothing in anticipation. Licking a pointed stripe from the base to the tip, you massage his balls with your hand. Eddie's head rolled back, his eyes scrunched shut. Lowering your mouth onto the tip, you swirl your tongue around it, licking up his pre cum. Eddie's groan was borderline pornographic. You look up at him and slowly take him into your mouth, using your hands for what didn't fit. Bobbing up and down on his length, you use your tongue to massage him. You'd wanted to feel his dick on your tongue for so long, this almost didn't feel real.
There was something about being in control of Eddie's pleasure that made you feel extremely powerful. You could feel his cock twitching already, Eddie was practically whimpering. You could tell he was close.
"Baby girl, shit, I can't take much more, I'm gonna-"
You pull away with a wet pop, Eddie whimpering at the loss of your mouth.
"Baby girl please please." Eddie looks a mess, his face is red, his breathing coming out in heavy pants, trying to grab at your arm, side, anything he could reach.
"Patience baby", your voice dripping honey.
You fling your sweats off and move up him, straddling him in your underwear. Not letting him enter you. Not yet. You were enjoying dominating him.
You start to grind down on his length again, making Eddie whine.
"Please-" Eddie looks at you, breathless and pouting.
"No." You smirk at him. Eddie gasps and looks at you in surprise. You continue to rub your wet heat against him, "I was thinking about this earlier, wanted to find out what it felt like," grinning, grinding your cunt against his rock hard dick, feeling your slick drench your underwear and him.
Eddie's falling apart in front of your eyes. You unclasp your bra, letting it fall. Eddie's eyes widen and he whimpers, thrusting against you. You let out a moan.
"Touch me Eddie." He wastes no time in grabbing at your chest, smoothing rough fingertips over your hardened nipples. You feel a familiar sensation, a burning in your stomach and chest, desire building and building, setting your insides ablaze.
You increase your pace, rubbing back and forth, your wetness soaking Eddie, making him a slippery mess. You feel him twitch under you, fingers pinching your nipples almost painfully and it sends you over the edge. You cry out his name, your hands in your hair, still riding him, extending the outrageous feeling.
Eddie's hands suddenly grasp your hips, hard. You open your eyes and look down just as his scrunch shut. He comes then, violently with an exaggerated moan. His own release pebbles his stomach, your stomach, even a smattering reaches his chest. You look down at him as you come down from your respective highs, and you both start laughing.
"Well, I've never come like that before." Eddie's stroking your sides, gazing at you in disbelief.
You laugh, and get up off him, readjusting your underwear. You go to the bathroom to clean yourself off, and return with a dampened wash cloth. You kneel beside him, wash cloth hovering over him.
"You gonna help me or just stare baby girl" he smirked, poking you in the ribs, his other hand gesturing to the mess on his stomach.
"Hey, just admiring my masterpiece. Have to take a picture next time." You watch as Eddie's mouth springs open, his face turning purple. You simply hum and wipe him down, passing him the cloth to get anything you missed.
"Holy shit, I was right. You are literally every guys wet dream. Fuck. You're a-a pervert!" He points at you dramatically.
Laughing loud at that, you flop down next to him. He turns on his side and strokes your face, moving a couple of stray hairs.
Feeling self conscious for a moment, you look at him, cheeks flushed slightly.
"You don't mind then?"
"Mind? Mind?? I think I won the lottery." He beams at you and brings you in for a kiss.
"So you wont mind what I meant, when I said I thought about that earlier?" You're testing him, seeing if this could actually work. And you want to see the look on his face.
"Oh please for all that is good tell me." He practically pants at you.
You giggle, "well when you dropped me off I had some time to fill, so I might have touched myself thinking of you."
The groan that escapes Eddie's lips travels straight to your core. He envelopes you in a fiery kiss.
"Jesus baby girl, fuck!" He rubs your back, one hand snaking into your hair, pulling it. "In my bed?" You nod. "So yeah I'm hard again."
You laugh, "looks like you weren't kidding when you thought you could keep up with me," you smile smugly at him.
He pushes you onto your back in response and starts to nip and lick at your neck, leaving opened mouthed kisses in his wake.
"Oh I can keep up with you baby girl, trust me."
Then he's mounting you, the tip of his cock begging for entry.
"Someone's eager, have you got protection?" You raise your eyebrows at him.
"Yes, God yes, please baby please." His eyes dart to his bedside table.
You push at him, smiling, teasing him, "so you're all confident until you have any pressure at all, I see. Lay back then baby."
He immediately lies on his back, quiet and unassuming, holding his cock by the base. He looks painfully hard but he's not moving a muscle, looking at you for your say so. You feel immensely powerful, gazing at him in such compliant position.
You reach to the drawer at his bedside, rummaging through.
"Oh, what do we have here?" You exclaim, pulling out a dirty magazine, folded to the centre. You cant help but notice the model's hair is just like yours.
"Hmm, she's hot I'll give you that. Kinda looks a little like me eh?" You wink at him mischievously.
He blushes crimson at you in reply.
"I, I suppose I have a type?" He shrugs, face red as a beetroot.
You can help but laugh, "I'm just flattered baby." And then you find his condoms. You pull one out and rip it from its packaging using your teeth.
"So, you gonna be a good boy?" You question, it almost being a joke but you receive a very certain "yes ma'am!" As a response.
You cant help but chuckle, "oh, so the dungeon master wants someone in control, I see how it is," and you grab the base of his painfully hard member.
"Please...' Eddie nearly drools out of the side of his mouth in response.
"Hmmm its good to hear you beg. Well I suppose I'll humour you. For now," you smirk out the corner of your mouth. You roll the condom onto his hard cock. He hisses at the friction. You line him up to your entrance, straddling him.
As you slowly lower yourself onto his hardness, he cries out at the sensation. You see his eyes screwed shut in response, his cheeks flushed pink. You already feel obsessed by the look of him as he entered you. You want to record this forever, the moment you finally got to take your crush. The moment you realised you could completely take control of him; everything you'd ever dreamed of. He's compliant, melting to your touch. You take him into your cunt until you're sitting on him fully. He's buried in you to the hilt, stretching you. Its bordering on pain given his size, but delicious in itself. It's a good pain.
You hold him by the waist, almost possessively. Searching his eyes as he meets your gaze, you see tears gathering at the edges of his eyes, flustered and fucked out already. The look on his eyes is pleading, almost praying.
"Mother of God, fuck...."
"I thought we settled on ma'am?"
"No.... definitely seeing God... baby..." it's a shadow of Eddie's usual humour.
You giggle at him, a sound seemingly innocent, considering Eddie is buried deep inside your pussy. You start to slowly move against him, bouncing up and down on his length, grinding against him every so often. Eddie's eyes roll back, he grabs you firmly by the hips, rocking you back and forth. You take a deliberate, pounding pace against him and feel your release begin to build again.
Eddie is babbling, passionately holding you as tight as he can.
"Jesus, baby girl, you feel so tight and warm, fuck."
Eddie's words of encouragement and blissed out face spur you on. You take him harder, faster, gripping onto him with your fingertips. Every thrust bringing you to ecstasy. You can feel him through every fibre of your being, deep within your core. You cry out in pleasure, the feeling of Eddie in every nerve. Moaning and writhing above him, you know you're about to cum, your walls flexing around him, squeezing his length. Eddie whimpers and you practically scream, your pleasure coming to a head, the feeling pulsating through your every limb, taking over control. Your body rocks in absolute rapture. You shake and stroke his sides as you come down.
"Fuck, Eddie, oh my God." You quiver above him, legs shaking.
"Baby, please can I get on top of you. Please." He looks up at you, wide eyes beseeching you. How could you say no to that face?
"Go on, whatever you want." You remember his reaction from earlier, " you've been such a good boy."
Eddie practically growls at that, flipping you onto your back.
He finds your entrance, slipping back into you deeply with a groan. You pull one leg over his shoulder, the other hitched around his waist and see his eyes roll back. He thrusts into you, deep and slow, planting open mouthed kisses onto your calf.
You stare at his face, one hand cupping his jaw. He's pink tinged, sweating, wild eyed.
"Hey, Eddie, baby, look at me. You're being such a good boy, taking me, using me so well baby."
"Fuck yes" Eddie breathes, his eyes now fixated with yours, grounding him. "Thank you thank you thank you." He chants as his thrusts get faster and sloppier. He grabs onto your hips, plunging as hard into you as he can, and you feel a mounting desire burning in the depths of your stomach.
"Eddie yes fucking me so well, oh God baby, I'm gonna cum so hard." Your words of encouragement send him over the edge; with a stutter and a high pitched moan he comes, shaking and gripping you tight. He continues to thrust in you though, looking at your face, brow furrowed. It must feel too much but he wants, needs you to come again. You grab him by the ass and push him into you as far as he will go, arching your back, releasing a toe curling moan as you orgasm.
You both try and slow your breathing as you move your leg from his shoulder, still quivering.
"Jesus Christ, baby girl that was... wow" Eddie chuckled in disbelief.
"Yeah? That good huh?" You smiled up at him, stroking a stray hair from his face.
"I just... if I knew you were gonna be so..."
"So what?" You frown at him.
"So... in charge! I mean, fuck that was... wow." He grinned at you, and you see your Eddie again. He rolls off you and disposes of the condom.
"What would you have done?" You smile at him, grabbing the blanket to cover yourself up.
"Well, probably just thought about it a whole lot until you made a move." You laugh at that.
"Eddie that's what happened."
"Hmmm, impeccable logic. Still, you had no right keeping this to yourself."
You laugh and throw a pillow at him. He pretends its heavy and it knocks him to the bed. He wiggles underneath it, seemingly pinned. You crawl over to him, moving the pillow, and cage him in with your arms.
"So, I'll roll, you put the movie on, and then round three yeah?" You tilt your head with the question.
"Fuck baby girl you really are gonna be the death of me. But what a way to go!"
#ms gexy writes#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie fanfic#eddie munson fanfic#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x you#eddie x reader#stranger things smut#stranger things fan fic#stranger things fan fiction#eddie fan fic#eddie munson fan fic#sub!eddie#sub!eddie munson#eddie munson#dom!reader#sub!eddie munson x reader
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The Interrogation
Synopsis: The BEBE members, who believed you were in love with Bada, put you to a lighthearted but serious interrogation. Despite their probing questions, you managed to handle the situation well and were warmly welcomed into the BEBE family by the end of the evening.
You were watching TV in the living room one evening when you heard the front door swing open and an uproar of happy voices. The timing of the BEBE members' arrival couldn't have been worse. You tried to brace yourself for the coming interrogation as they entered the room with exaggerated grins on their faces.
Lusher, who constantly seized leadership roles, was the first to speak. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Kyma said, hiding her curiosity under a joking tone. "Yeah, why is Unnie these days usually so happy? Has anything happened?"
Tatter leaned in closer while speaking in a low, frightening tone. "I heard that Bada Unnie has a secret admirer. Is that true?"
Minah, with her mischievous smile, added, "And we've noticed that you and Bada Unnie have been spending a lot of time together lately. Any particular reason for that?"
Cheche, the master of subtlety, simply raised an eyebrow and said, "You know, secrets have a way of coming out eventually."
Sowoen, the youngest but not to be underestimated, joined in with a sly grin. "So, what's going on? Are you and Unnie hiding something from us?"
You tried to keep your cool as you felt the heat rising in your cheeks. Their questions came fast and relentless, each one more absurd than the last. Your worries were beginning to get the better of you as it became obvious that they were onto something.
The unofficial leader of the BEBE group, Lusher, leaned forward and narrowed her eyes amusingly. Let's see if you can survive the Real BEBE Inquisition, Y/N!"
You smiled anxiously as you wondered what sort of inquiries they had in store for you. "Okay, I'm ready."
Kyma, who is always the observant one, smiled mischievously as she spoke. "Tell us, when did you first realise that you had a crush on our Unnie?"
Being taken aback by the directness of the question, you reddened. "Well, you know, it was kind of a gradual thing. We spent a lot of time together, and one day, I just couldn't stop thinking about her."
Tatter raised an eyebrow with her no-nonsense demeanour. "And when did you two become more than friends?"
The memory made you smile involuntarily. "It happened during one of our dance practices. We were rehearsing a particularly intense routine, and then, in the heat of the moment, we kissed."
Minah and Cheche exchanged knowing glances, and Minah teased, "So, it was a steamy dance practice that sealed the deal, huh?"
The youngest and possibly most inquisitive, Sowoen, spoke forward and grinned. "What's Unnie's most embarrassing moment, and do you have any dirt on her?"
You grinned, deciding to keep Bada from seeming foolish. "I promise I won't spill any embarrassing secrets. But I will say that your Unnie's most charming trait is her dedication to her work."
Bada couldn't resist but add something after seeing the questions with amusement. "Wait a minute, are you guys interrogating my girlfriend or trying to scare her away?"
Lusher laughed, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, Unnie, we're just having some fun here. We're giving Y/N unnie a warm welcome to the BEBE family."
Bada amusedly shook her head as she leaned closer to you. "Y/N you have survived the BEBE Inquisition. You can now consider yourself a part of the crew."
The evening carried on with more joking and cheerful conversation, and you were touched by the friendly welcome you had got from Bada's friends. They not only showed concern for Bada, but also showed a talent for maintaining a fun and relaxed atmosphere.
#bada lee x reader#bada lee#swf2#swf2 x reader#bebe#bada lee fanfic#bada lee x oc#bada lee x y/n#street woman fighter 2#street woman fighter x reader
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As much as we like to blame Lucifer Lilith too has some blame. I do hc that both Adam and Lilith were terrible to each other. But when she talked with Lucifer she put all the blame on Adam. And I don’t think she had good intentions when she influenced Lucifer into giving Eve the apple. Lilith was promised to be the mother of humans and in her mind why does Adam get to keep the reward but, not her? If you ever heard Good 4 you by Olivia Rodrigo it gives me Lilith thoughts about Adam because she couldn’t accept he treated Eve better than her.
Adam would be hurt that Lucifer easily believed Lilith over him. Adam would be like, “ we were friends and I cared about you. And just because Lilith told you otherwise you forgot about that? You two are the reason why evil came into the world!”
Oh 10000%, I only focused on Luci in that other ask because it was a quarrel between Adam and Lucifer, and the Hell's history book focuses on making Lucifer sound like a victim, which is why I was mainly talking about him
But yeah definitely I feel like Lilith has to have some part of the blame as well. Even the book says that they BOTH gave Eve the apple. It's unclear whose idea it was from the start, so I'm not confident to say that she influenced him to give Eve the apple.
Goddddd Lilith lying about how bad Adam was and Lucifer instantly believing her while Adam feels abandoned by the only two people he ever knew? That is my shit right there.
My thoughts on this scenario are, if Lilith really bad mouthed Adam in front of Lucifer, Adam must have been AT LEAST a little insufferable even in Eden for Lucifer to believe Adam was even worse than that. The best lies are the ones told in the middle of truths, so Lilith would use Adam's already kind of insufferable attitude and then just exaggerate that to the tenth power
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BUT i will also ask for everlasting trio >:)
"Okay, look." Danny sucked in a long breath. "I've thought about this long and hard, right? And you know, I really don't think I want to do this, soooo, now that I've come to that decision, we can just call this good, yeah?"
Sam scoffed. "Fat chance, Fenton. You're doing this whether you like it or not. Quit being such a baby."
"You just gotta relax!" Tucker said, clapping a hand on Danny's shoulder. "It's really not as bad as it seems."
"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding. This is, like, more dangerous than fighting Plasmius, the Ghost King, and - I don't know, Clockwork all at the same time!"
"Why would you be fighting Clockwork?"
"You do remember he tried to kill him the first time we met him?" Sam asked apathetically. "I'm getting tired of this. You've got one more chance before I come up there and manhandle you into doing this, ghost boy."
Danny balked, turning paler than normal. "You guys don't get it! I'm just -" He snapped his mouth shut as he realized he'd been about to spill something he very much did not want to spill.
Unfortunately for him, Tucker and Sam knew him too well. They stuck him each with their own look of suspicion. "You're just what?" Tucker asked.
But Danny didn't answer. Instead, he slouched in on himself, folding into a position Jazz would surely give him an earful of a lecture on the importance of good posture if she saw him like this. "It's nothing," he grumbled. "You two would just laugh."
Though he didn't see it, Tucker and Sam exchanged a look. Sam's face softened from utter irritation to mild disdain as she saw the pitiful puppy-dog face Tucker was giving her. Seriously? she asked with her eyes.
Yes, seriously! He needs this.
I don't want to coddle him!
It's not coddling, it's called supporting our boyfriend in his time of need.
Sam let loose a loud sigh. "We're not gonna laugh at you, Danny. If it really means that much to you."
Danny cast them a sidelong look. "Right. Because you sound so genuine about it."
"C'mon, you know she means it," Tucker prodded gently. "She's just being her sassy Sam self."
"Hey!"
"If there's something on your mind," he continued, ignoring Sam's protest, "we want to hear it. That's what we're here for."
"There's a reason we love you, dork," she said, a smile finally crossing her face as she punched Danny lightly in the arm.
Danny couldn't help but crack a tiny grin of his own. "You promise you won't laugh?"
"Mmm, within reason."
He sighed and somehow slouched into his seat further. "I'm... scared, alright? I'm scared of this."
Sam laughed.
Immediately, Danny whirled around to face her, eyes blazing. "You promised!"
"Sorry, sorry!" she said between giggles. "Okay, sorry. For real. But seriously, what's there to be scared of? It can't be any scarier than flying, and you do that all the time."
"It's way scarier than flying! At least when I'm flying I have control! How am I supposed to have control over this?"
"That's the point of practicing," Tucker said. "So that way you do have control. Like I said, it's really not that bad once you get the hang of it."
"You won't know till you try," Sam taunted in a sing-song voice.
Danny's eyes flickered back and forth between his partners. Tucker wore his heart on his sleeve often enough for him to know he meant his words. Sam preferred to hide behind a mask of indifference and righteous indignation, but she couldn't hide her true feelings from him after so many years.
"Fine," he grumbled, sitting up. "I'll try. And I'm sure I'll regret it."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ten minutes later, the three sat with pale faces and clenched fists.
"How. Did you manage. To do that?" Sam whispered in bewilderment.
Danny's hands refused to let go of their hold. "I tried to tell you!"
Tucker shook visibly. "I thought you were exaggerating when you said you drive worse than your dad!"
"How could I possibly exaggerate that?"
Sam's poor little Impala sat perfectly nestled at an angle, straddled between two of the dumpsters behind the Nasty Burger. The little blob ghost clan who had claimed the dumpsters as their home had come out to investigate the commotion and were currently cuddling up to the three shell-shocked teens, chirping in an effort to calm them down.
"I want to know how you always forget you literally have the power to turn intangible!" Sam punctuated her statement with another punch to Danny's arm, this one harder than the last.
"Well, excuse me! I'd like to see you try to remember that sort of thing when you're in the heat of the moment!"
"I really can't believe that somehow, Danny Fenton is a worse driver than his dad," Tucker whistled, unfazed by the argument happening to his side.
Two of the blob ghosts, Jeff and Ketchup, glanced at each other from their spot squished against Danny's stomach before returning to their cuddle session. Nothing really out of the ordinary when these three were involved.
#danny phantom#danny fenton#sam manson#tucker foley#everlasting trio#ask hannah#ask game#dooshek#LONG LIVE TEAM DANNY FENTON IS A GOD AWFUL DRIVER#for the record#i had this idea long before that poll came out#and long before kad and i laughed about how terrible of a driver danny would be#and long before we made the playlist he would make in an attempt to get valerie to let him drive#thanks for the ask!!
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1.
[A month ago]
2.
Jordan: Hey, Sam. How are you holding up?
3.
Jordan: ...I brought you coffee.
Sam: Thank you.
4.
Jordan: Do you want to go home for the night? Sleep in your own bed? I could drive you home, pick you up on my way to work tomorrow.
Sam: I think I'll stay here.
Jordan: Alright.
5.
Sam: I keep thinking... [Sigh] It's so stupid.
Jordan: Go on.
Sam: I keep thinking I should call Aiden. So he can help. But obviously I can't, because... I just... I don't know what to do. Nothing feels real. It's been two days and it feels like ten years.
6.
Jordan: The waiting is the worst part. I waited for my mom's death for months. You can't cope when you don't know what you're coping with.
Sam: Months?
Jordan: She wasn't in a coma, just terminally ill. For all we know Aiden might wake up tomorrow.
Sam: Or die.
7.
Jordan: As much as I wish I could I can't tell you that he's going to be fine. And I can't replace him, obviously, but I am here if you need anything.
8.
Sam: Thank you.
10.
Aiden: Jordan, you can't tell me you spent a whole day with a man you're not interested in. That is not friends with benefits, that's practically married.
11.
Kell: I'd tell you and Zach to get a room but you already have, like, a million fucking times.
Jordan: What I'm getting from this conversation is that neither of you have ever had any friends.
Aiden: It's true. The only man I've ever spent time with is Sam.
12.
Jordan: Even if I wanted to I don't have time for a relationship.
Kell: Dude, you are literally already spending, like, all your free time with him.
Aiden: If you and Zach get engaged we can have a double wedding!
Lucas: You should become a tattoo artist instead, Jordan. No 55 hour shifts and you still get to stab people with needles.
Jordan: I happen to like my job.
Lucas: You complain about it every single time I see you.
Jordan: I find your obsession with needles slightly disturbing.
Lucas: I guess I like the artistic part too.
Aiden: That's why I let Michael do all my piercings.
Lucas: I'm such...
15.
Aiden: Sam?
16.
Aiden: Are you okay?
Sam: Mhm.
Aiden: Are you sure?
Sam: Just... tired.
Aiden: We can go home if you want to.
Sam: It's fine.
Aiden: I wouldn't mind.
Sam: Really, Aiden, it's fine.
18.
Kell: You two are literally worse than that one high school couple making out in the corridors.
19.
Aiden: You can't say that, that's so homophobic.
Kell: Your dad didn't think I was very homophobic.
Aiden: [Exaggerated gasp] Kell!
Kell: Too far?
Aiden: No, Kell, by all means, if you want to go over to Nettlefield right now and have sex with my actually homophobic father, go right ahead.
Kell: Dude. I'm sorry, okay?
20.
Kell: Find something to eat with me? Please?
Aiden: Sure.
Kell: Sam, don't look at me like that, we're not going to smoke weed.
Sam: That was not my issue with this conversation and you saying that unprompted makes me think you are going to smoke weed.
Aiden: I've never even seen weed. Drugs are bad, or whatever. And so illegal.
Kell: Exactly. We're law-abiding citizens.
21.
Aiden: Seriously. No weed. Promise.
Sam: Okay.
22.
Aiden: Are you sure you're okay?
Sam: Yes, Aiden.
Aiden: Just... tell me if you want to go home. Okay?
Sam: I will.
#i really hope you can tell what is and isn't flashback#if you can't let me know and i'll try to make it clearer next time#shoutout to jordan. the only character#ts4 story#hospital tw#drugs tw#lost#lost: aiden#lost: sam#lost: kell#lost: lucas#lost: michael#lost: jordan
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Let's Make a Deal! (Yandere Queerplatonic Alastor x Fallen Angel Reader)
Part 3: Deal, dear?
Part 1, Part 2
Tag List: @repostingmyfavs
TW: Invasions of Personal Space, Shady Deals
As much as you hoped having that conversation would stop Alastor from staring at you, it only seemed to make things worse. Now that he knows you are open to talking to him, he's gotten into the habit of walking over to you, asking you invasive questions, then walking away. Usually something along the lines of "Do you miss your family? Did you have any family in Heaven? Have you had a relationship before? If not, why not?" Then, he'd end the conversation with something more lightheaded, such as "What's your favorite color? Do you prefer coffee, or tea?". After that, he'd just leave. You feel way too unnerved and uncomfortable to say no to answering, most of the time...
A lot of his questioning seems to revolve around family, for some reason. You've also noticed Alastor becoming much more touchy with you. Not necessarily in an inappropriate manner, though. More like a sudden arm around your shoulder that lasts much longer than before, a hug, or him suddenly holding your hand. You don't really mind. It's definitely a lot better than you expected from somebody in Hell, but it's still noticable.
Today is one of those days, as you're sitting on the couch in the main lobby, watching some television, when you suddenly feel Alastor sling an arm around your shoulder. "Dear, what are you doing, looking at that picture box? I'm sure that there couldn't possibly be anything of interest on it."
You look up to him, raising an eyebrow. "Well, there's a nice show on. So I want to watch it-" You're cut off by him shutting off the television. "Well, I must speak with you about something. I want to make a deal with you, dear. Deals are much more important than a dumb little picture box." He then stands up, pointing to you. "You fell out of Heaven due to someone convincing them that you deserved such damnation, correct?"
You stare up at him, surprised by how forward he is being. You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms. "Yes... but what-" "I want you to convince them to drop someone else from Heaven's grace, down here, into Hell." "What?!"
You then stand up, confused and dismayed. "You must be joking, Alastor- this joke isn't funny! Why would you possibly believe I'd be willing to do such a thing? Nobody deserves to be cast out due to an over exaggeration or lie!" You glare up at him, only to be surprised once you notice his ever present grin looking extremely strained.
His voice fills with static as he points to you, his eyes seeming to glow with either irritation, or desperation. "Dear, you're my friend. I promise you, whatever you want in return for this favor, I'll give it to you." You instantly lean away, continuing to glare. "I never agreed to be your friend." "That doesn't matter. You're my friend whether you like it or not. Please. At least consider it. Consider all of the things you could get out of this deal!"
You think, genuinely... At first, you are going to say no, but... what if he can get you to Heaven? Or, at least, find a way to increase your chances of getting to Heaven? "... Fine, but you have to try to find a way to get me into Heaven... Not just so I can get whoever you want to damn down here, but also so that I can return there. For good." Alastor pauses, before nodding, though you can tell he is upset. "Fine, dear. I suppose that is fair."
He then walks over to him, smiling. "The person I want you to get damned, is... actually, come over here. I don't want anyone else to hear." You nod, walking over to him. He quietly whispers a name into your ear, alongside a few of their negative traits, before pulling away. "I'm sure Lucifer may be able to help you set up an appointment with Heaven... it might just take some convincing on my end to get him to agree..."
"Well, why do you want this person damned, Alastor...?" You stare up at him, flinching as his smile turns cold, for a brief moment. He then looks away from you, before his eyes snap back towards you.
"You'll understand once they get here, my dearest friend. Now, shake my hand, and the deal is sealed. I'll get this person into Hell, and you'll get your precious home in Heaven back."
Without hesitation, you grab his hand and shake on it. Alastor's grin widens as you do so, but you barely even notice it. Your thoughts are trained on getting the poor sap he mentioned into Hell, even if you'll feel guilty in the end... you don't know how much longer you can stand being in Hell with him constantly looking over you.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor hazbin#alastor the radio demon#alastor#hazbin hotel yandere#alastor x reader#queerplatonic#yandere alastor
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Jihyo x AFAB!Reader - Stop Teasing (NSFW🔞)
You and the girls were at dance practice, learning the new routines for the tour, you couldn't help but feel the eyes of your girlfriend on you as you danced, so you decided to exaggerate the moves more that usual making the moves more sensual, seeing the way Jihyo's eyes roamed your body, lingering on the curves of your ass from the mirror you couldn't help but smirk at her.
There was a part of the dance where Jihyo stood behind you, taking you by surprise she pressed her body up against your back, her hands landing on your hips and whispered in your ear "Stop teasing me so much babygirl" before squeezing your side and walking back to her right position
5 minutes later and Momo had called out that it was time for a 20 minute break, so as the girls were talking amongst themselves Jihyo pulled you out of the practice room and dragged you nearly running to the nearest bathroom and locking the 2 of you Inside the stall
Jihyo sat down, pulling you down to straddle her thighs and grabbing your cheeks in her hand before saying "what did I say earlier babygirl ....I think I'm going to have to teach you how to behave" her words causing you to bite your lip and try to guide her hand down to where you wanted her most but you were disappointed when Jihyo pulled her hand away chuckling before saying "nuh uh baby , bad girls don't get to be touched, the only way you're getting off is on my thigh, you need to earn it"
You whined out in protest but went along with what she said because it was better than nothing even though you couldn't stop thinking about having her hands deep inside you , you ground your already wet centre down onto her, voluptuous thighs, leaving a glistening trail on her skin, Jihyo just watched you, eyes clouded over with lust as you circulated your hips, jutting onto her in a fast pace letting some moans slip out , Jihyo knew you were close when you started whining out her name in between your deep heavy breaths
"You know the drill baby , if you want to cum you have to beg" you whispered in your ear bringing you even closer to the edge "p-p-please let me cum mommy please" Jihyo just quirked her eyebrow at you before saying " what if I say no huh what then?" And then for the first time she touched you, placing her hands on your ass, pushing you down even harder into her thigh making you moan loudly and then plea once more "please mommy please I'll be a good girl for you. ....I promise"
Jihyo loved seeing you beg nearly as much as she loved seeing you come undone for her so she finally agreed, spanking your ass as you began to shake, wrapping your arms around her shoulders as you came, your juices running down Jihyo's legs , she held you in place until you came around placing a kiss to your cheek and tell you how much of a good girl you'd been for her
Jihyo cleaned the both of you up, ready to go back into the practice room, just as she was leaving she turned to you and whispered in your ear "when we get home it's mommy's turn okay Princess" which made you nod enthusiastically and the blush on your face intensify which only got worse as you walked back into the practice room recieving knowing looks and giggles from Nayeon and Sana as you tried to hide you face in the crook of Jihyo's neck
#twice#jihyo#smut#x reader#afab reader#hard thoughts#hard hours#imagine#one shot#drabble#fanfic#kpop#jeninishubby
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✶Stray Kids reacting to cop!reader coming home from work for the first with a face injury✶(HCS)
It was a request!
A little note: Honestly, I tried to make it seriously, but I half failed... So I guess there some humor as well
Genre: A bit of angst(maybe...?). Fluff. Some crack.
Pairing: Bf!Skz x Fem!Reader
Warning: Swearing(?). mention of injuries, blood, stitches, bruises. Probably some writing errors.
Bang Chan☆
Dad mode activated... Or protective boyfriend mode activated
He knows about your career and he supports you fully
But since you two began dating, he never saw you coming home with a busted lip
Of course he started asking questions
"What happened??"
"A drunkard punched me. Nothing to worry about."
"But... There's blood on your lip?? How should I not worry??"
"It's already a usual thing almost. I'm gonna be fine"
He is so proud of you for being this strong and still super supportive
But now he's also double worried about your safety
He fear that something else will happen on your next patrols
He just doesn't want to lose you in any way :(
Lee Minho☆
He will act like he isn't worried, but inside he's PANICKING
Knowing what your job is, he was always worried for your safety
But now that you came home with a black eye???
He almost doesn't want you to go anymore 💀
"You won't go to your job again. You need to find something much safer"
"Min, I'm fine. I promise. It's pretty common to me. I don't even care anymore."
Now he is flabbergasted...
What do you mean common?
His kitten is almost constantly injured??
Now he is even more against you going back to that work place
But won't continue arguing with you about it, knowing how much you love that job and how much you love protecting people
But be prepared for him checking every body part of yours whenever you get back home from work-
Want to make sure you are not getting any serious injuries
Seo Changbin☆
Tries his best not to cry and will pout
Tell me otherwise. He's a softie
And seeing you with a bruised eye is making him super sad
He wants to protect you, even though you can very well protect yourself
But there is danger around every corner, and this is proven him right
You see his pouting face of your boyfriend and try to reassure him
"Bin, I'm fine. I promise. It's not the first time happening on a patrol."
That surely reassured him...
"That doesn't seem like fine to me. You are hurt, baby..."
He will take care of you all day then, whether you like it or not
And lots of cuddles
Hwang Hyunjin☆
Coming back home to your boyfriend, and having a swelling, bloody lower lip?
*Hyunjin dramatical gasp*
So shocked that he doesn't know what to do
Should he call an ambulance? Should he better take you directly to the hospital?
Literally worried and extra drama queen
"Hyunnie, my love... I don't think you need to exaggerate like this. I will be fine. I'm used to it."
"That doesn't mean you don't have to take care of it and be careful when working with dangerous people!"
He know there is no way of avoiding these situations
Because people can be super violently
But you still need to be extremely careful, you can get killed
And the last thing he wants is you dead
Han Jisung☆
Drama queen no. 2...
This man will start panicking worse than Hyunjin and Minho together
It's the first time you are coming home with a big bruise on the corner of your mouth and your nose with bandage on it from one of your patrols
"Whats wrong with your face???"
"Um... I beg your pardon...?"
"You. Have. INJURIES!"
"Ok. And?"
Also flabbergasted no. 2
Why so calm? It's happening frequently?
Is his baby punched in the face almost daily at work??
He still support you and trust you with your job
Because you are strong and he couldn't be more proud
Lee Felix☆
Unlike Changbin, he will cry
You came home a bit late than usual with stitches to your lip
"Flower...? What happened?"
Your mission: Try calm him down
"Oh Lixie... I've been through worse than this. This is nothing. I promise I'm fine"
Mission failed: Felix is now sobbing
Even his scared for your life, that one day, something really serious will happen
He will remain your no. 1 support
The proudest of all the members
Kim Seungmin☆
Just like Minho, tries to look like he doesn't care
But he is indeed worried that it could've been ended up worse than just a bruise around your eye
"You need to be more careful"
"It's not that big of a deal, but thanks for caring"
"Of course I care"
Will bring an ice pack for you to put in on your eye
And will do whatever you ask for, just to make sure you are ok
Even for just a bruise
He loves you and that means he does everything for you
Yang Jeongin☆
Poor baby doesn't know how to react at all
He should be shocked? Sick? Sad? Proud of you for being this strong?
He is just trying to process everything
Because seeing you with a busted lip isn't what he thought he's going to see
Your job can be super dangerous and he knows it
But it still shocked him
"Is there anything I can do for you, love?"
"Hm? Oh, no. You don't have to worry about anything. I'm fine, Innie."
He will definitely be worried
Still end up take care of you that evening.
.............................
✧ Masterlist ✧
✧ Tag List ✧
@bangchansbae @tattywood @nebulousbrainsoup @https-skzology @sp00ky-spr1te
#stray kids imagine#stray kids x reader#stray kids au#stray kids smau#stray kids fake texts#stray kids#skz imagine#skz x reader#skz au#skz smau#skz fake texts#skz#bang chan x reader#bang chan#lee minho x reader#lee minho#seo changbin x reader#seo changbin#hwang hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin#han jisung x reader#han jisung#lee felix x reader#lee felix#kim seungmin x reader#kim seungmin#yang jeongin x reader#yang jeongin
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That time Marius had a prolonged depressive anxiety attack and changed a 12 year old also this is a pro-Marius blog
Thinking about that time, Armand suddenly showed up from the dead to visit Lestat when he was embracing his ✨ religious stupor aesthetic ✨ , and Marius proceeded to embarrass himself by following Armand around and inviting him back to his place to chill or whatever THREE GODDAMN TIMES IN A ROW and got shot down for all of them! Amazing!
Marius : Wanna come over? Armand : Lol no :)
it gets worse
Hahah like wanna come back to my place? No? Oh that’s cool. Listen my house is so cool here it’s all Roman and stuff, you’d love it if you saw it? Oh? You don’t want to see it right now? Oh, uh uh. Um, what if like, I promise to be a good listener and not interrupt? You could, you could stay for as long as you like! He's such a simp
And Armand is literally looking at his raggedy dusty clothes and kinda gives him a little pat on the hand and gives him his best “oh yeah, I’ll be by later! Totally!” And in the very next sentence, he’s thinking, “I gotta grab my kids and get the fuck out."
You think I'm exaggerating - how I only wish that were the case! It's so painful to see him suffer.
But beyond pain, the thing that I love about this is how much of a shock this is to both of them. Anne gives us all these excellent context clues that show us MARIUS HAS NOT BEEN OK! ALRIGHT - HE'S GOING THROUGH IT. Like, in my head, he's still trying to process what happened with Akasha - and part of that will inevitably go back to his own failure with Armand. And that failure is multifaceted and painful for him because he's been the cause of so much of it.
Obviously, there's all the stuff with Armand that directly echoes his failures with Pandora. I'm thinking specifically of him flying into a rage just because she mentions she saw the apostle Paul out preaching, and of course, there are the beginnings of the Roman coven. And then Christianity deals the death blow again when Armand falls into the cult. He has a proper pagan disdain for it, and I don't want to minimize the validity of his fear surrounding it and how religious trauma of all varieties has had a hand in shaping his neurosis.
Marius has always been so proud of his reason, but he's drawn again and again to these people who are more spiritual or untamed than he is. And part of this is his wanting to emotionally and intellectually dominate them. He wants so BADLY for someone to go, "Yes, Marius, you're right! Your superior Roman reason has shown me the way!". Because then he's validated as the superior Roman scholar for once, and not some half-breed Barbarian adopted into a proper Roman family by his father. But I can't help but think the other part is he's so attracted to their complete sense of comfort and acceptance of these illogical parts of themselves.
Like Pandora, Mael, and Armand are all so spiritual. And I know I've made the joke about him being the Reddit Atheist Guy falling for the Coexist bumper sticker girlies, but it's true! I'm not saying that any of them don't struggle with their faith or delight all the time in the sacrifices it asks of them, but they never question it as a part of themselves. And that's the thing - faith IS illogical. It requires us to take leaps we can't explain and carry on when there's no proof of reward or empirical evidence to give us peace of mind. And the fact that all three of them are ok with this just drives him FUCKING BUG NUTS. I also can't help but think some of this goes back to his Mommy Issues and how he works so hard to scrub his mother's barbarian identity from himself
And all that is there in Armand! And whatever might have happened is a wash, because obviously the coven comes and breaks them apart. But the funny thing is AKASHA also has a hand in it. At the time, Marius accepts it for what it was. But, in retrospect, after everything that happened? How fucking bitter is that pill to swallow that Armand became one of the things he had to give up, and all he got was a mouth full of ashes in reward.
And it's so clear they're both so hurt and awkward around one another! When we see them in Night Island, it's Santino Armand’s playing chess with - not Marius. It's no wonder that, of the two, he's the easier bridge to mend.
I can't help but think that, before Armand burned himself in the sun, Marius had convinced himself that he was still perfectly in control and ready to face what came next with stocism and rationality. Then Armand gets crisped up, and that's finally the catalyst for things to break apart.
It reminds me of this thing I was listening to recently about a pet bereavement therapist who mentioned that almost inevitably, when people talk about pet death, they talk about the death of a loved one that also hasn't been mourned or processed. And Marius does treat Armand like a pet - and Armand's death is the damn break for everything else that's happened with Akasha. Hence, we get Marius wearing rags, covered in dust, turning Benji and Sybelle. He's so painfully out of control - he's spiraling and returning to his old pattern of leaning on Armand and putting him back in that place where he's responsible for Marius' emotional well-being again. Only this time, he's not a fucking child (even though Marius greets him by calling him 'young one").
This entire time, he's softly rebuffing Marius, refusing to do the heavy lifting for him, he's finding his footing! My heart is beaming with pride because he's finally putting the pieces together! He's not Marius' emotional support pet anymore!
Hence why I think we get this line :
There's always this scary part when you're getting out of codependency where you realize the possibility of going back to old habits is always there. And that's tempting! Focusing on healing doesn't mean these things stop being temping - it just means you find better ways to work around that temptation.
And, of course, this just does not compute for Marius. And to be fair, that makes sense - historically Armand has always wanted to be a slave for something or someone. So seeing him come back from the fire, changed and changing, even if it's just shakey baby steps, has to be so devastating. Because, at this point, it's one more person outgrowing and changing beyond him. And everything that he's held onto at this point to justify his lack of change and growth has just been burnt to the ground.
So I can't help but wonder if his turning Benji and Sybelle is a desperation grab to try and re-establish the order of things because he's genuinely terrified that Armand might actually try and off himself again. He's gotten a glimpse of what a world without him looks like and he's not doing well in it. And hey - back when he was thinking of ending it all, didn't Akasha trick him into making Pandora? Hasn't Pandora been his anchor? What if he gave Armand an anchor. No need to go into wither or not Armand wants it or actually needs it. And all the better if their turning reinforces his own new belief in nothing. After all, this was the man who once imagined that he stood apart and above humanity like some loving patrician figure, but now everything he's dedicated himself to is gone. And rather admit he's having a depressive episode, it's so much easier to put the world to blame and say he's rescuing them from it.
He needs Armand - and whatever that means - if it means need like a little dog in an emotional support vest kinda need or if its I'm ready to build a human connection and need you romantically/paternally kind of need - Marius is not ready to have that conversation. So, instead, he puts his emotions into reverse and floods the engine backward in an attempt to put things back into a pattern he can recognize.
This is where it gets so painful to watch because he's at a point where just admitting he needs help, that it feels good to have someone else to rely on, would be so good for him! He doesn't need to fear change, and people evolving around him is a good thing. But he can't see it like that. So now we have this mess, only it backfires because Armand still grabs the kids and leaves. Just because trapping himself in old patterns fits Marius doesn't mean that others' needs have to regress to shape to his own. Once again, it's Marius who knows best, Marius' selfishness, his complete lack of self-awareness, getting in his way.
My man is his own greatest enemy.
#marius is a fucking mess and i love him#this is a pro marius blog btw#marius de romanus#the vampire armand#armand le russe#marimand#tvc reread#vc meta
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Why Is Liar Reveal So Big?
It's hated after all. Maybe behind fridging and some other miscommunication plots, it seems to be one of the all time hated tropes ever. So why would a writer be dumb enough to use it? Let alone so many writers, even ones considered to be great, use it?
Because on paper it's a perfect plot structure.
I'm not exaggerating and I'm not setting something up. I'll of course talk about why so many of these plots face plant but from a writer's perspective, the use of lies like this is tantalizing. It comes with a three act structure baked in after all:
The cause for the lie and using it.
Growing closer to those you have lied to and realizing that other people and the truth are better than whatever you're getting out of the lie, creating a character arc for the main character and an underlying tension to everything.
Big climax when the lie comes out, people get upset and something has to be done to showcase that growth before a denouement that highlights how the liar is a better person now.
And even better is that you don't have to justify the conflict essentially at all beyond why the person is lying. After all, lying is one of the very few universal taboos that someone can do while still be redeemable to a general audience. You can't really walk back murder without it being almost entirely altruistic after all. You can have someone lie for selfish reasons though, or even good reasons, and have everyone understand that you just need to learn a lesson but that people will be justifiably pissed at you, even if you claim to have a good reason.
This is actually a really big deal with how The Liar Reveal trope is seen nowadays because, frankly, I think some people have been desensitized to the fact that lying is a big fucking deal actually. Everyone focuses on what the lie was about. Why the person lied. If they lied for a good reason or the thing they were lying about is nothing major, doesn't affect anyone in the grand scheme of things, what did it matter?
Well... Why did the person lie then? Lying is a universal taboo because it is a breach of trust and a show that someone around you doesn't deserve honesty. For one reason or another, lying to them was preferable to even a short conversation explaining what the fuck happened. This is weirdly actually why cheating, or more so getting caught cheating, is such a big deal. It's not that you cheated, it's what cheating represents: A break in how you let your partner see reality, a breach of trust and a dismissal of their worth because they didn't deserve to be talked to about these issues but instead, you decided it was better to run around behind their back. In both cases, worse yet, you only do it like this because you KNOW you wouldn't get away with it otherwise, or you believe that, so rather than own up to the consequences or put in the work to earn what you want to do or make up for the mistake you made, you lie.
That's genuinely reprehensible and will hurt people when they find out regardless of the reasons you had. You still broke their trust and they now have to deal with that. It's frankly why when I talk about Luz lying in The Owl House, i emphasize both how she's willing to tell the truth to some people but then explicitly, after being called out multiple times and making a promise to be more open/honest to her girlfriend, she lies to her partner more than ANYONE ELSE in the entire show. That is just strictly unhealthy and Amity should be fucking losing it by the end, either with self loathing by the diminishment of her person hood that having her partner so flippantly dismiss any reason to communicate with her would cause, or with fury at Luz for the fact that despite so many times seeing how lies hurt her, Luz just keeps fucking doing it!
But that would lead to the classic third act breakup in a romance story and EVERYONE hates that... Right?
Yeah no. The Third Act Breakup from lazy writers is admittedly where a LOT of the hate for this trope comes from but that's usually because the lie itself is dumb. You've already been chafing at the lie the entire time because frankly no one in their right mind wouldn't have just told the other person. That or it wasn't actually a lie and instead just the other person finding out something that their partner had literally no reason to ever bring up and then wildly overreact to. The lie only exists for this moment of cheap drama rather than having actually been a conflict in the story.
BUT. A good romance that has lying as a part of its premise will recognize that that's not okay. That it's just a dog shit foundation for a relationship. So... Then we get the climax I talked about. We get this big moment where the liar has to prove that they've changed, that they've learned and are willing to put the work into fixing the trust they broke and abused and come out the other side stronger for it. You know, actually give a satisfying conclusion to the fact that we've had to put up with this character lying about this from anywhere from ten minutes to fucking HOURS. Without that payoff, especially if the character doesn't appear to learn anything or grow without it... Why the fuck did we put up with the lie?
It's why SpyxFamily's conclusion can ONLY be when the three lies are likely revealed at the same time to Loid and Yor. Or, potentially better, Anya's lie is revealed first and as they deal with that, they realize each other's lie. Now SpyxFamily is actually one of the best examples of a liar reveal plot because you understand the stakes of these lies and why they must be kept, even by the child, VERY WELL. After all, in that story, if the lies come out, everyone? dies. Maybe Anya just gets sent back to an orphanage but that already is pretty bad but there's no doubt that Loid dies and Yor's job going public would still mean the Secret Police likely having to kill her. There's no doubt in any viewers' mind that these secrets HAVE to be kept.
But that tension has to pay off eventually. If the whole series goes by without our principal cast learning these secrets... Well, it's a Chekov's gun that never fires. You're waiting for it, it clearly needs to happen to resolve this plot point... And then it never does. If it does happen and Yor goes "Oh, you may be an enemy of my country but you're a good guy so I'm going to skip along," that's equally dissatisfying. It was such a big deal that an anti-climax like that would just kind of rob every bit of weight to it and probably cause rewatches to be a lot less satisfying than a big, knockout brawl over it or a big, heartfelt speech about how it doesn't matter what country they're from, what matters is that they're good people.
TOH spends like an hour and a half having the main character freaking out about how everyone will hate her for her what she thinks she needs to lie about... And then it never leads anywhere. It even gets resolved and then continues, making the very small, minuscule bit of payoff feel like nothing for a plot point that has been making the tone of the show MISERABLE. It's not even like we get a big group hug with Luz being overjoyed about being wrong to payoff all that angst. We get essentially nothing and the arc is left pretty much unresolved for no reason despite them having such a clear opportunity to wrap it up when her friends do get told the truth.
But people praised it because it didn't follow the formula. But... Did that actually make it better? Tropes exist for a reason. The Liar Reveal trope especially exists for a reason. They're very good at giving audiences the satisfaction they may want or to create good drama. If you do all the initial steps, include all of the deeply frustrating elements to a trope like this, all of those that have good drama and tension, and then only subvert the payoff?
I'm sorry but that's not clever storytelling. That's just bad. It's like when a tutorial makes fun of hand holding tutorials as it's painstakingly holding your hand through every step of the process. All you're doing is making the pain of the tropes worse while patting yourself on the back. While lying to me about not doing the thing you're doing.
And sorry but... Apparently you need to go through your own arc of this trope then since even only okay/mediocre versions of this trope like Over the Hedge recognize that by the end, it's better to be honest than being self congratulating and lying. Almost like themes like that are baked into the trope.
So maybe stop jumping on the band wagon and actually ask what the other problems are with how this trope is used rather than claiming this trope as a whole should never be done. It's a tool in a writer's toolbox like any trope and (besides fridging) it shouldn't be thrown out just because it has a bad rep. Not when it so clearly exists for a reason.
======+++++======
I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!
I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past.
I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead.
If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.
A Twitter you can follow too
And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.
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Hello, loved the way you answered my last ask, your writing is amazing <333 I got a bit intrigued as in the notes you said Billy would love corrupting his SO so I would like to request a little something expanding upon the idea of that
in short, i would love for him to make me worse </333
ilove ur requests so much omgggg this gave me an idea heh heh .. gonna elaborate more in the notes but i just wanted to get this out first
warning: dub-con, obsessive behavior, billy in general, not edited or proofread
☾⋆⁺₊ billy lenz x corrupted!reader
you can hear your housemates downstairs. they're laughing and drinking, which was standard for a saturday night. you could hear the clinking of glass from time to time, and you think an argument breaks out between two of the girls. it's difficult to tell when the loudest noise to you is coming from your wet lips, wrapped around him.
your knees hurt, but they're slowly getting past that and to a more comfortable numbness. on the other hand, your jaw aches terribly, and it only seems to get worse with how billy - you only think that's his name - is keeping an unrelenting pace against your tongue.
he's not very big, although you really wouldn't know what to compare that too. you've only seen one other dick before his, but that was in high school. barb likes to tell stories about the guys she meets, and she's either exaggerating or billy is much smaller than average (you're more likely to believe that barb is exaggerating).
his size barely matters because it feels massive in your mouth. he forces you to take more of him, and he holds your head firmly as his dick slips in and out against your tongue. you're drooling, you can feel it on your chin. you love it. god, you love it.
you feel wicked. you've been ruined by a stranger that you sometimes aren't sure really exists. he could be a ghost for all you know - an evil specter that haunts college students and comes on them while they sleep.
he's surprisingly quiet, but when you look up at him you're scared by the look in his eyes. wild and opened wide, turned black in the shadow. he barely reacted beyond the quickened breath. your mouth was so wet, and when his cock brushes against the back of your throat you gag and cough.
billy pulls away, letting you gasp wetly for air. his cock is shiny with your spit, and you hardly recognize yourself when you lean in to lick at his length even as you pant. you remember a few weeks ago when the furthest you've ever gone was a kiss.
the night can't last forever, but it's still cut short with the sound of one of the girls bidding everyone goodnight. she's drunk and slow up the stairs, but billy rushes to hide himself back into his pants and climb the ladder without a word.
you had no chance, not with your brain slow and addled with promises of getting fucked. you're still kneeling in the alcove by the stairs, leaning slightly against the ladder that billy climbed up.
"oh god, are you okay?" barb asks, seeing you on the ground. "what's wrong?"
belatedly, you realize your cheeks are wet with tears shed during the blowjob, and your mouth was still wet and likely swollen. sniffing, you turn your face away and try to wipe off the moisture.
"i'm okay," you say, trying to get to your feet slowly. it hurts as blood starts to flow again. "boy troubles."
"boy troubles? since when did you have a boy that troubles you?" she teases.
you shrug, not in the mood to bicker. once hidden in your bedroom, door unlocked, you lay flat on your bed and stare at the ceiling. your mind flashes with images of come stains and his tongue in between your legs.
notes:
i think for the right kind of person (me) billy could be an attractive prospect. someone who's lonely and feels undesirable suddenly has someone who's absolutely desperate for them .... say less heh heh heh
this is nasty but i like the thought of insert maybe touching themselves into the phone .. like .... letting billy hear how it sounds .. im sure he would have some Things to say about it lolol
but honestly i think that reader would eventually get really upset by it all because they realize billy isn't some prince charming. he doesn't Actually love you because of you. he's not going to take care of you
he's going to use your body because you let him.
he wants to hurt you, he threatens to kill you all the time. even when he's got his tongue deep inside you, he'll pull away to whisper how he'll do it.
and that starts to turn you on too
very vicious cycle
i mean maybe he thinks he loves you. but obv it's not a normal love. and i think that would make it so much worse because he might tell you he loves you, which would just give you false hope.
didnt mean for this to be so angsty but basically he fucks you sloppy and hard and he breaks you, because even years later you'll never feel as turned on as when someone was calling you a pig whore
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back home after travelling to my homecity to vote (bruh they never changed my address for the electoral register) and uh. our party lost.
argentina chose a fucking lunatic for president. half of us, rather. when I say lunatic I mean it. far right, fascist, conservative as hell, pro life and wants to remove the abortion law, misogynist, weirdly spiritual and superstitious, homophobic, transphobic, brings anime up here and there, promises to destroy ministries, privatize every public service and help, allow citizens to carry guns without regulations, permit organ markets (even hinting at how he'd be ok with a children market too), promises to destroy the economy loudly and proudly, and shows compilations of videos of buildings and cities exploding in his campaigns to represent how he wants to "blow everything up". he's worse than trump, and I don't think I'm exaggerating.
so. you can take a wild guess about what kind of stress i'm under.
#yet somehow it got to be so so so much that.... sure yesterday i suffered with the news till i fell asleep#but today i woke up blank and numb#whatever...#whatever#typical argentinian experience#to have to Survive every single day of your dam life
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ok i hope it's ok im dropping this here (pls feel free to disregard if not but)... JENO HAVING A BIG DICK. i'm spitting and crying i do not want to talk. you and jeno hanging out after a few dates makin out, things gettin hot and heavy and you're so keen to fuck and wet and ready and he's all hesitant and you politely ask why - not to pressure him, just to make sure he IS attracted to you - and he tells u that he's usually too big for girls and he doesn't wanna hurt u and asiduhiasdhsad AAAAAAA
of course it’s fine!!! I am now a member of the jeno big dick agenda so do not worry I welcome this ask with open arms.
but god he’s so sweet but also a boy™ so I do think he’s the type to be confident enough in his size that he will willingly make small dick jokes for fun. and of course since he’s so confident in it, your sure he isn’t actually packing two inches the way he likes to joke, but you’d definitely not be prepared for how big he is for real.
you’d probably guess that he’d be comfortably average, so when stuff finally started getting heavy you’d be confused when he’d seem apprehensive. because he also never came off as the type to be sexually insecure, and you’d probably already be wondering why he hasn’t already bitten the bullet and fucked you because you’d make it very clear how willing you were.
so there’d be a moment of panic alarms in your head when he hesitated, and even more when he seemed so shy when you asked him what was wrong. but when he finally spits it out, and tells you that the issue is he’s worried that he’s too big.
maybe you chalk it up to him just being paranoid and nervous, and there’s no way he’s that big. but once you assure him that you want him very badly and promise you’ll tell him if it’s too much, and he finally pulls off his clothes it’s…. yeah he’s not exaggerating
but you have confidence in yourself, and confidence in the fact that you know how incomprehensibly horny you are, and you know you can take it with some patience. also on top of the fact that jeno would rather die than not go down on you and finger you first.
jeno’s aware being able to take him will take some time, and that just pairs perfectly with his love for having his mouth on you. so you’d probably get two orgasms in just from his tongue and fingers before he ever even thinks about fucking you.
he’d have you begging for it no matter how sensitive you are, and his head is fucking spinning from the way you squirm and whine under him. and it gets even worse when he finally fucks into you and every inch of him has you panting and clawing at his back.
yeah he’s within his right to be worried about you being able to take him, but you take him like a champ even if you do lose all ability to form a cohesive sentence with your eyes rolled into the back of your head.
and then when it’s all said and done, he turns into a big cuddly baby that so worried about how you feel and making sure you’re okay, and when you assure him that it’s probably the best fucking you’ve gotten and you can’t wait to have him fuck you again, it would be his turn to get all flustered and turn into a babbling mess
#also that thing about guys with big dicks having a better chance at doing anal—#or whatever never mind#nct smut#jeno smut#nct dream smut#ask
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Your kokichi is soo good! Sorry if you’re tired of him but could I request the “break” prompt for him please?
I'm glad you like how I write Kokichi! And oh no, it's all good! I enjoy writing for this purple gremlin honestly XD
Break - “Should I just break your legs? That way you can never, ever run away again.”
Warning(s): Established Kidnapping, Threats, Mentions of Broken Bones
"Are you stubborn, or just stupid?"
You didn't have the energy to answer his question, but you figured it was rhetorical to begin with. However, you will say, this attempt was out of desperation and you knew escape was determined.
Your luck might've just ran out this time...
An exaggerated sigh leaves Kokichi, "Aren't you tired of this? You struggle, only to fail. I'm sure that's taking a toll on your mentality sooooo why not stop? Everything here is way better than what's out there! I'd chalk it up to being stupid if you wanted to escape this place so badly in favor of whatever boring life you want out there."
"It's not boring!" A glare was sent to him. He had the nerve to call your former life boring, when to you, it was the opposite. You had friends, family... But he ruined it all!
Kokichi smirked, "Oh? You decided to talk? Great! Five minutes in, too! A little shorter than how long you avoided me last time." His face shifted into a pout. "But did you have to be so mean about it? I know you're being moody and all, buuuut I can't take you seriously like this."
He's just toying with you. Getting a rise out of you by pushing your buttons. What does he even get out of all this? You've wanted to ask this since being brought... Wherever here was, but some nagging part of you believed he'd just lie on the spot once you ask. He claims to love you but it's probably all bullshit he spewing out. There's no love in all this. It's more likely entertainment for him. But why you?
You know he was still talking, trying to reel another reaction out of you, but it was all being tuned out. Anything else was better than listening or acknowledging Kokichi. It would only give him the green light to press further.
A sigh leaves as you try to picture yourself back to a time where everything was doing so well. Before any of this even happened. You question why such a thing happened to you and what you've done to deserve this. Such a cruel fate you could have never seen coming or so you think...
Maybe there were signs of something more sinister when you first met Kokichi, but you just couldn't pinpoint them fast enough. Could you have prevented this?
“Should I just break your legs? That way you can never, ever run away again.”
Your head immediately turned to look at him. He's... Joking, right?
"Wow! That really got your attention! Y'know, I hate being ignored." His voice lowered a bit but that damned smile was still up. You swear that it faded for a split second. It didn't sit right with you but you couldn't let him know that.
"You're just lying."
"Oh, am I?" He lets out a laugh. "Are you reaaaally sure? It wouldn't be that hard. I could use a hammer," his finger went up to his cheek as if he were pondering on the options. "Ooor my bare hands would work, but that'd be so much work..."
You grit your teeth as he pouted. He's playing around, you tried to convince yourself. If anything, this was a way to get back at you for trying to escape. He wanted you to beg for forgiveness for what you've done. Cry at his feet and promise never to do it again.
"Aw, you got all quiet~ Did I scare you? C'mon! It's not that bad! You won't die from a broken leg and the best part is that you'll get extra attention!"
He slowly walks up to you, causing your body to move away in fear. His smile widens at this.
"Just a simple *crack* and it'll all be over~! Oooor do you have something to tell me instead? Speak up or forever hold your peace." In this case... If you don't say anything, things can just get worse from here on out.
Kokichi stared intently at you, his eyes boring into your form as your breathing picked up. He's giving you a choice.
So you better answer before he makes it for you.
#yandere imagines#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere danganronpa v3#yandere danganronpa#yandere danganronpa x reader#yandere kokichi ouma#yandere kokichi#yandere kokichi x reader#male yandere
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