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#The wrists & arms are weird but that’s finee
moonstruckme · 2 days
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Hiiii!I hope your doing great I saw your requests just opened and I was wondering if you would mind doing a poly emt marauders with a reader that’s in hospital and they don’t know until they’re like bringing in someone in or something and their like why didn’t you tell us and she’s like oh cause I didn’t want you to worry.Something like that if not it’s fine have a good day!!!🌊
Thanks for requesting gorgeous! Not super sure if this is accurate since I don’t think paramedics usually spend much time inside the hospital but oh well haha. Hope you have a good day too! <3
cw: hospital/emergency room, mention of broken bone
emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 827 words
You’re just on your way out of A&E, feeling sore and shattered and more than a little sorry for yourself, when someone says your name. With an odd mix of relief and trepidation mingling in your chest, you turn. 
Sirius makes it to your first. He takes your face in his hands, eyes scanning it over thoroughly before starting to make their way down your body. “Baby, what’s happened?” 
“Hey,” you say, “what are you doing here?” 
“Um, no.” James gives you a funny-looking smile, amusement tangled up with worry. “It’s fairly normal for us to be here, what are you doing here?” 
“I, um—” 
“Idiots.” Remus bypasses them both, taking your injured hand gently and holding it up where your other boyfriends can see it. “What happened here, lovely?” 
“I broke my finger,” you admit. 
Sirius looks devastated, though with the splint binding your two fingers together you thought it was fairly obvious. “How?” 
“Shut it in my car door.” 
James winces and Remus tsks compassionately, turning your hand so he can see the injured digit from another angle. 
“How long have you been here?” he asks.
You shrug, not quite looking at any of them. “I had to wait a while. A few hours.” 
Remus’ look lets you know your sheepishness isn’t without good reason. “Did you drive yourself like this?” 
You nod meekly. 
“Angel!” James wraps his arms around you, tucking your head underneath his chin, and you go happily. You’ll take his mollycoddling over Remus’ reproachful stare any day. “Why didn’t you call us? I can’t believe you had to sit here all by yourself.” 
“I knew you were busy at work, and I didn’t want to worry you.” Now Sirius is glaring at you, too. You snuggle further into James’ embrace. “It wasn’t so bad.” 
“Did they have to set it?” Sirius asks. 
Your face heats. “Yeah. It was pretty weird-looking when it first happened.” 
James makes a pitiful whining sound. “Poor love.” 
“How long did they tell you it’d take to heal?” Remus’ voice sounds somewhat gentler now. He finally relinquishes your injured hand to Sirius, who starts turning it about and inspecting it in the same manner, like the doctor who splinted it for you might not have done a good enough job. 
“Six to eight weeks,” you say glumly. It already feels annoyingly constraining not being able to bend either of those fingers; you’re not sure how you’re supposed to deal with it for weeks on end. 
The boys exchange a look, and James drops the protective circle of his arms from around you. “I’m going to go find Amelia,” he says, “see if she’s on break.” 
You clutch at his shirt with your good hand. “Don’t leave me,” you whisper. 
Your boyfriend smiles, dropping a kiss on your head. “Sorry, lovie.” 
“I think we ought to feel insulted,” Sirius comments as James walks away. Remus only shrugs. 
He reaches for your face now that it’s not hidden under James’ chin, wiping frownily at something on your cheek. 
“Are you feeling alright now, dove?” he asks, and you veritably liquefy at the tenderness in his voice. 
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You shrug one shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it really wasn’t awful.” 
Sirius gives your wrist an admonishing little squeeze. “You have tear marks on your face,” he contradicts you softly. 
“Oh.” You run a finger under your eyes, feeling your face heat. 
Remus tuts and lets his hand against the side of your neck, thumb stroking at your jaw. “We’re only on shift for another hour,” he tells you. “James is finding our friend Amelia so you can stay in the break room with her until we can come back and get you, okay?” 
You shake your head, and his stare hardens but you say anyway, “I don’t need to be babysat. I can get home on my own.” 
“You shouldn’t be driving after having anesthetic.” 
You narrow your eyes. “Wouldn’t they have told me if that were the case?” 
“We don’t want you driving with a numb hand,” Sirius clarifies. When you turn your attention to him, he gives you a stern look. “You should have called us in the first place. Just let us do what we can for you now, okay?” 
You sigh in resignation just as James comes up behind you again. Seeing as no one has taken over hug duty, he wraps both arms around your waist, setting his chin on your shoulder. 
“Okay,” you tell Sirius. 
“Oh, excellent. All on the same page, are we?” James turns his head to smooch your cheek. “Knew you’d come around, angel. Amelia’s ready for you, so you can hang in the break room until we get back.” 
“Is she going to baby me too?” you joke, letting him steer you towards the hallway. 
“Probably not,” Sirius says, “but don’t you worry, sweetness. We’ll make up for that when we get you home.” 
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starwhipnspin · 11 months
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entering @bumblebeeenby 's DTIYS AAAH i wanted to make a lloyd plushie for a while and this was the perfect excuse fr
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and of course i drew something too cuz why wouldnt i this guy is just so silly
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mushr00ms-are-nice · 1 year
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Little Brother’s back
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Finally getting my wisdom teeth removed tomorrow, everyone wish me luck and pray that I don’t say anything too bad under the laughing gas
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chazz-is-a-zelda-fan · 7 months
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shoutout to the worst nightmare i have ever had in my life
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devilishcupid · 10 months
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CARBON COPY | Miguel O'Hara
☆ premise: trying to find miles morales in earth-42, he encounters you. or at least, a version of you.
☆ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!alt universe!reader
☆ warnings: across the spiderverse spoilers, pregnant!reader, clueless!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, miguel's pov, some swearing
☆ a/n: oh my god. across the spiderverse is literally a masterpiece. into the spiderverse already is, but the spiderverse team said, "we can do better." they didn't have to, but they did.
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"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Jessica asked through the commlink. "This is risky, even by your standards."
"It doesn't matter. The quicker we find Miles, the quicker we get out of here." Miguel muttered into his earpiece as he walked through the busy streets of Earth-42's New York.
"Yes, but blending in? For all we know, a version of us exists here."
"Which is why you need to stop talking and start looking, Jess." Miguel hissed a little too loud, earning looks from a few passerbys. He winced. Jessica had a point. If a version of them did exist in this universe, it would be best not to bring attention to themselves.
"Miguel!"
And... that was now thrown out of the window. Cursing under his breath, he turned around reluctantly to face the person who called him—only to find that it was you.
His eyes widened, and his lips parted at the sight of you. Never in a million years did he expect to see her again. But here you were, the absolute spitting image of her. Your clothes were exactly the same things she would wear, your hair and makeup done the same way.
Finding different versions of people in different universes was not uncommon. There's literally a society uniting the different universes' own Spider-people, for God's sake. But Miguel didn't expect this. He didn't expect a carbon copy of his dead wife on a universe where Spider-Man did not exist.
He should've said he wasn't Miguel, that you were mistaking him for someone else. Hell, he shouldn't have stopped and turned around in the first place. He didn't know what came over him, but in a second, he had his arms wrapped around your body.
"Miguel, hon, are you okay?" You asked, your voice laced with surprise and concern. You had no clue that the man who was hugging you was not your husband. At least, not your husband in this universe.
Miguel grunted in response, his ability to string words together to form a sentence rendered broken by your presence. He squeezed you tighter. He couldn't believe he was holding you in his arms.
You weren't the same woman he fell in love with. He knows this. But he couldn't help himself. You looked exactly like her. Felt exactly like her. Sounded exactly like her. Shit, you even smelled like her.
"Damn it, Miguel, keep it together! She's not your wife!"
Hearing Jess' voice snapped Miguel out of his stupor. Remembering his mission, why he was there in the first place, he pulled away from you. He didn't want to. He wanted to hold you longer. But he knew that if he did, he wouldn't have been able to stop.
"Honey, what's wrong?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands. God, how he missed feeling the warmth of your palms. "You're acting weird."
"I'm fine, sweetheart." He gave you a small smile, his hands wrapping around yours and his lips pressing a kiss on each of your wrists. "I just missed you, that's all."
You laughed. "What are you talking about? You saw me this morning."
Miguel could only chuckle in an attempt to hide his sadness. What was only hours for you was months for him. "Right. I did."
"Are you sure you're okay, though?" You asked again, eyebrows furrowing and the corners of your lips downturned.
"Don't worry about it, darling. I am."
He wasn't. But you didn't need to know that. You didn't need to know that in another universe, the two of you were married. You didn't need to know that you had a daughter together. You didn't need to know that he loved you and your daughter more than life itself, only for him to lose you both.
"Listen, I have to go. I'm having lunch with a friend. But I'll see you later at Doctor Nguyen's, okay?" You placed your hands on your stomach, a smile forming on your face. "I can't wait to see her again."
Miguel swallowed the lump in his throat before forcing himself to smile. Only now he noticed the bump on your stomach, carrying a different Miguel's Gabriella. "Yeah, me too."
With a kiss goodbye on his cheek, you walked away, blissfully unaware that he was not your Miguel. He watched as you disappeared around the corner, knowing it was the first and last time he was ever going to see you again.
But that didn't matter. He'll find Miles. He'll make sure the canon isn't destroyed. He'll make sure another version of himself wouldn't have to suffer the loss of his family the same way he did. He'll make sure you and your kid were safe.
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fangswbenefits · 9 months
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Side Effect
Summary: Miguel has been acting off lately and you find out why… the hard way.
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader
18+. Feral Miguel. Rutting Miguel (side effect of the serum he takes). HEAVY breeding kink. Creampie. Fangs. Hormonal manipulation (mention of serums being injected).
You paced hurriedly through the long corridors of HQ determined to get an answer.
A proper one.
If Miguel O’Hara was growing tired of your casual relationship with him, he’d have to tell that to your face instead of avoiding you.
This had been going on for a couple of days, and you patience was now hanging by a thread. You had tried to reach him through your watch, but he’d either ignore you, or have Lyla come up with ridiculous excuses.
“Visiting Peter and MJ my ass,” you grumbled under you breath, your paces echoing loudly.
The moment you were met with the lab door shut, you stopped dead in your tracks.
That was weird.
“What?”
Approaching the scanner on the wall, you reached out your arm, allowing the sensor to read your dimensional travel watch.
<ACCESS DENIED>
That was really weird.
You flicked your wrist again, but were met with the same message.
This had to be Miguel’s poor idea of a joke, because it made no sense that he’d restrict your access to the very place you worked at.
Letting out a strained breath, you tapped on your watch, hoping to reach Miguel.
But it was Lyla’s orange hologram that emerged instead.
“What’s up, sugar?” she beamed happily, filing her nails.
You scowled. “I was calling Miguel.”
“He has redirected every contact to me,” she shrugged, checking each nail individually.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Why can’t I get in?”
“That’s classified.”
“Classified?”
She nodded with an obnoxious smile that only served to grind your nerves. “I work here.”
“So does Miguel and he is working now,” she said with another shrug.
Anger flared inside you as your worst fears were confirmed.
He was avoiding you in particular.
“Can you just open the door?”
“No.”
“Please?”
Her eyes narrowed behind her heart-shapped glasses. “No.”
“I really need to talk to him.”
Adjusting her long coat, she clicked her tongue. “I can pass him a message.”
That wasn’t good enough and he would just ignore it as usual.
“Lyla…” you started, putting on your most convincing fake smile with an equally forced sweet voice to match. “You know I’ve always like you, right?”
The AI scoffed. “Nah, flattery doesn’t work on me, sugar. It wasn’t programmed into my coding,” she grinned deviously. “But you’re free to suggest that Miguel adds it in a future patch.”
You shot her a death glare. “Fine. Just… tell him I’m here and… yeah…” your voice trailed off.
She winked. “Gotcha!”
The hologram disappeared at once and you were left staring at the large metal door in front of you.
You waited for a couple of minutes, before realising she wasn’t coming back with an answer, as you had expected.
A random thought crossed your mind when your eyes landed on the scanner, reminding you that there was another way in.
Miguel would probably get really angry that you were about to activate the emergency protocol, but you couldn’t care less at this point.
Tapping the pattern onto the pad above the scanner, you couldn’t help but to feel victorious as the door swung open, alarms blaring and a mechanical voice echoing through the lab.
“Emergency protocol activated. Proceed with caution.”
You only made it a few steps past the door, before something — or rather someone — flung you across the room with the weight of their body keeping you pinned against a wall.
A muscled forearm was at your throat, effectively caging you in.
“What the fuck?”
“Emergency protocol activated. Proceed with caution.”
The red alarm lights rotated hurriedly on the ceiling, but you were able to identify Miguel, as his weight dug further into you.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, the eyes on his mask narrowing menacingly.
Something wasn’t right.
Your spider senses detected an alarming accelerated heart rate from him, as well as increased body temperature.
“Miguel, let go! It’s me,” you grunted, clawing at his arm to alleviate the pressure.
“I know it’s you,” he said lowly, the digital mask vanishing.
From the corner of your eyes you saw him baring his fangs, droplets of paralysing poison dripping.
His pupils were fully blown and you felt fear rise inside you. “What are you doing?!”
As if your voice had managed to snap him out of it, he eased the pressure on you and took a few steps back.
“Lyla, deactivate the emergency protocol and resume the serum synthesis.”
“Got it, Miguel!”
The alarm was turned off immediately and silence took place.
Your breath was coming out in shallow pants, as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Was he that angry that he had gone completely feral?
“Miguel… what…”
He turned his back on you and paced to a nearby centrifuge, the screen atop announcing: <DNA stabilising sequence at 24%>
What was he doing?
“Leave.”
“Can we just talk?” you said, still keeping your distance. “I don’t know why you’re avoiding me, but barring my access-“
Miguel turned around to face you, a deep scowl had settled on his face, twisting his lips.
The glare he gave you was enough to send shivers down your spine.
“I need you gone. Now.”
Fuck. Was he that over you that he couldn’t even stand your presence around?
He had shortened the distance between you two, crimson eyes never leaving yours.
“Why? If you don’t want to be with me just say that,” you groaned in frustration. “Don’t stare at me like you’re about to split me in half. It won’t work.”
Miguel had effectively managed to have your back hit the nearby wall once more, just from the weight of his stare alone.
“I told you to leave. I can’t have you around me.”
“Oh, great!” you scoffed. “Thanks for being so direct.”
Miguel didn’t stop moving until his face was only a few inches away from yours. “You don’t get it.”
“You’re right. I don’t. We’re both adults, so you could have just said this a couple of days ago instead of acting like I’m some nuisance.”
His hand came to grip your jaw and you widened your eyes. “You’re on birth control, right?”
“What…”
He took a deep breath, fangs grazing his lower lip. “Answer me.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Wait… was he scared that he might have knocked you up?
His fingers loosened and he pressed his forehead to the wall right beside your head, groaning out loud.
“Miguel… what is going on?”
You wanted to him a comfort squeeze on his arm, but were too frozen to move.
“Why… why do you have to be on birth control?”
Was he pulling your leg? Was this his twisted version of a joke?
This time, you frowned. “What do you mean why? I don’t want to get unexpectedly pregnant.”
Miguel punched the wall with such force it dented the material and making you jolt.
“I’m rutting.”
Your eyes darted to his face as he straightened up, pupils still dilated and beads of sweat rolling down his temples.
“What… rutting?” you asked, mouth dropping open in confusion.
He growled impatiently. “Side effect of my serum. I usually have an antidote at hand when this happens, but I ran out of one of the components…” he paused briefly as if struggling to breath properly. “I had to go to Peter B’s Earth to get more.”
Oh. So that hadn’t been one of Lyla’s ridiculous lies.
You glanced over at the nearby screen:
<DNA stabilising sequence at 34%>
Oh.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” you asked, wanting to bring him some comfort somehow. “We’ve been together for a few months.”
“It was never necessary. I always had the neutraliser for my serum at hand.”
You bit your lip.
He let out a low dark chuckle. “You have no idea how badly I’ve been wanting to breed you.”
This definitely wasn’t something you were expecting to hear from Miguel O’hara himself, and it made your heart skip a beat.
His arms were caging you, his talons digging deep into the metal right next to your head.
“Is… huh… is there anything I can do?” you asked in a whisper. “I mean… in the lab.”
He pressed his lower half into you at once. “Let me breed you.”
You flinched as his hard cock dug into your crotch and you let out a gasp.
“Can’t you just wait for the synthesis to be over?”
The sound of the metal being shredded tore through your ears and his lips nearly brushed yours. “I told you to leave, but you’re too stubborn, aren’t you?”
His breath was hot and you felt goosebumps rise throughout your body.
“Always running that mouth,” he growled, eyes landing on your lips. “Always defying me… and now I really, really need to breed you.”
For some twisted reason, his words and cock twitching against you were slowly swallowing your mind, causing you to abandon reason.
Miguel was a very dedicated lover, but you had never witnessed such yearning from him.
That was a novelty and it was doing wonders to your ego.
Even if there was a scientific explanation, you could help but plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “You can’t breed me… I’m on birth control.”
His hand came to grip your chin again and you saw anger flicker in his eyes. “There’s ways around that.”
Your eyes widened.
He wasn’t being serious…
… was he?
“Miguel…”
The grip tightened and he rolled his hips. “Let me. Please.”
You knew exactly what he was talking about. He had developed a serum that would neutralise all hormonal manipulation as a way to reset your body in case a spider needed to be injected with a serum.
You had helped him develop it.
Its efficacy neared 90%.
You guessed this neutraliser wasn’t able to prevent the side effects from his very specific serum.
And now he wanted to use it on you, so he could successfully breed you.
“Are you sure?” you asked, not sure why agreeing to this in the first place was sending such an adrenaline rush through your veins.
Miguel moved away from you, bolting to one of the desks, rummaging through the drawers.
You swallowed hard, but remained glued to the wall, heart hammering fast in your chest.
<DNA stabilising sequence at 41%>
In a blink of an eye, he was on you again, holding the syringe in his trembling hand. “I’m desperate, but I need your words first.”
You clenched and felt wetness spilling from you.
How was this so arousing?
“What words?”
He moved to place a quivering kiss to your forehead and you saw the liquid wobble inside the container.
“That’s… not the compound we synthesised.”
“It’s more than that,” he said with another kiss. “It stimulates your ovaries.”
Oh… fuck.
He trailed kisses down your face, before pecking your lips. “I have to breed you. Successfully.”
Your legs nearly gave out at his confession and you nearly moaned as he ripped your suit to gain access to your bicep.
“Tell me I can do this.”
His cock was nudging you again as a reminder of his desire, and you nodded.
“No. Say it.”
He was rubbing your skin with his thumb right where he intended to inject the serum.
“Go ahead.”
“Gracias,” he whispered, planting another kiss to your forehead.
At this point, you were far too drunk in lust to think clearly and your lips parted in a pained moaned as you felt a sharp jab in your arm. He kept his lips on you as reassurance, as the liquid tore through your muscle.
Your heartbeat skyrocketed straight away.
You felt your knees buckle under you, but Miguel steadied you with both arms. “I got you.”
A gasp quickly turned into a moan as the effect of the serum consumed you with each passing second.
He trailed his hands down your body and gripped your hips.
“Turn around.”
You let him guide you, biting down hard on your lower lip, you panties sticking to your soaked folds.
More ripping sounds filled the air as Miguel tried to get rid of your suit, exposing your underwear to him.
You balled your fists and felt one hand on your lower back, adding light pressure. “Bend over.”
Doing as commanded, you felt more wetness spill from you as your body readied itself for Miguel.
The pressure increased. “More.”
Your panties were torn apart right away and you glanced over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of Miguel’s fangs peeking through his lips.
His thumb dragged along your folds, teasing your swollen clit and earning a whimper from you.
“Sorry, but I really need to be inside you,” he grumbled and you nodded.
Your heart skipped several beats, as you tried to control your breathing in anticipation.
The tip of his cock was soon pressed against your opening, and you squeezed your eyes shut.
“I’m sorry.”
Before you could inquire what he meant, your mouth fell open as he rammed inside you, bottoming out at once.
He didn’t wait for your to recover from the initial shock, and began pumping into you so ferociously, you had to grab a hold on the metal railing to your right to keep yourself from losing balance.
Miguel heaved a heavy sigh of relief as if he had been waiting a lifetime for this sensation.
Grunts and groans mixed with the wet sounds of your pussy engulfing his cock over and over again.
“Should have bred you sooner…” he managed to say in between snaps of his hips. “Developed that serum just for you…”
Miguel’s idea of dirty talk was effective. Too effective, because you couldn’t hold back from clenching hard around him, savoring the friction and feel of being stuffed full of him.
He picked up the pace and you thought you were going to die.
Not because it was uncomfortable, but because it was too overwhelming, and your body was responding to his in a way you had never experienced before.
You felt your lower abdomen coil at the sides and figured the serum had reached its target destination.
Miguel gripped both your arms and you let go of the railing, as he tugged hard to have your back smack against his hard chest.
“You’re so lucky this rut didn’t hit me harder,” he growled, hips never faltering. “I was barely able to control myself around you…”
Your eyes fluttered shut and you moaned loudly, feeling his pectoral muscles press into your back. This man was too hot and you found yourself thinking that not being bred by him would be a waste.
That genetic material deserved to be spread.
“Being on birth control with me…” he said through gritted teeth, and you felt his fangs nipping your ear lightly. “You. Deserve. To. Be. Bred.” he punctuated each word with a snap of his hips.
An intense wave of pleasure pulsated from your clit, and you recognised the familiar strings of an orgasm pulling you in and embracing you gentle with each stroke.
“Miguel…” you moaned, blinded by lust and desire.
The grip on your arms loosened briefly and he let your torso lean forward ever so slightly, angling your hips in a way that made him his cock hit you over and over again just where you needed the most.
“I want you full with my babies,” he gasped.
Your orgasm hit you with such force, you thought you were going to collapse and slide off his cock, but he wrapped one arm around you, not allowing you to part from him.
“You feel so good… tighter… tighter,” he urged, as your walls contracted around him rhythmically, faintly at first, but the next stronger than the one before.
You were far too gone to form any words and just let your lips part as an intense moan ripped through your throat.
Miguel was mumbling something behind you, but you couldn’t make out any words as you descended from your height.
Even through quivering legs and pulsing clit, you were able to feel it.
He was now pumping you full with broken snaps of his hips.
You glanced down and saw strings of cum dripping from where he was connected with you.
So much cum.
He wasn’t even slowing down, as he’d usually do at this stage.
Miguel kept on ramming into you from behind, sending more and more cum to drip from within you.
An animalistic growl left his mouth as he finally came to a halt, breathing hard.
He remained balls deep inside you, and you planted on hand on the wall to look in absolute awe at the cum dripping and dangling from your clit, a pool of it now at your feet.
“How did you cum so much?” you managed to say in between laboured breaths.
“I’m rutting, cariño. My body produces more,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.
You glanced to the screen nearby.
<DNA stabilising sequence at 100%>
“Maybe you can take the neutraliser now?
He slid his cock out of you halfway, before slamming it back, and you felt more cum spill out. “I don’t think so.”
Oh, you were utterly fucked.
In every sense of the word.
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adams-angels · 1 month
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Plssssass pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls do a adam x reader smut where adam is in heat or anything plssssssss
I had WAAAAY too much fun writing this one 🤭 I was originally gonna do another angel s/o but where's the fun in that? I spiced this up with a sinner s/o
💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖
Heat
Smut below the cut! Minors dni
Extermination day. Once again. Yaaay! You hid in your apartment and waited. You knew he was coming. He was always coming.
You don't know why, but a couple years ago you were spared by Adam. Ever since then he always comes to check on you. Makes sure you're still alive. He says it's because it's funny watching you get pissed off at every little thing. Every little thing being his annoying ass.
You hear the knock at the door. It's the secret knock Adam made up so you'd know it was him. But this knock was rushed. Desperate almost. It sent a cold chill down your spine. It's not that you like Adam. You just don't want anything to happen to him and would be sad if he stops visiting but you don't LIKE him.
You quickly rush to the door, checking the peephole and there he was. Looking different? You unlocked the many bolts on your apartment door and let him in. He pushed himself past you, "what's up sinner tits?" Dumb name. You shut your door and lock it back up. "Hello, Adam." You look over at him and he looks restless. "You okay?" You ask, cocking an eyebrow in curiosity. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm fine, whatever." He scratched his arm like he was a drug addict. Itching for his next hit.
Your mind raced. What if the exorcists know he's been visiting me? What if he has to kill me? What if- you're snapped out of your thoughts. "Stop overthinking. You do that too much." He groaned. "Okay?" You walk over to him, his body tenses. "Why are you acting weird?" His eyes widen, he takes a couple steps back. "M-me? Weird?! Ha! That's- that's fucking rich coming from you!"
Okay, something up. That stutter screamed something was up. You put your hands on your waist stepping closer to him, causing him to step back. You ended up cornering him once he was stopped by the wall. "what the hell is up with you, Adam. Tell me, right now!"
"I need you." He whined. You don't know if it was the fact he had no where else to go, or you were being quite demanding but you weren't expecting him to whine like that. But God, did it make you feel powerful. This devine being, whining like a whore. "Excuse me?"
"fuck, I need you, y/n. Please?" He pleaded. "Jesus, it's like you're a fucking heat." You joked but his whimper told you everything. "Noooo, fucking way. Do you- are you in heat?" You laugh at him. "Don't fucking laugh!" He grabs your wrist and spins you around, pinning you to the wall.
~⁠♡✧⁠。 I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! 。✧⁠♡~⁠
"I need to fuck you. I don't want to. But I need to. I can't stop thinking about you. No one else is working, so please." He begged, never in your afterlife did you think you'd see Adam begging for you. But here you are. In your apartment, Adam pleading with you. "I'll do it." He lit up. "On one condition." He groaned his forehead resting on yours. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you want, babe."
You look him in his LED eyes, "mask off." He hesitated, removing his head from yours to get a full look at your expression. "What? Why?" He asked, his tone would tell you he was annoyed by the request but inside he was scared. What if you changed your mind once you saw his actual face. "Because I like to look at the person who's going to fuck me." He whines, he's desperate right now, he needs you. He reaches for his mask, hesitates before taking it off.
He looked gorgeous, stunning, and surprisingly embarrassed. "You so-" he couldn't wait any longer, his lips crashed into yours, his tongue explored your mouth. There was no negotiation on who was dominating the situation.
His hands caressed your body starting at your neck tracing down to your waist before getting to your legs, he lifts you up with ease. Sloppily kissing you, as he takes you to the nearest surface, your side table. Sitting you on top of it, knocking off a couple of books, a small plant and a picture frame among other things.
He releases your lips to move on to your jawline then neck, covering you in marks. His marks. You can't help but moan at the sensation. His hands head straight to your pants, gaining access to your intimate area. Once your pants are off he whips off his robe and lifts you up from the side table. Lining up with your entrance. His eyes full of lust for you. He watched your face as he slid you onto his cock. It was perfect, dickmaster is right. It was like he cock was made to fit you. He didn't give much time for you to enjoy the fit before he started thrusting into you.
His arms wrapped around your back holding you close to his body. His teeth sinked into your neck, he moaned into your skin. Your hands found their way to the back and top of his head, tugging at his brown locks. His wings burst out, twitching and trembling as he buries his cock deep inside you. Filling you fully with his member, hitting that sweet spot with each thrust. "Fuck.. so good y/n" he mumbles into your neck. "So tight.."
His hips stuttered, he released your neck and went back to your lips, feeling you moan into his mouth sent him over the edge as he finished inside of you. His wings fell to the floor and you both crashed into the sideboard, Adam leaning on you for support. "Fuck.. bitch, who knew you'd feel so good." "Who knew you liked dirty sinners." You panted. "Don't spoil it."
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falling-endlessly · 2 months
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Boomerang (part 1)
Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader
Summary: When Vox proves incapable of cutting Valentino out of his sex life despite his many reassurances, you decide to break it off with him and leave for good. He doesn’t take it so well.
Just to be clear, reader is an artificial intelligence demon, looks super realistic and human-like, but is actually composed of nanotechnology. She was human once though, like all of the other sinners.
INSPIRED BY THIS POST
Part 2—> Chapter Index
"Y/n?" Charlie poked her head through your door. "There's uh, someone here to see you."
You narrowed your eyes, rising from your bed. A bone-weary sigh escaped you. It was obvious who your supposed "visitor" was. "Did you tell him I'm busy?"
Charlie pursed her lips, looking down. Great, so that meant he was throwing a temper tantrum. And she wanted you to sort him out.
"Alright, fine," you pinched the bridge of your nose. "I'm coming." She was generous enough to let you stay, after all. The least you could do was clean up your messes.
When you finally reached the main floor, Vox and Alastor looked about two seconds away from clawing each other's faces off. Cyan blue electricity was sparking along Vox's entire body, and Alastor's shadows curled dangerously behind him, ready to attack at his call.
Seeing him made a hot fury like no other claw its way up your throat. "What the fuck are you doing here?" You growled lowly, balling your fists at your sides.
At the sound of your voice, Vox immediately broke away from Alastor, a giant smile spreading across his screen. "Sweetheart! There you are!"
You stormed up to him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him harshly into a corner. You let go of him once you were sufficiently out of earshot of the others, crossing your arms and leveling him with a furious glare. "You have five seconds to explain yourself."
"Okay, let's just calm down for a second here," he chuckled, but it was an empty sound. "Is it really that weird for me to want to check up on you? After all, you kind of just disappeared," his smile strained.
"Has it ever occurred to you that the reason you couldn't find me was because I don't want to see you?" You smiled sardonically, patience running thin.
"Uh, what?" He laughed, but his smile was frozen. "Why would you not want to see me?"
That was the last fucking straw. "Are you that fucking delusional, Vox?" You snapped, poking him harshly in the chest. "When I said I was done, I meant it. This," you gestured between the two of you. "Is over. I'm done."
Vox twitched, electricity sparking off sporadically from his antennae. He stared at you in stunned silence, his breathing starting to pick up speed as he processed your words. His eyes searched your face for any sign that you were being untruthful, and when he found none, he glanced up at the small crowd of residents and staff gathered, only to lock eyes with a smug Alastor.
Vox's screen glitched, his features twisting in a rage. "So you're replacing me with the radio fucker now, is that it?"
"Oh, really?" You narrowed your eyes. "Just like you replaced me with Valentino?"
"That's different," Vox gritted out.
"Is it?"
"Yes, for one, Val isn't some archaic cannibalistic fucker with a vendetta against me!"
"Who has the vendetta against who here? Cause it seems like you're the one who can't let things go." You watched him splutter on his bullshit for a few seconds before you shook your head in exasperation, the pounding pressure increasing at your temples. "Alright, that's it, we're done here. Get out."
"Y/n," he narrowed his eyes. "You need to think about this."
"Oh I've had plenty of time to think," you grabbed his tie, pulling him closer to bare your teeth menacingly. "Now get out before I put a goddamn virus in your software Vox!" Your face pixelated from rage at the end of your sentence. You let him go with a harsh shove.
For a long moment nobody spoke, a tense silence blanketing over the two of you. You glared at him venomously, chest still heaving from your outburst. And him, he was looking at you like he'd never seen you before. Good, you thought spitefully. It's finally getting through to him.
Vox's mouth hardened into a thin line, his sharp claws nearly drawing blood from his palms. "Why here?"
You closed your eyes. "It’s not a forever thing. I just—I need to be away from everything for a little while, okay?" Everything that we've built together. Reminders of you. "No flashy shit, no fast life, no technology—"
"You're an A.I. model," he said dully.
"Yeah well, you win some you lose some," you sighed, rubbing at your temples. "Look, I don't want to say it again. Leave Vox, I'm serious."
For a hot second, it looked like you were ripping his entire world apart and stomping on the broken pieces, the way he looked at you so lost, before he hastily pulled himself back together. "Fine," he spat out. It sounded like it physically hurt him to say it.
He lifted his chin, adjusted his lapels, and stormed out of the hotel, slamming the door so hard it blew straight off of its hinges, blue sparks of electricity still sizzling from it.
For a few seconds, a thick tension suffocated the room, as everyone took the time to process the shit show they'd just witnessed.
"Well, that was fun!" Alastor's cheery voice punctuated the silence. You glared at him tiredly.
***
If you thought that he would give up like you so nicely asked, you were sadly mistaken.
Turned out it was just a pre-game warm up for this asshole.
At least thrice a week, he made sure to fuck up your peace somehow. Last time it was spray painting the entire hotel electric blue (how, you didn't even want to know). The time before that, it was trying to sneak some of his peeping gadgets in through the window. And the time before that, it was putting your name up on every billboard in the goddamn city with a red heart next to it.
Now, you stood incredulously in front of half of the hotel. As in, the other half was missing. Blown off by a fucking missile. You couldn't make this shit up if you tried.
"What the fuck is going on?" You gritted out, before taking a deep, calming breath.
Vox's electric laughter rang out from a speaker of unknown source. You turned angrily to face the open air.
"Pathetic," he jeered. "You still want to shack up with these losers, Y/n?"
You shook your head slowly, laughing in disbelief. "Wow," you said sarcastically. "You really showed us, didn't you? Feel better about yourself now?"
You punctuated your sentence with a glare, before turning and storming towards the remaining half of the building.
Vox watched you from twenty different angles across his screens. The moment you turned your back, his wide, toothy grin dropped, eyes squeezing shut. He slammed mute on his microphone.
“FUCK!” He banged a fist on the table, breathing heavily. It had been two weeks already, and you still hadn’t come back to him. He was getting desperate now.
A quick glance at the screen showed Alastor’s glitching picture. The radio bastard snapped his fingers with a raised brow, the missing half of the hotel repairing itself instantly.
“Fucking show off,” Vox growled raggedly.
He needed to change tactics. And fast.
***
Nothing. He had nothing.
No plans, no blueprints, no smart and suave moves to get you back.
Every scenario he ran through his head would inevitably end with you walking away from him. If only he could hypnotize you like with everyone else—but you were a tech demon, just like him. More advanced, even. Your firewalls were just too strong.
Vox poured himself another glass of scotch, solemnly glaring up at the ceiling in frustration.
A clawed hand clasped his shoulder, making him grit his teeth.
“You’re looking a little tense, Cariño,” Valentino purred, trailing his fingers up Vox’s neck. “I can help with that~”
Vox shrugged him off, annoyed. “Not in the mood, Val.”
But Valentino was undeterred. “Is this about Y/n?” He murmured, knowing he hit the nail on the head when the other demon tensed considerably. “What’s so special about that bitch anyway, hm? Is it the pussy? You know I’ve got whores lined up for you, baby. Just say the word and—”
“Fuck off, Val!” Vox exploded, electricity sparking in his eye. “I don’t want just any random bitch from the street, okay?! I want Y/n. I want her back,” he spat miserably.
Valentino went silent, his face twisting into a cruel expression. “Don’t you understand?” He growled. “She left you. Betrayed you. And she’s not coming back, ever. The sooner you see that and stop wasting your time, the better.”
He turned away, his heels clacking against the marble floors until the double doors swung closed behind him.
Vox let out a frustrated yell, arcs of electricity shooting out from him and shattering his expensive collection of drinking glasses to smithereens.
***
A tap sounded at your window, making you tense.
Slowly you approached it, generating a pistol from your nanotech and holding it tightly to your chest. You peered out of the blinds, only to find your ex dangling from the window sill.
“Holy shit!” You screeched, jumping back.
“A lil’ help?” he grinned lazily, reaching out for you. You grasped his hand, hauling him inside of your room.
The unmistakably pungent scent of alcohol invaded your senses, making your wrinkle your nose.
“Jesus fucking Christ, are you drunk?” You dragged a hand down your face.
“No,” he hiccuped, shaking his head vehemently, which caused him to lose balance. You grabbed his shoulders, righting him before he fell and broke his screen.
“Oh yeah,” his face lit up in realization, before he reached behind him, pulling out a bouquet of slightly squashed roses. “For you,” he slurred, offering them proudly.
You looked at them in exasperation, before taking them gently from his hands. Bringing them up to your face, you closed your eyes, sniffing them slightly. A sweet floral scent filled your senses as you regarded them.
“They’re pretty,” you remarked quietly.
“Yeah,” he grinned, your eyes flickering up to catch his. “But you’re prettier.” At your lack of reaction, his grin faltered, and he looked down.
“I…” he started, swaying slightly. “I’m sorry.”
You closed your eyes, shaking your head. “Don’t do this.”
“Please come home,” he continued, expression drooping sorrowfully. He clasped your hand, looking up at you pleadingly. “I’ll…I’ll do better, I promise.”
The ache in your heart grew almost unbearable the more you looked at him, so you averted your gaze. “Why don’t you ever say that when you’re sober?”
Vox let go of your hand, sliding down the wall until he landed on his ass. “Scared,” he mumbled.
You crouched down in front of him, lifting his hanging head from his arms. “Of what?” You said gently.
His eyes flickered up to yours, and the raw emotion nearly stole your breath away. “You still won’t want me.”
“Vox…” You closed your eyes, pained.
“Come home,” he whispered hollowly. “Please.”
“You know I can’t do that,” you said thickly, swallowing the lump in your throat.
He looked at you sadly, but resigned. “Yeah, I know,” he lowered his screen back into his arms. “…miss you,” he trailed off quietly, before soft whistling snores could be heard.
You dropped your face in your hands, breathing raggedly. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. You had almost fucking caved.
After a moment to compose yourself, you searched his pockets, pulling out his phone (he didn’t even change his password) and dialing a familiar number.
“What the fuck do you want now, Vox?” An irritated feminine voice answered the line.
“Velvette,” you said cooly. “I need a favor.”
****
Part 2 —> Chapter Index
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luveline · 1 year
Text
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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uncle-mrbones · 1 year
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DM: Vampirism is a serious matter in our game. There is no safe way to indulge bloodlust, and a vampire who chooses not to drink blood will not starve but will be fighting a constant battle against relapse. Its a grim, sad situation.
Me, a cat owner, watching my domesticated fanged beast gently bite me without an ounce of malice just because cat brain requires at least one daily chomp: counter argument -- what if instead their latent predator instincts were really cute though?
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highonakuweeds · 4 days
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POV: Your Alastor's wife and it's October
(A/N: I didn't read anything beforehand, so if you see any weird mix ups of whatever, I'm sure your brain can ignore it thank you <3)
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“My dear!” Alastor exclaimed towards you, who was at the bar, conversing with Husk. Your attention changed so that Alastor had it fully, which made Husk roll his eyes and chug a drink down. “Mon amour! How are you this hellish evening? I haven’t seen you all day.”
“Ah, yes well,” Alastor tugged on his coat, his grin somewhat strained. It wasn’t obvious for the majority of the others, but it was to his wife. “Just some irritating demons on the streets, is all; nothing to worry about.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Alastor, I know what that face means.” 
He raised a curious brow. “Do you, now?”
“Mhm.” You sipped the last of your champagne, and thanked Husk for the drink, earning a nod from him. “It means you’re horny.”
“What? Noo!” Alastor attempted to brush off, his eyebrows stitched with disbelief. “You know how I am about anything sexual, dear. I—” “Yes, yes, it’s not really your thing; we all know that. However,” light flickered through your gaze as you bore into Alastor’s eyes. “That doesn’t mean you can’t escape that month you hate so much.”
Alastor remained quiet, his eye twitching. You shrugged. “I mean, hey, if you want to wait it out, suit yourself. People will ask where you’ve gone, and you don’t want them to give in to curiosity, do you?”
He hesitated before grunting, grabbing your wrist, causing you to yelp. “Fine.” 
As your giggles of amusement echoed in the halls, Charlie tilted her head. “What’s he going to do to her? Oh, no, I hope it isn’t anything horrible…”
Angeldust snorted, swirling his pink cocktail before sipping. “Nah, he’s probably gonna fuck’er.”
“What!?”
“Angeldust!” Vaggie exclaimed, causing the spider demon to look at her in surprise. “What? You saw the way he looked at her, plus the way she was teasin’. I thought it was obvious.”
Cherri bomb grinned. “No shit they’re gonna fuck. But it’s kinda weird, don’t cha think? The edgelord finally wants to bang someone.”
Charlie thought about it. “Well, they are married.”
“Wait, they’re fuckin’ what now?”
“Wow, is this month that tough you gotta drag me to your room, Alastor?” You teased, causing him to groan. “You don’t even want to know how much I had to endure for the past couple of days.” He replied. 
Your brows furrowed. “Honey, if it was hurting you, you could’ve asked me way sooner. You know I would’ve been more than happy to help you.”
Alastor laughed, locking his door, and whisking the swamp side of his room away to not let anything disturb them. “Of course, you would’ve been, darling; you’re always so willing to help. Speaking of which, would you be a doll and soundproof the area?”
You cocked an eyebrow, obliging nonetheless. With a flick of your wrist, blue wisps coated his bedroom, leaving some sort of shiny residue scattered in the room. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was going to be a rough night for the both of us…”
“Oh, shut it.” Alastor mumbled before walking towards you. He crashed his lips onto yours, cupping your cheeks with fervor and slight desperation. You let out a noise of surprise before giggling and allowing your husband to do whatever he needed to do. You snaked your arms around Alastor’s neck, scratching the base of his ears, just how he liked it.
He let out a soft sigh of bliss, his steps making the both of them stumble onto the bed, with him on top of your. Before, Alastor normally just locked himself somewhere private, usually his radio tower, until this stupid cycle wore off. But now that his wife, his technical mate, was right where he was currently residing, it was way more difficult than it was before to be cooped up.
He had attempted to take matters into his own hands, both literally and figuratively, and the only thing it gave him was sheer shame and embarrassment, so he had stopped trying. So, to have you below him was such a relief.
And yet, he wanted more. He needed more. 
He needed to taste you, and mark you, and show every single demon that came your way that you were his wife. No one else’s.
Alastor pulled back from the kiss, planting small yet precise marks on your jaw, causing you to softly moan so quietly it riled him up even more. 
He tried his best to keep his composure calm, to hold himself back. But he truly couldn’t with how foggy his mind made everything become. Alastor sunk his teeth into your neck, right below your pulse. You let out an animalistic groan, your back off of the mattress already. “Alastor, love, calm down—”
“Apologies, my dear, but I don’t think I can.” He responded tightly, licking the wound he inflicted fervently, shuddering as the metallic taste hit his tongue. You chuckled, sweeping his hair away from his face. “Alright, then. Do whatever you need to, sweetheart.”
Alastor tried to think clearly, to regain any sort of control he had in his sexual desires, but he so miserably failed. The urge to bite you and mark you and make everyone know that you were his overruled his mind. It was the only thing he could ever think straight at that moment.
“Mine…” He muttered, kissing and sucking on almost every single part of your neck. His hand had other plans, though, as it traced your figure until it reached your hips, and it squeezed hard. 
You let out a yelp and a moan, your breath practically nonexistent as you chuckled. “I’m yours, darling.”
His hand, even if it was just one, grounded you to the bed. You found yourself unable to move, not that you cared, anyway. Alastor rarely needed you in this sort of way, and to have him like this, so desperate, so needy, it made you feel things.
You were not quite sure what was going on hearing-wise, but you felt yourself saying Alastor’s name as a plea. He groaned, pulling himself away from your neck with a strained struggle. He drank you in, his smile still present. You almost laughed as his eyes didn’t match that, though, since they were looking at your outfit in disgust. He adjusted his position to balance himself before snapping it away, leaving you bare.
You gasped at the drop of temperature, causing you to scoff. “Alastor! At least warn a demon.” His deer ears twitched as he descended onto your collarbone, peppering kisses everywhere. “I apologize again, (name). I just…” He took a deep breath in and felt his eyelids fall heavy. “You’re intoxicating…”
At the mention of your name, you stirred slightly, feeling the heat pool down to your core. Alastor must have noticed this, however, since he started trailing kisses around your chest, his favorite part being the underside of it. He nipped at the skin and sucked like a dog in heat.
Well, a deer in rut, but one must digress.
You squirmed in your position as he bit down right before he resumed his trail of kisses down to your stomach. He could feel your arousal like it was his own, and that put him in quite the predicament.
“Aren’t you going to take care of yourself first, Al? You’re practically bursting.” You quietly asked, a hand running through red tufts of hair that was tickling your torso. A low growl escaped Alastor’s throat. “I will; have some patience, love.” Me? You’re literally bulging. “But right now, I need a taste of you…”
Your eyebrows twitched as they creased together. “What are you trying to do—” You cut yourself off with a yelp as Alastor planted a soft kiss on your clit, making your jump. “If I go too far,” Alastor started, gazing up at you through his bangs. “Tell me.”
You nodded, knowing that he never would go too far, and if he did, he would be too busy enjoying his meal to understand that. 
Alastor’s grin just stretched wider before probing his tongue into you, causing you to shudder with a groan at the feeling. You played with his ears, your breath being stolen away. Honestly, if it weren’t for his cannibalistic and homicidal instincts, he would’ve landed a spot in Heaven with how gentlemanly he was, giving you pleasure before indulging in his own.
Alastor was fully aware of the growing tent in his pants, but he paid it no mind, which he was glad he was at least able to do. With that, he knew his mind hadn’t succumbed to the worse thoughts that he dreaded the most.
He lapped and sucked up all of the juices you had to offer, his pace unforgiving and sloppy. You could feel your own claws puncture the mattress with how tight your grip was on it, but you were sure Alastor wouldn’t care later on. He doesn’t really…sleep.
With how quickly Alastor was working against you, you felt that knot in your stomach appear just as fast, making you curse under your breath. For someone who doesn’t really like anything inherently sexual, he sure is a master at it.
Alastor felt it. He felt you getting closer, and he wanted nothing more than to see you writhe in pleasure all because of him, and nothing, or no one, else. The hand that was gripping your thigh to the point of wounds hooked your leg onto his shoulder for the time being, holding it in place as he quickened his pace.
The only thing you could do was whimper and plead and whine. And every single syllable that dropped from your mouth went straight to his arousal, and he cursed internally. A string of violent curses escaped his wife’s lips as you tugged on Alastor’s hair, which led him to hiss in both the pain and pleasure it shamefully gave him. 
“Close—Alastor, wait—!” You managed to cry before snapping, waves of pleasure crashing into you intensely. You let out a demonic groan as Alastor drank you until your high faded.
Your head flopped onto the fluffy pillows of Alastor’s bed, staring at the red head of hair just where your abdomen started. The radio demon rested his head on the inner side of your thigh, catching his breath slightly, which caused a bit of feedback from the voice effect he always had on.
“Are you satisfied?” You asked, tilting your head. Despite the fact that Alastor kept smiling, his brows twitched. He was far from satisfied. 
You laughed, and Alastor could hear a bit of nervousness laced into it. Not that kind that was associated with fear, but the kind that was associated with excitement. 
It’s going to be a long night for the both of them.
You sat up properly before crawling to be in front of Alastor. “It’s quite unfair that I’m the only one bare right now.” You teased, undoing the buttons of his coat. Though, even as you did, he knew how much you enjoyed that power difference.
Alastor didn’t resist as you unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt underneath. You had stopped undressing him when his shirt hit the strain in his pants, and he felt an annoyed grunt scratching his throat at the lack of friction. “(Name), dear.”
“Hm?”
“You have to stop teasing…”
You scoffed out a laugh. “Is the radio demon attempting to beg right now?” Alastor’s face immediately turned bright red, the cold air that was hitting his bare chest not helping him, either. “Chérie, don’t make me do this—” “What, beg?”
You had figured out how to make it more fun for you, and more cruel for him.
It made him so embarrassingly hard.
Your positions were now flipped, since Alastor had tried (and failed) to cage you in, and so when he crawled towards you, you swiftly went behind him. So now, his back was towards the headboard, his ears pinned back slightly. Without his coat, you could really have a nice view of his small deer tail which was currently tucked in between his legs, barely covering the bulge in front of his pants.
His grin twitched. “So, how are you planning on taking advantage of our current situation?”
You laughed, a finger to his lips to shush him, which made an irk mark appear on his forehead. “Oh, dear Alastor, have some patience! You wanted me to have the same thing just minutes before, right?” Your finger swept to his chin to lift it up as you leaned in closer. So close Alastor heard your pulse.
Your eyes fluttered closed, your lips mere centimeters apart. Alastor sighed, ready to feel the sensation of your soft lips against his, but he only felt the cold air hit it instead. He opened his eyes to find you grinning with an eyebrow raised. His brows dropped as his smile strained, just as much as his pants were. Alastor cleared his throat before giving you an amused gaze. “Do you really think that would work on me?”
You shrugged, leaning forward to straddle yourself on him. He cursed under his breath (a rare scene, honestly. You savored every moment) as he felt himself buck against you. “Well, it did; there’s no real debate about it, hun.” You cupped one of his cheeks, in which he melted into, while tracing the outline of his deer ears with your other hand. You laughed breathlessly. “I’m sorry, your ears are just…absolutely divine.”
Alastor fought back every single moan and whine that you were pulling out of him from playing with his ears. “The things you do to me…” He whispered as he grinded against you slightly, that needed friction making him see stars. 
You almost lost self control at that statement. Just the way Alastor was slowly breaking under you purely because you were touching and prodding at his ears gave you such a power surge. Your hands made their way to his pants, where they undid them and freed Alastor, who had just hissed at the cold air hitting his cock.
You stared and ogled at the sight before you, your hand wrapping itself around it. Alastor tensed, his shoulders raised slightly. He let out a shaky breath, watching his own chest rise and fall to calm him down.
He was already leaking, and you used that to your advantage. You stroked painfully slowly, causing him to shiver. You glanced at Alastor’s expression with a sly smirk. “You’re enjoying this a lot, dear.”
Your tone was mocking; Alastor heard it. He tightly chuckled. “How would you know?”
“Alastor. You’re so hard right now.”
“Oh.” 
You snorted before increasing your pace against his cock. Alastor cleared his throat, feeling his mind fog with desire and lust, the two things he really wished hadn’t plagued his mind too much.
You felt a tentacle wrap around your left thigh, and your breath hitched. “Al?-” It started to massage your pussy, making you gasp and grip Alastor’s cock a bit too tightly.
He grunted in both pain and pleasure, that brief moment of extreme bliss washing away again. “(Name), love, I think you should calm down this time.”
“Well, it’s not my fault your stupid tentacles start to just—” You cut yourself by sighing in relief, the same tentacle you were referring to going in circles against your already sensitive clit. “I swear.” You muttered, quickening your pace against Alastor.
Suddenly, you stopped your hand, cursing when the tentacle wouldn’t do the same. At that lack of motion, Alastor swore under his breath, his grin showing annoyance as he grunted. Yet even with shocks of pleasure spreading across you body, you kept a steady face, the smile on your face absolutely shit-eating. “Is someone annoyed already? Doesn’t feel good when pleasure’s just taken from you, does it?” You swiped you thumb against his tip which made Alastor stir. He let out a low, dragged-out moan at the sensation. you repeated the motion, amused at the way Alastor took a sharp inhale and exhale, as if regulating his senses.
Alastor hated the way you pouted at him as if he were some pitiful creature. “Awh, does someone crave what he wants?” You scoffed, swallowing a gulp of saliva as the tentacle on your pussy quickened its pace. you attempted to think of something, anything, that could postpone your orgasm.
Ah, you knew.
Angeldust said something about Valentino having a waterboarding kink. Honestly, the thought of Valentino was enough.
You grinned, tilting your head as you set your pace to be irregular. When you knew Alastor was at the edge, you stopped, then when you knew that it subsided, you would continue. “You thought I wouldn’t make you beg for it?”
Alastor couldn’t help the lewd noises he was making, letting out strangled moans and whines and huffs. Just who do you think you are, making the radio demon beg for you?
Well, you are his wife.
Alastor tried to fight the urge to give in, but the way you were teasing him and playing with his pleasure made him want to snap. He averted your gaze as he muttered something incoherent, but you knew what it was.
You slowed your pace on his cock again, tilting your head in feigned innocence. “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t catch that. You better speak up.” Immediately after you spoke, you bit your lip and cursed internally. You were so desperately close because of what Alastor’s tentacles were doing to you. Hell, you weren't even sure if Alastor knew that his tentacles were pleasing you to the brink of insanity.
Alastor’s pride and ego got the better of him, though, as he mumbled it again, just a bit louder.
“Alastor.” You warned. “Speak. Up.” You quickened your strokes before slowing them down again, smiling as you got the reaction you wanted from Alastor.
“Hhngh, please, darling…” He moaned, his eyelids heavy. Alastor’s grin twitched once more in annoyance. “Please, finish what you started…”
You were going to say something before you felt you coming close. you cursed under your breath, something you didn’t know if Alastor heard you or not. And just as you was about to reach the highest peak, 
The tentacle against your pussy stopped its rubbing, and you whined, arching you back. You were grateful for it, though. You could tease Alastor even more.
“Awh, Alastor,” you taunted. “Surely you can do better than that…right?” You placed a kiss beside the tip, and Alastor suppressed (but horribly failed) the need to moan. “Beg like you mean it.” 
Alastor accidentally whined, his eyebrow twitching once he heard himself. “Please, darling… don’t tease me like this…” You gazed into Alastor’s eyes, a look of mischief on your face as you stroked quicker. 
He moaned heavily, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. “Fuck, please let me finish already…!”
Your eyebrows shot up at that crisp swear, you grin stretching from ear to ear. “You’re getting there, love.” The speed of your strokes gradually increased. Suddenly, you felt the tentacles again, but this time, it was just one. It was two.
You discreetly attempted to glance back, getting interrupted by the thicker one prodding your entrance. you gasped, trying to regain your composure and control over him. You tried your best to focus on Alastor instead. “You’re so cute when you beg; you know that, right?” You propped yourself on your elbows instead of having your other hand support you to play with Alastor’s cock more.
More quickly than he would have wanted, Alastor felt himself losing control. He let out an animalistic groan, gritting his teeth. His shoulders tensed once more as he felt himself getting close. He bucked his hips into your hands, the friction making him whimper ever so slightly. “Please…please, please, please please…”
You had never heard Alastor so whiny, so helpless. It was unlike him, just allowing you to assert yourself in this kind of situation. But hey, you didn’t mind. In fact, you loved it.
You should visit more often.
The hand closer to his tip massaged it with the thumb, making Alastor cry out in response. His breath was shallow and ragged, and his voice was breaking. His radio filter was long gone, and just the sound of his real voice made you go crazy.
You felt yourself nearing your climax, too. With how quickly the two tentacles were either massaging or pumping into you, you realized it was inevitable.
You decided it would be ideal if you came together.
You immediately quickened your pace against him, the fact his whole intimidating facade was gone with how he was muttering pleas made your heart pump, if undead hearts could do so.
Alastor felt kisses against his inner thigh, and that was what sent him over the edge. With a cry of your name, strings and strings of white translucent fluid released itself from his cock. His hearing was compromised with a ringing sound, but he heard you moan his name out just a couple of seconds after him, your grip against him tightening as you never stopped stroking.
His breath hitched as he realized that you weren't going to stop. “Wait, (Name)—” He whined, his head hitting the pillow behind him. It was too much; the feeling, the pleasure, just everything. He hadn’t even touched himself in decades, so to just have someone stroking him even after he came felt painfully pleasurable.
Thankfully, you stopped after some time, your grip loosening as you caught your breath. Somewhere during that time frame, your right hand made its way to his thigh, acting as a pillow for your cheek. your eyes trailed down Alastor’s twitching cock, and you grinned, liking a stripe from base to tip.
He shivered, his eyes closed as he held his forehead. He placed his hand down onto the mattress and… Why were there punctures in it?
Just as Alastor was about to ask, he noticed movement behind you, his brows furrowed. Then, he saw it. He saw the shadowy tentacles he knew were his.
His eyes widened slightly as he looked at the now flushed out you who was half-lidded with your ass in the air. “My dear?”
“Hmmmm?”
“Why are my tentacles…out?”
“Huh?” You glanced back and sweatdropped as you finally realized just how thick they were. No wonder You felt full. “Oh, they–” You cleared your throat. “They were…fucking me. I thought you knew that.”
Alastor’s eye twitched before he let out a chuckle. “Well, I apologize for that, dear. Though, I hope you can still take more, since,” he sat up straight, helping you fix your posture before picking you up by your hips and straddling you against him, your pussy just mere centimeters on top of his cock. “I’ll be handling you now.” Alastor glanced up to look you in the eyes. “Do you consent?”
“You know I always do.”
Alastor huffed out a laugh. “Whatever you say, darling.” He strained himself as he held every ounce of the animalistic urge that he had kept constrained as he made you sink down onto him. A guttural moan forced itself out and he started to grip your hips tighter, using that as a way to bounce you on his cock.
You always knew and understood how mating seasons work, from their cycles to the subject’s attitude during. Well, you needed to read about it; one can never have too much knowledge, right?
You weren't sure about one thing, though: if demons experienced the same kind of cycle that their animal counterpart did. Well, this explains it.
It was obvious that Alastor was attempting to help you adjust to his throbbing dick but just the idea of being inside you drove him towards the edge. He bucked his hips at the same rhythm you bounced on him.
Your mind was clouded with lust and pure bliss. Alastor’s cock was kissing your cervix one too many times, and it sent you to absolute ecstasy. your lips formed a lazy grin as you kissed him hungrily, causing his hips to stutter.
With no ounce of shame left in his body, he allowed himself to groan and whine at every thrust he did in you, savoring how warm everything felt. How ironically heavenly you made him feel. 
The only unfortunate thing in Alastor’s mind was the desire to breed. To fill you up until his cum splattered onto his mattress. He wanted to make a mess of you, and possibly himself in the process. Alastor needed to make sure you knew that you were his, and his alone.
Somehow his lips made their way to your neck, savagely nipping and sinking his teeth into your flesh until he tasted metal. That sweet intoxicating flavor that always drove him wild.
you dug your nails into Alastor’s back, feeling your climax rising up again. It wasn’t long until you were spewing curse words that would make a normal man break down and cry as you felt the cord in your stomach violently snap again. 
But Alastor wasn’t stopping. He started to prioritize his release the moment he slipped inside of you. His pace never faltered; in fact, it quickened at an inhuman speed, causing your gasps of air to be just hiccups.
“You’re making me see stars.” He whispered into your ear, desperate and whiny. He could feel that build up happening again, and this time, he was going to get what he wanted as quickly as possible.
Fuck, just the idea of him cumming inside of you almost broke him. He knew that since you were both sinners, you could no longer have children, but it would never hurt to try, right?
His grip against your hips tightened to ground you in place as moaned as loudly as you had ever heard him. He pumped inside of you, thrusting harshly yet slowly until he felt himself fully inside you. you gasped, feeling your pussy stretch until something absolutely huge squeezed itself inside you.
Wait, did Alastor just–
Loads and loads of cum painted your walls, filling you up to the brim. Alastor’s teeth bit your shoulder as he released inside of you. you felt your mouth dry as you finally gasped for air, involuntary moans coming out for you.
You stayed like that for a minute or two, chests heaving as you caught their breath. Alastor’s knot finally deflated, yet it felt like he didn’t want to leave the position. However, you were still at the hotel, and the others might probably be looking for them.
Even worse, they might think they did something steamy.
Well, you did, but Alastor didn’t want that thought in their heads.
He planted a kiss on your forehead, his lips slightly burning from your skin. “We should get going, my dear.” He whispered, his radio filter back on.
“Did you know you could do that?”
“Do what, love?”
you looked at him through lazy eyes. But even if you did, he could practically feel the mischief beaming through them. “Knot.”
Alastor stitched his eyebrows together, confused. “What’s…knotting?”
you tilted your head. “You don’t know how your cycles work?” He averted your gaze, his ears flopping down in embarrassment. “I’ve never really done this before, dear.”
Your grin turned devilish. “Well…”
Oh, deer (hah). It’s going to be a long night for them.
“Where is Alastor?” Charlie asked, looking around. “I’ve been trying to call him for an hour or so but I haven’t seen him.”
Angeldust snorted before it turned into a cackle. “Like I said, toots! He’s probably in his room, fuckin’ the shit outta (Name).”
“I really doubt tha–” “Good evening, everyone!” Alastor exclaimed, his usual outfit now on. His grin remained constant as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “I do apologize for not being present for the past couple of hours. I had some business to do.”
“Yeah, her.” Angeldust mumbled, a smirk on his face. He lifted his face to look at you. “How was it?”
You just smiled, tilting your head. At that, the whole crew saw what you were trying to show.
Marks and marks of bites all over your neck, bruising it a little. They were surprised that it wasn’t bleeding with how wounded it was. 
Angeldust’s mouth went agape with a smile. He wasn’t entirely serious about that statement, but for it to actually be true? This was a day he never saw coming. “Ho-holy shit!” He exclaimed with a laugh. “I didn’t realize it was actually true!” 
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katsukiizmoon · 6 months
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╰┈➤ ꒰🍓💌🥛 ┊boba time : stealing lip balm꒱
♡ I haven’t been writing like an idiot ! So sorry if my quality is going up and down/ is weird. This isn’t edited and was written on a whim.
Katsuki keeps stealing your lip balms. It isn’t much of an issue until half of your stash is ran through and missing.
You know he has to be the one taking them. Every time you kiss him, he licks his lips a little. Wet tongue swiping over puffy lips, top teeth coming to dig into it. His tongue makes it’s way over his lips again and he lets out a low hum.
Every time except when you’re not wearing a lip balm.
When you aren’t wearing fruity or too-sweet lip balm, he licks his lips quick to get spit off and grunts. The only exceptions to this rule is when you’re making out or in bed. Those are special cases, you decide.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of your sweatshirt, carrying it over your arm. The winding halls of the agency amplify the echo of your steps and huffs. And with a heating face, you make quick work of finding your husband’s office.
The spare key rests in the front pocket of the black bag, nestled safely beneath a clasp and on a key ring. Nimble fingers snatch the metal items out with a clink and your lips curl into a pout. When the door clicks open with the turn of your wrist, your chest puffs out in a final rush of anger.
“Katsuki— where the fuck is my lip balm going?”
The poor boy freezes like a deer caught in headlights. Thick hands fiddle with a massive stack of paper, much too daunting for your own eyes. And he sighs, low and heavy, groaning as they leave the paperwork on wood in defeat.
Mercy, his body language pleads.
“I only got a few of ‘em.” Katsuki grunts and grumbles, leaning up to open a drawer while you shut the door and careen toward him. His eyes dart toward you for a moment and then he rolls backward in his chair. Away from you.
You gawk at the thin drawer filled with a plethora of your lip balms. The shame from katsuki radiates as you tilt your head in confusion and awe.
You turn on your heel with a brow raised.
“Why do you have them?”
Pink lips pout out for a moment, you notice his tongue swiping over his teeth before he sighs for the umpteenth time.
“You taste good— n’ I keep forgetting to give ‘em back.” The pro hero pouts and mumbles a half ass excuse.
You walk closer, standing between his knees now, brows still raised expectantly.
“God fine. Goddamnit, they taste good and my lips are dry so I use them all the time. But I forget to give them back, then I get another, and forget again.”
The exasperated, mildly embarrassed look on his face makes you Cave. You practically coo, looking at his flushed tan cheeks and angry look. His brows furrowed, arms crossed over his chest and pouting like there’s no tomorrow.
“Baby, you can use my lip balms but you gotta bring them back..” you lean forward and kiss the furrow of his brows ”.. it’s kinda cute, but seriously, some of these fuckers are expensive. And some of them are lip plumpers.”
His brows shoot to his hair line, cherry eyes widening as he seems to put two and two together.
Katsuki frowns again and looks away, not wanting to admit it.
“You gotta be shitting me. That’s why my lips have been burning like satans asshole.” His hands fumble around with his pockets until he pulls out a balm— made for lip plumping.
“Yup. Fucker, that’s what you get.” You snicker.
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pinklomito · 3 months
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What if instead of waking up in the mushroom body, sqq woke up in a doll.
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Something something while lbh was away in the abyss, sqq without noticing offended a misterious (demonic-succubi-esque???) cultivator with a weird thing for making dolls. She had dolls all over her secret workshop that she very kindly let him into when she heard about the famous Xiu Ya sword being in the city.
What she wanted of him? Who knows, sqq couldn't bring himself to care. She probably wanted his money or try to steal his hair, the hair of those dolls seemed very much like real hair, although he had to admit the level of details on these dolls were amazing.
(she wanted to trick him into buying one of her cursed dolls and steal his life energy little by little, but got wifebeamed by widow sqq during their conversation about how talented she was to be able to make so many dolls, and without really understanding he rejected her with little to no emotion on his face)
So she cursed him, and since sqq didn't feel anything bad at the moment he thought it just didn't work and left, not sparing the curse a single thought after their encounter.
The rest of the story goes as usual, excep that after he self detonates his soul doesn't go into the mushroom body, instead it got directly into the shape of a doll in the workshop of this woman.
His first thought is thinking someone snitched the mushroom body bc wtf wasn't he supposed to wake up under the dirt??? Why this place smells slightly familiar? Like paint and humidity and floral perfumes?? and why everything looks fucking giganourmus?!?! A teapot should NOT look that big from his position....Oh no, did the mushroom body turned out as small as a squirrel? WhAT is happening?!
And then he looks at his arms and legs, and he has joints. White paper skin with joints in his wrists, elbows, torso, waist, knees, feet. And he panics, a lot.
The woman who cursed him starts monologuing about how she trapped him now, and you are mine, I made this doll specially for you master shen, this is my revenge for your insolence to leave me yada yada- Sqq stoped listening a while ago.
Somehow he manages to escape from this woman and now he is roaming around as the size of some apples. Everything is huge. Everything is dangerous, even the grasshopers! And this body is fragile! He can't feel heat nor cold, neither hunger or other things, but he is useless with no spiritual veins inside, and if someone is not looking carefully, they might crush him. And the way back to cq is gonna be a hell of a trip! But he needs airplane to fix this. He can't stay as a doll forever! He needs a mushroom body and then fly into the sunset far from this mess! Adiós! Goodbye! So his new plan is to infiltrate into cang qiong, look for that rat and disappear. Sneaking into some disciple's pouch must be enough to break in.
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Something something it only had passed a few months since lbh stole sqq's body and everything is still very fresh. CQ mountain is a hot mess. Sqh frankly needs to lay down and take a nap. Lqg keeps figthing with Lbh practially every day and coming back beaten bloody, he has his king pestering him and a lot of paperwork to do, Lbh is a pain in the ass, Yqy is really close to snap and start a war with HHP, and he knows nothing about his bro. So yeah. Such a great time to be alive.
The mushroom bodies should had been ready, right? He must be alright...Yeah. He has enough already to keep him busy. Cucumber bro is gonna come out and stumble across at any moment. No one would bat an eye if he takes a nap, right? He deserves it. He is overworked enough for another lifetime, his head hurts, his bones hurt everywhere, a short nap should be fine...
Until he feels something small tugging his robes and a cold tiny finger poking his eyelids. But he doesn't want to. He is very comfortable on the floor of his office. Whatever bird decided to pick a fight with his face can keep trying.
"AIRPLANE, WAKE UP, YOU HACK! I NEED YOU TO FIX THIS! WHY IS A WITCH WITH ANACHRONISTIC HAUNTED DOLLS IN THIS NOVEL? THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"
That voice. That fucking annoying voice was of just one person and one person only. He opened his eyes, looking for the source of the unmistakable voice of his No1 hater, but he came across with a pretty porcelain doll. With a very ugly sneer in it's face.
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"W-Wha-?...Bro-?!"
"Fucking finally! Why are you sleeping on the floor in your ofice?! I was looking around your bedroom like an idiot! Do you know how close I was to falling from your window?!"
-TBC-
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0cta9on · 2 months
Text
Good Idea
length: 1.6k+ words
Genre: smut
Itzy Chaeryeong x Male Reader
(Author’s Note: Typing this on my phone was a hassle, so apologies if the quality isn’t that great. Enjoy anyways :) )
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【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★
PLAYER TWO WINS
Your friend Chaeryeong throws her hands up to celebrate her victory while you slump deeper into the couch, the bitter sting of your 10th defeat in a row filling your mind.
“Get owned, los-“ Chaeryeong begins to taunt you, but stops as she notices your upset expression. She scoots closer to you, offering you an apologetic look. “Sorry, did I upset you?”
You lightly chuckle at her reaction and shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Chaeryeong.”
“Then what’s wrong, oppa?” She asks, looking up at you expectantly with her big, round eyes. You sigh as you recount the details of your failed date. A couple weeks ago, Chaeryeong recommended you to try a dating app after expressing to her that you wanted to meet someone new. She helped you set up your profile, and after a while of getting left on read, you finally managed to secure a date with a girl who you thought was cute and fun to talk to. Things were going great… Until your first date with her. Your lack of dating experience in the past few years turned you into an awkward, blubbering mess in front of her. It didn’t help that you decided to order the spiciest item on the menu that basically killed any chance you had of salvaging your date (and your taste buds).
Chaeryeong gently rubs your arm as you sink lower into the couch, accepting the fact that you’ll probably die alone.
“I’m sorry, oppa. Is there something I can do to cheer you up?”
“I don’t think there is.” You let out a deep sigh and stare at the ceiling, lost in thought. Maybe dying alone wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not like you haven’t gotten used to being alone by now.
“Um…” Chaeryeong anxiously bites her lip as she turns to look at you. “Do you wanna try touching my boobs?”
Your head jerks up as your eyes widen in shock. “W-what did you just say?”
“I read somewhere on the internet that guys like touching boobs.” Her wide innocent eyes stare back at you without a single thought behind them. Chaeryeong had a habit of blurting out strange things, but this is by far the most insane thing she has ever said.
“I-I mean, you’re not wrong, b-but…” You were at a complete loss of words by her proposition, but you couldn’t help scan your eyes down her body. Her white ruffled tank top accentuated her breasts while also showcasing her tiny waist and sexy abs she achieved from years of being a dancer. Paired with her skin tight jeans that emphasized her curvy ass and thighs, you almost humored the idea of running your hands all over her body.
“W-why? Just why?” you ask, confused yet slightly turned on.
“Because you’re my friend and I don’t like seeing you so upset,” she responded with a pout on her lip and puppy dog eyes. It was practically impossible to say no to her whenever she made that face. With a sigh, you end up giving in.
“O-okay okay, fine. Just… You offered this, so no telling anyone I did anything weird, alright?” Beneath your apprehension, your heart was pounding with excitement. Not getting any action for years made you go feral at the simple thought of copping a feel.
A smile grows on Chaeryeong’s face as she giggles with elation. “Okay!” She sits on your lap, her ass pushing against your crotch. “Don’t be shy, oppa,” Chaeryeong teases as she grabs your wrists, placing your hands on her ample chest covered by her top. You instinctively squeeze her breasts, eliciting a cute moan from her lips. Almost instantly, your cock begins to strain in your pants, smushed against Chaeryeong’s ass, as your primal urges begin to take over.
“Looks like someone is excit- MMM!!” Chaeryeong’s words are interrupted by your mouth kissing on the supple skin of her neck. All of your inhibitions fade from your body, every action driven solely by hunger. You couldn’t deny how sexy your friend was as she succumbed to your every move. Each squeeze of her chest, each nibble of her ear, each lick on her neck turned her body into putty, completely malleable in your hands. This became evident in how you are able to lift her top without resistance, exposing her braless tits.
Chaeryeong’s mounds were absolutely perfect in your palms, soft yet firm and perfectly round. Paired with her toned abs, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to be able to rub your hands all over her amazing body.
“D-do you- ah! Do you feel b-better, o-oppa?” Chaeryeong asked in between moans. You couldn’t help but chuckle at her adorable innocence as if she wasn’t being completely violated by you.
“Yes, I feel a lot better. I want you to feel better too,” you whisper into her ear in a sultry tone as your hand traces down her torso, causing her body to shiver in response. Chaeryeong giggles at your touch, biting her lip as she looks at you with complete lust in her eyes. You slowly unbutton her jeans, making sure she was watching. Her beautiful chest begins to rise and fall with heavy, anticipatory breaths. The urge to completely ruin your best friend was ever present in your mind, but you wanted to take things slowly. Savor every second of this experience.
Chaeryeong, on the other hand, was growing steadily impatient. “Oppa~” she whined, pouting her lips at you.
“So needy,” you chuckle before grabbing her chin and kissing her lips. She immediately melts into the delicate kiss as your fingers play with the hem of her panties. Slowly, you inch your hand closer to her wetness, teasing her skin with each scrape of your fingernails. Chaeryeong lightly moans into your mouth, her body shivering with pleasure. You graze her clit, causing her body to jolt from the contact.
“O-oh my g-god…” she groans, giggling with delight. You grab Chaeryeong’s chin with your free hand, watching her expression change as you plunge your middle finger deep into her pussy. Her mouth gapes open as she lets out a deep guttural moan, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. With your libido at an all time high, your mouth latches onto her neck as you insert a second finger into her heat, plunging your digits in and out of her until your hand starts to cramp.
“F-f-f-f-fuckkk!!!” Chaeryeong’s squeals, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. The walls of her pussy squeezed against your fingers as she came, staining her pants and your hand with her nectar. Her body suddenly goes limp as the high from her orgasm leaves her breathless.
“You okay, Chaeryeong?” you ask, smirking at her.
“Y-yeah… I feel… amazing…” She lazily plants kisses on your cheek in gratitude. This experience was definitely unforgettable - but you weren’t done yet. At this point, it was impossible to ignore your raging hardon, especially when Chaeryeong’s ass was rubbing all over it.
Standing up, you gently lay her down on the couch. She watched you, biting her lip, as you stripped her of her jeans and her soaked panties, leaving her bottom half completely nude. Her fit body was glistening with sweat and her sweet juices.
“Please take me already, oppa. I’m all yours,” Chaeryeong said, winking at you with a naughty grin. Without hesitation, you strip your clothes off, leaving them in a messy pile on the other side of the room. Your heart pounded with anticipation and lust as you lined up your cock with your best friend’s wet hole.
Church bells ring in your head as you slowly insert the tip of your penis into her. Chaeryeong’s body was complete perfection, both inside and out. A wave of ecstasy flows through you as her walls squeeze your member. You lean forward, catching Chaeryeong’s tit in your mouth as you continue to push through. Her cute moans fill the room, music to your ears.
“Mmm!! F-fuck… so b-big, oppa…” Her words were confirmation enough for you to start thrusting your hips into her. You start nice and slow, taking out most of your cock before plunging it back inside her heat. The jiggle of her breasts as you fucked her was mesmerizing.
Suddenly, she grabbed your face, forcing you to look at her. “F-faster… p-please, oppa,” she pleads, her wide eyes practically begging you to ruin her. You smirk, planting a gentle kiss on her lips before grabbing her hips and pounding her cunt with your hard dick. The rest of the world faded around you as you went rampant with pleasure. Pressure began to build in your loins, a sign of your impending orgasm. With the last of your strength, you slammed Chaeryeong down onto your cock, forcing her to match the rhythm of your thrusts.
Sensing your orgasm, Chaeryeong wraps her legs around your waist. “C-cum inside me, oppa. I-It’s okay.” With one final thrust, you went over the edge. Chaeryeong’s sweet pussy milked your cock completely dry. You collapsed back onto the couch, drained of all your energy.
“H-holy fuck… that was incredible,” you commented as you caught your breath. Chaeryeong snuggled up against you, smiling.
“I’m glad I could make you feel better, oppa.”
You couldn’t help but pepper her cute face with kisses. “If you’re gonna do this every time I’m sad, then I should go on failed dates more often,” you joked, earning a chuckle from her.
“Orrrrr, you could just go on a successful date with me and fuck me anyways,” she suggested, giggling as she bit her lip.
“I think I like your idea better.” With one final kiss, the two of you doze off in each other’s arms.
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dwobbitfromtheshire · 7 months
Text
Steve and Eddie are connected through the bat bites, but they don't realize it. They don't understand when they feel pain throughout the day sometimes. Like Steve stubs his toes and sitting in his trailer, Eddie suddenly feels like he had stubbed his toe, but he didn't move at all. It was Robin who had figured it out. Eddie was leaning against the counter, talking to her when he said something stupid that she had to smack him for. Meanwhile, Steve was busy stacking shelves.
"Ow!" Steve exclaimed.
"You alright over there, Stevie?" Eddie asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Steve said. "Just a twinge in my left arm."
Robin furrowed her eyebrows. That was the same arm that she had hit Eddie. She reached over and pinched his right arm.
"Ow!"
"You okay?" Eddie asked Steve.
"Yeah. Weird. It was my right arm this time," Steve said, standing up.
"By the way, what the hell are you doing, Buckley?" Eddie asked.
"Testing a theory," Robin said and flicked him between the eyes.
Steve had his back to them, but she could clearly see him rubbing his forehead.
"Ow! Goddamn! What the hell is that?!" Steve exclaimed.
"You mind clueing me in - ," Eddie started to say.
He never got to finish because Robin raised her hand and slapped him hard across the cheek as Steve turned around. Eddie cursed and clutched his cheek as Steve did the same. Steve’s eyes widened.
"Have you been hitting Eddie this whole time?" Steve asked.
"I don't know what I did to incur your wrath, Buckley, but whatever is I'm fucking sorry," Eddie said.
"Eds, she's been hitting you, and I've been feeling your pain," Steve said.
"Oh. OH! Is that why I felt like I had stubbed my toe the other day?" Eddie asked.
"Yeah, that was me," Steve replied and then frowned, looking thoughtful. "Why was I suddenly turned on the other day?"
"Oh. Would you look at the time?" Eddie said, looking at his wrist and yawning. "It's past my bedtime."
He ran out the door so quickly that Steve and Robin expected there to be cartoon dust clouds left in his wake.
"Eddie said he hadn't got around to replacing his watch yet," Steve frowned.
"Yeah, he also doesn't have a bedtime, Steve," Robin said and paused. "Plus, it's 5 pm."
"Right."
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