#but that does not making walking away now any easier
Note
Hi! I would love to request some cuddling scenarios with Lucifer, Alastor, and Vox!
SOFT MOMENT OF NON SEXUAL INTIMACY?! IN THIS HOUSE?! Yes, please!
It's implied romantic but could be queer platonic or a queer/nontraditional couple.
Lucifer
This man wants snuggles. Any way he can get them any time, he isn't required to not be physically attached to you. He really struggles with derealization/depersonalization. His depression gets bad, he isolates, and time has pretty much lost meaning to him after being around so long, so he just kinda, wastes away into sadness. It's how he and Charlie fell apart the first time, and he really doesn't want it to happen again.
Having you around to just talk to, hold hands with, sit on your lap, or you in his, it helps. It's like a reminder that he's still alive and someone wants to be around him. Someone wants to spend time with him. That you care. It also motivates him to stay in contact with Charlie instead of convincing himself she's better without him.
He still loves Lillith, regrets they aren't together, but he doesn't blame her for leaving. He's more upset with how it affects Charlie. So he makes extra effort to spend time with you, to acknowledge how important you are to him. He's so paranoid about ruining this relationship. This man has centuries of being told everything is his fault, everything wrong with the world, and is forced to face that supposed truth every day he rules Hell.
His favorite thing is just pulling you on top of him like a weighted blanket, wrapping his wings around the both of you, and laying in a dark, warm, cocoon. He'll take deep breaths, pet your hair, and just let himself finally relax. The first few times you'd stayed quiet, assuming that's what he wanted, but it just makes it easier for him to disassociate.
Now you talk to him, softly, about your day, ask about his. You slowly get him to open up about his favorite things, good memories he has of Lillith, baby Charlie, the sins, times before the Fall. It's a long process to get him to talk about it. Please be patient and gentle with him. He likes when you play with his fingers while he talks, just holding his hand and twisting and turning it, moving his rings around, just don't touch his wedding ring please, maybe you even manage to do his nails in this position.
His second favorite is when you help preen his feathers, gently massaging his wing joints, polishing each feather with the oil from his glands, using your thumbs to work out knots in the muscles around the base. It always turns into a full back massage that leaves him purring, making happy sighing sounds and little moans. He usually falls asleep like this. Don't worry though, once he wakes up, he's definitely returning the favor. He does head massages too! He prepares a little personal spa day for you.
He isn't really looking for anything more intimate when he's in one of sadder moods and is cuddling with you to feel better, he wouldn’t turn it down, he's too afraid you'd be upset, but he really just wants to be held or to hold someone. It's the little things that really make you special to him, and he cherishes every second you guys are together.
Alastor
We all know Alastor isn't a fan of being touched unless he initiates it. There are very few exceptions to this, so you have to be pretty close to him to even get the option to cuddle him.
You'll have to start slow, like holding his hand. A lot of people think he's the type to not want to do too much PDA, but like, look at how he is with Rosie and Mimzy in front of everyone. He doesn't care. Not for small things like hand holding. This eventually leads to him putting his arm around your waist as you're walking together, or around your shoulders if you're sitting next to each other so you can lean on his shoulder.
Now more intimate gestures, like cheek kisses, forehead kisses, petting his ears, those are private. He will resist at first, preferring to lavish you with attention, but be stubborn, match his energy, especially the witty banter, and eventually you'll wear him down.
It's canon that Alastor's hardly ever sleeps, so I imagine if you're a motherly type, (regardless of gender), or someone he genuinely trusts (because its not about if he's safe. He's the Radio Demon, very few sinners are a threat to him, so being a little vulnerable with you is safe no matter the level of trust) he's going to pass out.
You're in his room (or yours, but he prefers his) and he agreed to let you pet his ears. You settle on the bed, his head on your chest or lap, and he closes his eyes, soft jazz music playing from some unseen source, and maybe you're watching something on your phone, (he allows it only if it's something he can enjoy as well, but he usually winds up listening more than watching because screens hurt his eyes after awhile) more likely you're listening to a podcast, Alastor likes listening to true crime with you.
Your fingers gently run through his hair at first. You tease him about the bob sometimes, but understand that he's prone to pulling his hair out otherwise. Eventually you notice the music has stopped and Alastor's fast asleep, the smile on his face is so small it nearly doesn't exist, and his breathing is slow and even. His ears twitch when you stop petting them, and he stirs a bit, so you quickly resume playing with them and he falls back asleep.
(His tail is sensitive too, if you ever wanna fluster him, just run a finger down his spine to that cute little tail and give it a gentle tug.)
Alastor is also prone to play biting, so if you're an excited nibbler who gives noms, expect your cuddles to end up with a few bite marks.
Vox
It's really hard for him to sit still long, so if he's working late and you want to spend time with him, just crawl yourself into his lap and get comfy. He'll grumble and complain about the distraction, but it's all for show. He'll put his arm around your waist and trace your hipbones with his thumb, or play with your hair, run his fingers up and down your back, just small fidgety things.
He understands his head is inconvenient for snuggles, and he may not be the most comfortable. (I headcanon his body is built like the Detroit Become Human bots, with like silicone padding to appear/feel like skin, but it's hard plastic and metal and wires underneath with biomechanical parts inside.)
He is warm, though, and has the constant hum of his internal fans and electricity, so he's great for sensory snuggles. He's great for when you're sore or have migraines (surprisingly, but he can turn his brightness down at will). He likes to do more traditional forms of PDA.
He walks with his hand on your lower back. (He and Alastor both absolutely do the subconscious walk with their partners on the inside and them closest to the streets or alleyways. Lucifer would, but he probably isn't even aware it's a thing.)
You're cooking/baking/doing anything with your back to him, he puts his hands on your waist and leans against you. He's 7ft tall so he probably won't lean his entire body on you, but enough to feel close to you.
His favorite snuggles are disgustingly domestic. Like, his all time favorite, is when you're both sitting together on a couch, enjoying a movie or show, or maybe you're reading or on your phone or gaming, and he's working, just anytime you're occupying the couch together and existing, he'll pull your feet into his lap and massage them.
It's not like, a fetish thing, he just thinks it's sweet. A nice gesture to show how much he appreciates what you do, how hard you work. He'll massage your ankles and calfs too. He's also prone to trying to play with your hair and massage your scalp when you're laying on his chest at night, but his claws get tangled easily. Settles for rubbing your shoulders/back.
He likes when you rub his back and neck too. The man spends way too much time hunched over his desk at work. His back aches from doing the gremlin hunch over his desk to standing ramrod straight in front of cameras, sitting properly and confidently, stiff as a fucking board. You once teased him about how he could just use one of his cardboard cutouts as a stand-in, and no one would know.
Other times, he likes to lay on you. The first few times he sprawled across your lap seeking affection and reassurance for his fragile ego, you'd been so nervous to crack his screen. But now you're more used to it and will even playfully try and poke it/tap it. Between you and Valentino, Vox has had to rule out ever getting a touch screen for a head, because neither of you will stop fucking with it. It does make him laugh, though, adorable little giggles he'd rather die than let the general public hear. It usually turns into a playful wrestling match and aggressive cuddles with a side of petty static electricity from Vox.
#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel lucifer#vox x reader#alastor x reader#lucifer x reader
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Mansion walks
This is mostly just a ramble post, but I keep imagining, because it's getting warmer, that Slender has made the executive decision to start going on mansion walks with everybody. He thought that it would be better if everyone started getting out and getting fresh air more, despite complaints that they get outside enough as it is, so now every day they go on walks together as a group. Some of them handle this much better than others, but they're surviving.
BEN handles it the worst. He goes in his physical form, and while BEN does actually like getting out and walking around, he cannot handle the heat at all, so he's panting and sweaty and uncomfortable by the time they get back, and he just wants to collapse and not go out anymore. However, he still goes because as much as he won't admit it, it's fun being out there with everyone, joking around and talking while they walk.
Jason also can't stand it. He has a visceral hatred for bugs so he doesn't like just wandering around the woods in general, but it also causes his hair to get all frizzy from the humidity, and he doesn't want to get dirty or gross at all so he spends most of the walks focusing on avoiding any mud or dirt or nature in general because he would much rather be back in the mansion in his clean, sterile environment and away from all of the grossness of the woods. He argues they should all just go to a park or something that is more open and spacious, but Slender always reminds him that it's just easier and faster to walk through the woods, rather than trying to get everyone to a park.
Jeff, Toby, and Natalie handle it the best. Jeff has always loved the outdoors since he was a kid, constantly running around outside to stay out of his shitty living situation, and Natalie was the same way. On the flip side, Toby's inability to go outside growing up has made him treasure being outside, and he prefers spending his time out there. The three of them are usually leading the group, and the most excited and boisterous to be out there running around and getting out in nature. The three of them benefit a lot mentally and physically from these walks, and it really shows in their improvements overall since the daily walks have started.
While some of them voice complaints about the situation though, all of them are showing some form of general improvement from being able to get out and be in the sun, soaking in some fresh air for a little bit every day. It gets them all closer, providing everyone a time when they're all together in the same place and able to talk and catch up with things. It allows Slender to keep his eyes on them and catch up with them as well, making sure everyone is doing okay and feeling fine. It's good team building for them, and good for their mental and physical health overall, and so the morning/evening (depending on the weather) daily walks have become a mansion staple. It probably also helps that Slender makes everyone a bunch of snacks and fresh drinks when they all get home to reward them for it. It makes him very happy to see them all getting along and being more active instead of just sitting in their rooms all day.
And, you know, it would make him even happier if you'd join them on those walks too, as would everyone else. You always liven things up, and your company would make it even better for everyone involved, so make sure you're getting out and walking too. They'll be proud of you and happy for it.
#creepypasta#creepypasta headcanons#creepypasta headcanon#creepypasta x reader#slender mansion mayhem#slenderman#slenderman headcanons#slenderman headcanon#ben drowned#ben drowned headcanons#ben drowned headcanon#jason the toymaker#jason the toymaker headcanon#jason the toymaker headcanons#ticci toby#ticci toby headcanon#ticci toby headcanons#jeff the killer headcanons#jeff the killer headcanon#jeff the killer#clockwork#clockwork headcanons#clockwork headcanon
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Power Play // Chapter Eight // Hockey-Omens AU
Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV.
Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.
This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.
Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @curse-bearing-hips @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @moranastray @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @collective-heartbreak @littlefoxkota @somebodyels3 @thisbicc @jakeygvf21 @cind6547 @lma1986 @loeytuan98 @xxkittenkissesxx @shaydayhere
As I shuffle from foot to foot, waiting impatiently, the massive sphere looms over me, slowly turning to showcase the etched lettering that reads Universal Studios. The brilliant water show happening just behind me provides a melodic backdrop, but does little to soothe my growing unease. Across the way, crowds of excited guests pour through the front gates, many already wearing silly souvenir hats or clutching stuffed animals they bought. Their joyful shrieks echo from inside the park. But here I remain, alone, checking my phone again for any word from Noah who is now 15 minutes late. It would have been easier to carpool but I was so adamant on it only being casual I thought a car ride together would push the boundaries-what was I thinking? I crane my neck, scanning the constant stream of park-goers for any sign of them. Meanwhile, just down the palm-tree lined streets, casual shoppers laugh and chat as they drift in and out of kitschy gift shops and overpriced restaurants.
I stand conflicted, torn between listening to the voice in my head urging me to leave and salvage my pride or staying to enjoy the sunny day alone in the park. My mind races, replaying our last conversation where he promised to meet me here, yet now I wait aimlessly for a text explaining his absence. I shift my weight between feet, denim shorts swishing against my bare thighs as I kick at the sidewalk in frustration. Arms crossed, I glance around, taking in the groups laughing together on the grass while I wait solitary by the lot. With a huff, I turn to leave, chucks scuffing the pavement with each reluctant step. I make it only a short distance before pausing, a glimmer of hope making me pivot back. I fish my phone from my pocket, refreshing my notifications despite knowing the empty screen awaiting me.
Noah: Hey, traffic was terrible. Got our tickets online meet me at the front gates.
The text came in two minutes ago. When I was standing around contemplating my life choices, I feel like an idiot. Had he seen me stomping away? I take a deep breath walking down the red painted walk to the front gates. I spot him before he spots me, leaning on one shoulder against a palm tree closest to the ticket booth.
His casual look is simple but it’s making my insides swim and spin in circles. The shorts are a classic neutral that matches anything, hitting just above his knees to show off muscular, tattooed calves. His socks and shoes are bright white, like he just stopped by the store to get them specifically for today. On top stands out a bold red hoodie with the hockey team's logo plastered boldly on the front, impossible to miss in a sea of people. His focus is downwards at his phone, hand absentmindedly brushing over short brown hair, drawing my eyes to the fresh cut he got just this morning. The ends are crisp and clean, neatly trimmed in a way that shapes his head, sharpening his look.
“Hey,” he says as I close the distance between us looking up at me from behind his shades, “Sorry traffic was a killer, sometimes I am afraid my old ‘09 car is gonna crap out on the freeway.”
"No worries," I say self-consciously, as I begin tugging at the hem of my shorts and shirt in a futile attempt to cover more of the bare skin I had purposely chosen to flaunt just moments before. I'm not sure why I suddenly feel so exposed and vulnerable, wishing I had worn something more modest, but his intense gaze is making me painfully aware of just how little clothing I have on. As if sensing my unease, he reaches for my hand, gently interlacing our fingers together and giving me a reassuring squeeze. With a warm smile, he leads us towards the mobile ticket booth at the park's entrance. I watch as he smoothly pulls up the e-tickets on his phone, which the attendant scans before snapping bright yellow paper wristbands onto each of our wrists.
"Have fun!" she chirps cheerfully, waving us through the turnstile into the park. Still holding my hand securely, he guides me into the bustling crowd of families and thrill-seekers.
We scatter around the amusement park, darting from ride to ride but never fully committing to more than one at a time. Most of our time is spent waiting in the snaking queues, chattering away about anything and everything to pass the time. We debate our favorite movies - the epic adventures we could watch over and over and the cheesy romcoms we secretly love. We groan about the overhyped blockbusters that left us bored and disappointed.
The line stretches on endlessly, filled with eager witches and wizards of all ages clad in Hogwarts robes and brandishing imitation wands they had purchased at the souvenir shops. They jostle against each other, craning their necks to see how much longer the wait will be, too caught up in their anticipation to pay heed to personal space. I pull in on myself, trying to avoid the constant bumps and shoves from the overly enthusiastic crowd. Mumbling half-hearted apologies, they repeat the same motions over and over as they surge forward whenever the line moves an inch. Their reckless abandon grates on me, fraying my nerves until I'm overwhelmed by the suffocating press of bodies. Just when I think I can't stand it any longer, I feel Noah's hands encase my shoulders before he pulls me back against his chest. He crosses his arms around me, enveloping my tiny frame within the safe harbor of his embrace. Sheltered there with his chin resting atop my head, the chaotic crowd no longer seems so oppressive.
The hours fly by in each other's company. I walk slowly as I munch on the Minon Cafe nachos I purchased trying to get a generous amount of cheese, onions and barbeque on one chip. The savory blend of flavors bursts across my tongue with each crunchy bite. Noah stands next to me watching me munch on my food, his lips occasionally curving into a soft smile as he finds amusement in my puffed out chipmunk cheeks struggling to contain the mouthfuls of nachos. I return the expression with my own cheeks puffed out to maximum capacity, my mouth so full of the delicious tex-mex treat that I can barely chew let alone speak. The boys rush up to us without warning, their sneakers scuffing along the pavement. Two gangly teen boys with all the awkward acne and scattered facial hair that comes with puberty stand before us, the shortest one flashing a braces-filled smile as he and his lanky friend try to catch their breath after jogging to catch up with us.
"Hey man," the shorter one greets Noah, a slight lisp detectable as he speaks, "Love the hoodie. We're big Rooks fans." His eyes light up with admiration as they fixate on the sports team logo emblazoned across Noah's chest.
"Oh thanks," Noah replies, his smile broadening as he briefly glances down at the jacket he is wearing despite the intense heat, acting as though he had no idea he was sporting the coveted team merch.
"Whose your favorite player?" the other kid asks eagerly, practically bouncing on his toes. Noah shakes his head and I swear I see a little blush rise in his cheeks, his modest nature taking over. He reaches up and slowly removes the sunglasses from his face. As his identity is revealed, I turn back to look at the boys and see their starstruck expressions morph into sudden realization of who it is they are actually talking to.
The boys ask Noah for photos and autographs. He happily obliges, flashing his pearly white smile for selfies and signing various items. After a few minutes, the boys scamper off, thrilled with their interactions. Noah slides his sunglasses back on and turns to me with a grin stretching ear to ear.
"You seem to be a popular player," I joke as I toss my trash and brush the chip crumbs from my hands.
"It's not often I'm stopped without the team around," he admits with a casual shrug. "Puck bunnies usually," he adds. I involuntarily cringe at the mention of that term, memories of my reckless youth flooding back. I was quite the rebel in my teen years, making a string of poor choices with some of the players on my dad's college team. While I was never in it for the money or fame like those so-called "puck bunnies," I'd still made decisions I wasn't proud of, motivated by little more than teenage hormones and lust.
"You would think," Noah continues, "Being here there would be more popular celebrities to see than me." He shrugs off the comment trying to lighten the mood. I shake off whatever it is that bothers me and force a smile.
"Maybe they are all hiding," I say pointing to the studio tour ride. Just below the theme park are the studios where they often are filming - it's entirely possible celebrities of all types lurk below us without us knowing. Noah's face brightens at my suggestion and his eyebrows raise behind his sunglasses. His excitement is palpable as he takes my hand and drags me across the park to the escalators, paying the extra toll for the ride. I can't help but grin, caught up in his enthusiasm. We hurry onto the trolley, Noah helping me into the far back seat.
We're squeezed into the very back seat, thighs touching, the tour guide going on about the studio and celebrities we might see roaming around. I'm not even listening. I’m too focused on Noah’s arm draped behind me. His fingers drift lightly over my arm, barely making contact, but it's enough to make my heart race.
As the trolley trundles along through the winds and curves, I turn my head to gaze out the large open sides of the tram, feigning distraction while my mind races. I'm scanning the scenery with unseeing eyes, lost in a vivid daydream. In my fantasy, we sneak away from the crowds flocking through the park and slip into one of its shadowy alcoves, hidden from view. He presses me against the rough brick wall, his strong body pinning mine as his hands roam my curves. Our breaths grow ragged with anticipation and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he drives himself into me, right there out in the open where anyone could happen by. My heart pounds at the illicit thrill even as my inner muscles clench around him. Just then, his deep voice breaks through my scandalous reverie.
"You hungry?" As I turn back, our noses brush in sudden proximity and instinctively I recoil. But his arm around my shoulders tightens, holding me close so that our lips nearly meet. I swallow hard, nodding my head dropping my eyes down to stop myself from staring at my own reflection in his black sunglasses.
“Here or downtown?” His free hand comes between us, his index finger tapping my nose before dropping down to cup my chin and tilt my head up to look at him again. I see myself staring back from his dark sunglasses, the faint sight of his eyes behind them, and I know I'm done for.
Noah’s POV
“Mmm, fuck, you’re so good to me, aren’t you little fox?” The subtle music from the shops of studio city provided the backdrop as we found a secluded corner shielded by palm trees and trash bins. My hands gripped her hips tightly, bracing her against the brick wall as I moved rhythmically, struggling to keep my shorts from falling. Her body pressed hard into the wall with each thrust as I hit that sensitive spot inside her, eliciting muffled moans from behind her hand clasped firmly over her mouth. Her nails dug sharply into my shoulder, urging me on as my tempo increased. We were lost in the moment, oblivious to anything but each other and the risky thrill. The distant chatter was drowned out by her gasps of pleasure, spurring me to quicken the pace.
“Fuck, I’m almost there baby.” I brought her down on my cock she rotates her hips to meet me with each thrust. Fuck. I can't get enough of this girl, she has me absolutely addicted in every way. From the moment I wake up, she is the first thought that crosses my mind. I find myself constantly daydreaming about her throughout the day, picturing her smile, her laugh, the way her nose crinkles when she's focused. I can't go five minutes without needing to touch her, to feel her soft skin under my fingertips. Her presence soothes me, excites me, consumes me. I want to talk to her all the time, hear her voice, her thoughts, her dreams. I've caught myself staring at her apartment balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, longing to see that cute, sleepy look she gets when she's just waking up. I'm not proud to admit it, but I'm utterly infatuated. When we're together, it's electric - the sex is mind blowing, earth shattering, unlike anything I've ever experienced. I can't get enough of her body, the way she feels, tastes, smells. She has me completely intoxicated, addicted, obsessed.
“fuck me, please.” The rhythmic panting in my ear spurs me on, driving my movements with an intoxicating urgency. Lost in the moment, I'm only dimly aware of footsteps approaching in the distance. But I cannot bring myself to stop, not when we’re so close.
Her skin is flush against mine, damp with perspiration from the sweltering summer air. As our foreheads meet, her face contorts in ecstasy, lips forming a perfect ‘O’ while her eyes roll back. She tightens around me, her body quivering. I wish I could freeze this instant, to imprint the exquisite sight of her unraveling in my mind. I come with one last thrust and we stand there, muscles shaking, breath heaving.
I catch my breath quickly waiting for her thighs to stop shaking before I am setting her down slowly, shielding her as she steadies on her feet, trying to bend at the waist and lift a shaky leg through her denim shorts.
Her delicate hand feels light in mine as I gently pull her out to the shopping center, people glance our way and I see her cheeks turn red. People have no idea what we just did, but I do and seeing her shy like this, I find it cute. I spot the burger joint and we slip inside and find a cozy booth by the window. The waiter takes our order - a juicy burger and fries for her, just a cold beer for me. As we wait, she becomes utterly engrossed in the football game blaring on the massive flatscreen above the bar. I watch her eyes light up whenever her team makes a big play. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself getting drawn into the game too.
In the back of my mind, I can't help thinking about my own team - how in just a couple days I'll be back on the ice with them, immersed in the sweat and adrenaline of competition. Part of me itches to be cleared for practice again, to feel the smooth feeling of the ice beneath my skates, to hear the swish of the net as I sink a perfect shot. But a larger part of me knows I'd rather be right here, in this moment, with her. For now, the game on TV is just background noise. The thing that has my full attention is the way she smiles at me from across our little booth, eyes shining, cheeks still flushed. This is where I'm meant to be.
#bad omens#noah sebastian#bad omens cult#noahsebastian fanfic#bad omens band#hockey player noah#hockey#bad omens au#bad omens smut#hockey romance#hockeyomens#hockey player!noah#badomensau#hockey!au#hockey player x reader#hockeyromance#bad omens bandom
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It's 100% true that the Roy siblings did not choose to be Logan's children and Tom and Greg and the old guard did choose to work for him so their relationships to Logan are fundamentally different, and the degree of culpability they bear for their own moral degradation is also wildly different. But workplace emotional abuse is also very real and omnipresent in the way Logan treats the people who work for him. And one of the impacts of workplace emotional abuse is creating an extreme attachment to the abuser and becoming less cognizant and even defensive of their abuse towards yourself and others, and in cases where the emotional abuse is institutionalized and systemic it can also create a strong aversion to leaving because your whole sense of personal identity becomes wrapped up in the organization and so being forced to leave can cause an intense psychological crisis. I don't think the situation of working for Logan is at all equivalent to being his child but I also think that it's a bit misguided to imply that Tom and Gerri and Frank and Karl are operating from a place of pure rationality without any undue psychological influences when they make the choice to stay with and support Logan
#used to work at a place that had an extremely emotionally abusive president for years and years and the people who worked there long term#were FUCKED UP. it was wild#i think it's easy to overlook that on succ bc it's very secondary to whats going on with the roy family proper. as it should be#but I also think one of the questions succ explores in tom as a character (and others) is how difficult it can be to leave these situations#even if you did choose to get into them#I don't think 'tom can leave at any time' is really a fair assessment bc technically yes. but practically? psychologically?#like yes he bears responsibility for getting himself into this situation due to his own greed and selfishness in a way the roy kids do not#but that doesn't mean it's easy or straightforward to walk away#also. tom is married to shiv which places him in the unique position where the only way to walk away is to cut off both his wife#and the company he's spent his whole life at#he could have NOT married shiv this is very true. and I think the choice to marry her even after she lied to him about sleeping with nate#means that he did have some idea of what he was getting into. he knew this was not going to be the fairytale marriage he wanted#he already knew about cruises too. he knew waystar was corrupt#that moment was the opportunity to walk away and he did NOT take it#and that is on him#but that does not making walking away now any easier
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Daily Log 4
Trying out (probably just temporarily) making short daily-ish notes about things, in an attempt to see if it helps me be more reflective or productive lol.
Activities: Woke up late because I went back to sleep with a headache briefly, then kind of struggled to focus all day ToT
Worked more on the aforementioned tapestry/painting type of thing. I've done the base layer of painting for the main image, now I'm lining in darker outlines. I wanted to finish the center art before getting into the intricate borders. Still haven't translated the text lol..
Made a small bowl and also a little box with a lid out of more avocado pits. Still just with random nail cuticle tool things and kitchen knives, as I don't have proper carving tools.
Finished editing and proofreading the new poll adventure post!! I don't have time to post it tonight because I need to get to sleep early but.. I have it Completely 100% Ready.. finally..
Also washed the clothes I got together yesterday. Called about the bloodwork. Sent an email to a doctor.
Reviewed some writing documents to get back into my game maybe?? (basically, I started working on a visual novel type game a few years ago, decided it was a huge project so kind of put it on the backburner for a while in favor of things that were more easily finishable/tangible. then later on a game website I play (similar to neopets or something, there are collectable little creatures, etc.) there was an opportunity for me to design a pet on site, so I made a smaller shorter visual novel centered around that, where people on the site have to play the game in order to earn the pet, and I have a google form for them to answer a few short questions about it. All of the feedback is quite positive (reached 200 responses a while ago! though still only like 4 comments on the itch.io page lol.. Mandatory Form vs. Optional Comments evil showdown), but sometimes I get commentary that's really enthusiastic and inspires me to start back working on the OTHER bigger game. The small game was kind of like, a proof of concept that was safe because I had a guaranteed audience, that has helped me gain more insight for the larger one.
Anyway, since I've abandoned the Main Large Game for so long, I have to re-read and review/probably rewrite A LOT of things just to pick it back up again as A Thing I'm Actively Working On, so it's another one of those tasks that I do maybe 45 minutes of and then realize it's going to take days and days and get discouraged lol..
Notable sights: Saw two cats in windows. No clovers. It rained a little today but I didn't get to go outside and see it. One of the pieces of asparagus in the fridge was like the size of a carrot, comically overgrown downright ridiculous looking asparagus. Maybe I'll get taller after eating it.
Goals moving forward: Consistent sleep schedule. Focus on social activities, finding new friends in the places I want to move, communicating with ones I have. Physical therapy exercises. Plant nasturtiums. Finish and upload videos, edit costume pictures & etc.
Notable foods: ASPARAGUS AGAIN BABEY.. yeaAAAAGHHH asparagus squad !!!!!!
#just posting these publicly since it feels more like I'm doing something or easier to hold yourself accountable if you make public#declarations of goals and progress or etc. .. perhaps.. for now..#I wonder if you can eat too much asparagus. Hopefulyl I don't get sick ghjbj#Still craving lots of savory foods and soups. Also in a big big worldbuilding mood.#Not enough to actually edit the worldbuilding slideshow videos apparently since I've barely done any of that all week#>:Y#(they are different though.. actively writing wolrdbuilding is different from like.. editing recordings of you talking about it#BUT STILL...)#In an ideal world I have a little house in scotland or canada or something and am sitting cozy by a window watching it#rain whilst I eat lasagna and like a huge buffet table of every single hearty food I am having Anemia Cravings for#and my cat is sitting near me and I am furiously sketching various designs for different worldbuilding details. I have finally found#a weird hermit platonic best friend I'm compatible enough to live with and they are up in the attic doing their own weird little hobbies#but every once in a while I can call them down and tell them about an idea so we can bounce concepts off of each other. I somehow walk away#with no heartburn or stomach upset or nausea despite eating 800 plates of craving foods. It's cold and summer#does not exist anymore but not in a Catastrophic For The Earth type of way more in a like.. I am in a magical bubble#that only affects my direct vicinity and sheilds me from the temperature ever getting above 65F#(also I have a comfortable amount of money and good doctors and reasonable health etc. etc. but that's a given in any Ideal Scenario lol)#oughh... I just want to eat hearty breakfast foods and think about elves for 5 hours.. is that so much to ask#Why must... responsibilities... capitalism... limited time and no energy to focus on 100 projects at once... why these things...#ANYWAY#daily log
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Pent up jjk men (I saw the pent up nanami headcanons and I’m in love)
Ok since I already wrote one for Nanami he won't be included in this one.
Pairing: Yuuji, Sukuna, Megumi, Gojo, Geto, Toji, Choso x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, lots of cum, sex to distress, hallway sex, marathon sex, cumplay, teasing, cockwarming
A/N: I hope you have a... white Christmas! Ha!
Pent up!Yuuji can make his pent up energy go away with lots of cockwarming. It can provide enough relief to him but what he's really after is intimacy. Toys can't give him that, so he started using them less and less, saving his cock for your pussy alone and nothing else, not even his hand.
Pent up!Sukuna does not get pent up often since he began dating you. It's all to easy to fuck you in any position he wants. The only time he's pent up is when he's not allowed out to play, then he has to go all out on you and fuck you until he has to fuck you back into consciousness.
Pent up!Megumi won't jerk off often, regardless of his relationship status. Being in a relationship makes it easier for sure, he has somewhere for that energy to go. He didn't realize how much he needs to come until you tease him so much his cock hurts and the only way to make it hurt less is to fuck you.
Pent up!Gojo likes to get pent up actually. It makes it so easy for him to go for longer periods of time and get so much cum on and inside of you after. He loves seeing all the cum he held out on your face and your body and in your pussy, why would he waste that on his hand instead, it would make no sense.
Pent up!Geto doesn't wait for a second to get you pinned against the wall when he walks in. With you opening your legs for him there's no need to him to bother holding back anymore like he did on the mission you were on. That was hard enough. Luckily for him he has a beautiful girlfriend ready to take his cock in the hallway.
Pent up!Toji won't let you sleep if you've already teased him to much for him to get horny enough to ruin multiple pairs of pants. His hands will help you stay upwards when your legs fail you but he won't let you quit just like you didn't let him fuck you for a whole week. To balance that he thinks he will fuck you for a week starting from now.
Pent up!Choso is very familiar with being pent up. What he's not as familiar with is having an outlet for his stress, or his cock. He used to fight his stress away, now he can fuck it away with you. Between the two he likes fucking just a bit more, your pussy feels too good for him to choose fighting over it.
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#yuuji x reader#sukuna x reader#megumi x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#toji x reader#choso x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk headcanons#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut
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Baby Maker ༓ kth (m)
✑ Summary: You're pissed at your husband for being late to your weekly baby-making sessions.
Pairing: husband!taehyung x fem!reader
AU/genre: pwp, fluff, smut, marriage au
Rating: M, 18+
Word Count: 2,473
Warnings: light fighting, hard dom!taehyung, slight brat sub!reader, make up s*x, rough s*x, manhandling, bl*wjob, teasing, b**b groping, degradation (taehyung calls reader a sl*t), impreg k*nk, f*replay, penetration, r*ding, d*ggy, d*rty talk, d*ck slapping, taehyung refers to himself as daddy, mention of aftercare, trouble taking off lingerie bc yeah it be a whole process sometimes.
A/N: seeing Taehyung on esquire...you cannot tell me he doesn't look good omg 🙈 anyway this is filthy sooo I'm going to rock myself to sleep now bc i work on the moring, pls enjoy 💞
"Sweetheart, I didn't mean to be late. I'm sorry."
Taehyung stands in front of you with pleading eyes. He tries not to drop his gaze below your neck, seeing that you're more than pissed at him for getting home nearly an hour later than planned. He feels bad about it, he really does. But he can also easily see his favorite fiery red lingerie peeking out of your silky robe, making him all the more eager to show you how he can make it up to you.
"Well that's too bad Taehyung because I'm not in the mood anymore." You tighten your arms across your chest and stand your ground. If your husband didn't look like sex on legs all the time this would be a lot easier nevertheless, he will not be getting his dick sucked tonight.
"Are you kidding?" He gives you a 'really' look before reaching for one of your wrists. "You're always in the mood for baby making. Been in the mood for months. Come on sweetheart, how many times do I need to tell you I'm sorry? Let me make it up to you."
"No." You swiftly pull away from him. "I'm showering and then going to bed." You head over to your dresser to grab a pair of pajamas to change into. Are you being petty? Maybe. But you and Taehyung have been trying for a baby over the past two weeks. So him being late tonight just feels like he isn't taking any of it seriously.
"Don't even think about trying to come in here," you spit, moving to close the door of the master bathroom. Taehyung gives a small sigh before stopping the door with his hands. Your eyes avert to the motion immediately—damn his fingers for being so long and sleek.
"Baby I know I shouldn't have been late, and I know you're horny but aren't we being the tiniest bit stubborn here?"
"What the hell did you say?" You can't believe your ears. "You think this is me just being stubborn and horny? No, this is me-, you pause, scrambling for words. "I'm punishing you!" You point at him accusingly.
"Punishing me by withholding sex? From being an hour late tonight? I get it baby, I do but is that what you really want? To take a shower, then go to sleep." He pushes his way through the door and walks up to you until he's towering over you. His warm blonde locks drape over his eyes— you know how soft they feel in your hands. "Or," his deep honeyed voice teases near your ear as he tugs on one of your robe's straps. "Do you want to take off this useless piece of material and I'll show you how sorry I am?" He sets his hands on your hips, tracing down the fabric of your robe. "I'll let you ride me," he husks.
You bite the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to keep yourself from throwing yourself at him. It's not every night that you're allowed to top with a husband as alpha as Taehyung in the bed. And the way his hands are moving so sensually up and down your sides is making you shudder with arousal.
"Fuck you. Fuck you to the moon and back Taehyung."
"Great, let's start that tonight." Taehyung takes it as a go and you pound on his back with your fists when you feel your whole body being slung over his shoulder. He plops you on the bed within seconds and crawls up to you in a straddling position—thighs on either side of your waist. "I swear to god __, our baby better not inherent this stubborn streak of yours." He starts untying the knot of your robe and prys the material open to slip down your shoulders.
"What baby?" You sit up a little to let him remove it. "The only baby you seem to be making is with Park Jimin. You were at his house all day. Or was it Jungkook? Did you have a threesome with them?"
"For fucksake, no I wasn't having a threesome with those idiots who can't even get their dicks out of their pants." He tosses the robe to the side, cock swelling at the sight of you underneath him in lacey red lingerie and black lace garters—this he did not see before. "And I'm not into Jimin, he's too into his porno films. Now enough whining. I said I was sorry."
"You were watching porn with Jimin?!" Your eyes go large as saucers. Apparently, that's all you heard. Taehyung lets out a throaty growl, more than fed up with your attitude tonight.
"No I wasn't! Stop it. I wasn't fucking or watching people fuck." He holds your wrists down on the mattress to keep you from moving about. "You get so goddamn needy. I didn't realize you could get this horny."
"I told you its not about—"
"Shut up and let me kiss you." Taehyung presses his mouth against yours, biting your lower lip like a sin. You squirm underneath his hold but end up moaning when he slips his tongue into the small crease between your lips.
"Taehyung," you let out a breathy gasp when you feel his fully hardened cock brush against your center. Not much else gets to come out after that as Taehyung continues to lick every corner of your mouth, toying with your tongue at the same time.
It's when he finally breaks from your lips to trace wet kisses along the curve of your neck that you can catch your breath again. His firm hold on your wrists also loosen, but you know exactly where they're moving next.
"Did you really expect me to believe you'd put on my favorite lingerie with these godforsaken garters only to not have your brains completely fucked tonight?" He squeezes your breasts and rolls his thumbs around your nipples, feeling them harden with the friction.
You choose to remain silent this time, slightest smirk on your face which no doubt irritates your husband to no end.
"Don't want to say anything anymore Mrs. Kim?" He fiddles with the front of your bra, specifically the tiny hook that's holding the cups together. "Nothing at all? Just gonna lay there and stare at me with those beautiful lusty eyes?"
"You know I was feeling really guilty earlier," Taehyung rasps, leaning back to throw his shirt over his head. "I was afraid you were actually mad at me and at first I think you were. But..." He reaches to unbuckle his belt. "Now you're just acting like a brat to tick me off."
You bite down a whimper when his cock bounces free, practically throbbing to be inside something. You've taken Taehyung many times with tears streaming down your face, each round reminding you of his massive size.
"Fuck," he groans as he takes himself in his palm. "If you want to be treated like a brat so much then it's your lucky day." He straddles your sides again, the head of his cock falling proudly in front of your lips. "Open," he demands, but you bite your lip; feigning innocence.
Your husband is not impressed, however. "Quit acting like you've never seen cock before," he barks. "You're the furthest thing from a virgin so open up."
Rude, you think before slowly sticking your tongue out until it touches the slit of his cock. You know it'll piss him off but you decide it's fun to keep swirling around the sensitive area, collecting the pre-cum dripping out.
"Shit, don't." Your husband groans and screws his eyes shut to keep himself from coming early.
You should take this as a warning but you're far too pleased of yourself so you continue teasing him, making sure a few purposeful moans slip out as you lick around his tan tip.
"Fuck I'm gonna blow my load in ten seconds if you don't stop. Baby, stop."
You ignore your husband's pleas and wrap your lips around the head of his length, sucking it with determination. As if to counter the filthy action you sparkle your eyes up into his dark ones. You make them as big as you can. Anytime now and he'll-
"I said stop you fucking slut!" The words are barked at you without warning. Taehyung takes his cock from you and slaps it across your cheek. A very sticky substance smears on your face. "Now, get my dick wet or nothing's going into that slutty little cunt."
You widen your mouth to take him deeper at his threat but it's too slow—or Taehyung's too impatient. Either way, his thick length shoves to the back of your throat and starts running in and out of your mouth with a vengeance. You choke at the intensity of each thrust, vision blurring due to the tears building.
"Is it too much sweetheart?' He provokes, beads of sweat line his forehead and a vein threatens to pop from his neck any second. "Too big for your pretty mouth to handle?"
You feel yourself clench as the heavy weight of his length glides faster on your tongue. The anticipation of his release is killing you and though you can't speak, right now, you want your husband to make you look like such a messy whore that his come fills your mouth and spills down your tits. Then you want him to flip you over, prop your ass up, and fuck you until burning hot sensation courses through your body.
While in thought, Taehyung takes the opportunity to slip himself out of your mouth. A string of spit can't help but follow with it.
"But—"
"It's plenty wet now," Taehyung smirks at your obvious distress. He moves to take your panties and garter off next. "Fuck," he swears in frustration. "How do you get this off dammit?" You help him wiggle yourself out of the contraption (which ends up taking a good five or six minutes).
As soon as the lace fabric is discarded, you find yourself quickly being lifted on his hardened member. Taehyung makes sure you're well-supported before roughly thrusting up into your wet cunt. Your breasts bounce to the rhythm he sets, tempting him to go faster.
"I promised I'd let you ride me didn't I?"
"Not—what I—had in mind," you pant. "Fuck, Taehyung you're always so fucking big—ah!" You grip his shoulders when his cock perfectly hits your g-spot.
"Good to see you've found your voice again baby. I was beginning to think you were going to give me the silent treatment this whole night."
"Shut—ah shit—yes, Taehyung, right there! Faster, fuck!" You moan, too caught up in the way his cock is making you feel to care about talking back.
"What a filthy mouth on you Mrs. Kim. No one taught you any manners?" He darts his tongue out to gently graze across a nipple. At the action, you start moving with his thrusts; meeting them in sync.
"So good Taehyung." Your eyes flutter shut. "If this doesn't get me pregnant then—"
You squeal when you're suddenly thrown off his cock and turned on your stomach. With your ass positioned nice and high in the air, your husband can see every trace of your arousal.
"Don't worry about that sweetheart." His cock pushes back into your pussy, teeth nipping at your ear ever so gently but enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Daddy's definitely gonna make you a mommy tonight."
Taehyung caves over you to fully cover your back before picking up the same pace as before. "You want my cum baby?" He grunts. "Want me to fill you up and make you round with my child?"
"Yes-yes." You grip the sheets underneath you for leverage. "Want you to put a baby in me Taehyung."
"Fuck—say that again." He growls and continues snapping his hips. The sound of skin slapping on skin is so lewd but you and Taehyung can't be bothered by the noise when you're breathing so heavily in each other's ear.
"I want you to put a baby in me Tae."
"Louder."
"I want—," you struggle to repeat the words when you feel your walls tighten around his length. Your stomach churns too and the way his cock fucks in you gets seemingly harder to take.
"Close baby?"
"Mm." You barely respond, too focused on getting to your high.
"And to think you were simply going to shower and sleep tonight." He circles back to your earlier argument with the cockiest smirk on his face but it's wiped off as quick as it came when you start grinding your hips to meet his thrusts.
"That's it," Taehyung clenches his teeth. "Get yourself off—holy fuck you feel so goddamn tight around me."
"I'm—I'm coming!" Once the cord snaps in you, your eyes roll to the back of your head. Ropes of your cum drip over your husband's length, covering it completely, and down part of your inner thigh. Taehyung's cock twitches in response and his breaths turn into aggressive pants as he starts chasing after his own release.
"Shit baby, shit! I'm so fucking close. Gonna breed this pussy, tell me you want it one more time baby."
"Mm, yes, want it so bad," you let out a strained moan. "Come in me—ah daddy!" His length reaches a little further this time, making you yelp.
"Shit, you okay baby?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Keep moving. It just surprised me."
"If I go too hard, tell me okay?" You respond with the loudest 'mhm' you can.
After a few more broken groans and profanities your husband finally finishes with his cum painting your walls less than thirty seconds later.
A long sigh of relief leaves both your lips when you roll over on your backs—sweaty, sore, and satisfied.
"Wasn't expecting you to call me daddy in bed." Taehyung lazily hovers near your body and presses a kiss to your lips. You allow his tongue to slip in for a minute before shoving him off.
"Don't get used to it, mister. And don't ever slap me with your dick again. I'm all sticky."
"I'm sorry, do you want me to draw you a bath?"
"You best believe I do."
"Yes ma'am." Taehyung goes to get up but he falls back down. "Can you give me like ten minutes first? We went a little hard tonight, I can't really feel my dick."
"You sure about that?" You reach over to gently grip his length.
"Shit—hurts baby."
"Sorry." You grin, not sorry at all. "I'm sure it'll be fine in the morning."
Taehyung looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes. "Are you kidding? It'll be fine by the time I get you in the bath."
A/n: ...goodnight 😇
Masterlist
no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton
#taehyung smut#taehyung fluff#taehyung x reader#taehyung fanfic#taehyung imagines#bts smut#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts scenarios#fic:babymaker#kookslastbutton
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hobie x gn! reader
hobie is definitely an adamant tease. i also see him as like crazy perceptive ??? not only because he’s a spider person but also because he’s just an observer at heart, so whatever he does to you he knows what effect it has, mentally or physically.
whenever he wants to kiss you he always guides you by your chin. one, because he knows you love the hand placement, and two, because it’s easier to bring your plump lips to his own, and he can’t help but get eager at times.
hobie and you strolled down the chaotic streets of London, his lanky arm strung around the curve of your waist as you attempted to make your way to his apartment (attempted is the key word here, hobie lived about 5 minutes away from the pub y’all were visiting, but the walk was now reaching 10 minutes seeing as hobie couldn’t keep his hands off of you, not that you were in any rush).
“come on love, jus’ one lil kiss and I’ll leave you be, yeah?” hobie gently pleaded, peering down at you through his thickened lashes.
you set the palms of your hands against his chest, appreciating the slight flex of his pecs, and pushed him away from your figure, continuing to trot down the sidewalk, “no bee, we’ve been walking forever and my feet are tired. I’ll give you a kiss when we get home.” you dramatically gestured towards your aching feet, sighing at hobie’s raised eyebrow.
“well we can’t ‘ave that can we?” he inched his fingers down towards your thighs.
“nope, so if we can pick up the—” you squealed, latching on to hobie’s bicep and he held you close to his chest, his fingers curling around the crease underneath your knees, “hobie! what the hell!?”
“wha’? you said you was havin’ trouble, jus’ tryna be a good mate.” hobie tilted his head towards your pursed lips, chuckling at your pouting expression, “‘lowe it, ‘m not puttin’ you down.”
you sighed, peering back at hobie, “you just want to give me a kiss, huh?” you teased, placing a hand towards the crook of hobie’s neck.
“and what of it?” he adjusted you so he could bring the tip of his thumb and pointer finger to your chin, grasping it softly and guiding it towards his own. you indulge him, softly kissing the plush of his lips, humming in satisfaction.
“mhm, feeling cheeky today aren’t we bee?”
“been hangin’ ‘round me too much love, startin’ to sound like me.”
#hobie brown x reader#hobie x gn reader#atsv x reader#atsv hobie x reader#spider punk x reader#y’all don’t @ me on the British slang ok !!#I’m trying my best here#but just some thoughts Abt hobie I had this morninggg#he’s so cute#and I literally hc him as an asshole tease#but it’s cute when he does it tho !#hobie brainrot !
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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
summary eddie munson is super weird. he holds your hand too tight, he has a fascination with your neck, and he can’t give a hickey to save his life. good thing you’re super weird, too. [20k]
warnings two losers falling in love!! vampire!eddie munson, ditzy!reader (kind of), fem!reader, smut mdni (p in v, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, general heavy petting and kissing, praise), fluff, hurt/comfort, angst (eddie struggling with guilt and grief). canon divergent (the events of volume 2 take place but there’s a mostly happy ending i.e. everyone good lives and everyone bad dies) TW eddie doesn't have suicidal thoughts, but he does think about it briefly. not with intent or anything like that though. requested here for my halloween party <3
(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)
Eddie Munson never wanted to be a vampire, and he wants that on the record.
It's a ridiculous existence. It's embarrassing. It's nothing like all the movies and books promised him.
He's looking at you, Bram Stoker.
In Eddie's mind, Stoker’s nothing less than a liar and a sycophant.
"Who's dick were you bouncing on, Stoker?" he demands to know, kicking fallen leaf mulch under his feet angrily. "Need'ta fucking impress some vampire lover with your over-exaggerated, over-powered, ridiculous descriptions? Great. Hope it was worth it. Meanwhile I'm here, self-esteem half the size of a grain of rice because I can't scale a building with my bare hands."
Eddie would know. He's tried.
He's not genuinely angry with Bram Stoker, but he'd rather take his frustrations out on a guy who's been dead for a hundred years than take them out on the demobats, because he doesn't want to even think about the demobats. They're all dead too. Not before they'd had (see: devoured) their pound of flesh and changed his life for the worse, though.
He shakes his head to drive out the memory like water in his ears. It's easier to pretend none of that shit in the upside down ever happened. (Impossible to pretend. He begs himself to try anyway.)
He’s pissed because science fiction has promised him a lot of things and reality has delivered on none of them. No super strength, no impermeable skin. He is faster, but that's more a reflexive thing than anything else. And being faster doesn't make running fun. That’s impossible.
Sunlight breaks through the treeline and his skin crawls. Science fiction didn't get that right, either. The sun doesn't hurt. It's just really, really annoying.
He covers his eyes, winces at his itchy hand, pulls his sleeve over his fingers and covers his eyes again. "This blows," he says, and means it.
In Dracula, the sun nulls Dracula’s supernatural abilities. Eddie doesn’t have any abilities worth nulling, unless you count echolocation.
He doesn’t.
He walks another five minutes up the road toward Forest Hills when he realises you're behind him. His senses are enhanced now as a bat’s might be, hearing fine-tuned and dialled up every second of the day — which makes living in a trailer park where everyone thinks he's a murderer an acute misery — but he's as prone to distraction as anyone else. Especially when he gets stuck in a memory.
Eddie throws his gaze over his shoulder and finds you thirty or forty feet away, talking to yourself under your breath. He knows you more for your sounds than your appearance. To be able to put a face to your mindless babbling is a mystery solved. Of course you look like that. A skirt made of soft looking fabric bounces over two cute thighs, a pretty lacy corset type of thing that isn't too tight outfits your top half. You look more like a vampire than he does.
"Hi, Eddie," you call.
His eyes widen, a deer-in-the-headlights kind of surprise. If you notice how he's frozen you don't show it, continuing to push your bike toward him. The tick of the wheels grows louder as you get closer, two hands on the handlebars with wrists draped in bracelets, both silver and fabric.
Besides your jewellery, your arms are bare. You must be freezing.
"Hey," he says.
He doesn't know your name. He doesn't know how you know his, and he’s too awkward to ask.
Your sounds peak as you close the gap. The wet scrape of your dirty black canvas shoes over shining asphalt, the soft puff of your breath, the clinking sounds of whatever trinkets you have in your bag. If he focuses, he can make out the tiniest pinches of fabric. Your short sleeves rubbing against your arms, your bra straps stretching over your shoulders.
Eddie takes a deep breath and tries to diminish his senses.
"Where's your van?" you ask curiously.
"Piece of shit kicked it in the middle of town. Just my luck."
You pause at his side, looking him up and down obviously but without the judgement or irreverent disgust he's come to expect from near about everybody in Hawkins.
"That's not good," you say succinctly.
It's such a genuine response that Eddie can't find it in himself to be sarcastic.
"God awful," he agrees sullenly.
You nod and start to walk again. Eddie falls naturally into step beside you, matching your pace without thinking.
"You should get a bike."
He laughs. Coughs to cover it up. "Yeah?"
"They're way more reliable than a car, and it doesn't hurt the zone."
Eddie squints. "The o-zone?"
"Is there another one?"
You're still so serious that he spares you the ridicule he might dole out to anyone else. If Dustin had said something like that he would've ripped the kid a new one, but you're rather sweet in an odd way. You have a soft manner of talking — each word sounds like you've thought its pronunciation through meticulously beforehand.
He ignores your question and points at your bike, ring catching the sun. "Why aren't you riding it?"
"My chain slipped."
"So much for reliable."
That makes you smile. Eddie feels it like a punch, a flat palm slapped into his chest.
"You can't put the chain on yourself?"
A brisk breeze whips your hair, your earrings. The left kisses your cheek, a silver heart-shaped hoop with pink beads that click together. You lean into it, face tilted to one side as a perplexed smile plays on your sticky lips. "You can do that?"
"Sure, you pull it back around the gear. It's easy." He hesitates for a moment, and then feels guilty about hesitating. "I'll do it for you, if you want."
"The guy in no. 62 has been charging me ten dollars." You don't sound as angry as you should, in Eddie's opinion.
"I'll do it for nothing."
You beam at him. His chest feels like a bruise.
Pretty girls don't like Eddie. Not before Chrissy, not after. He's trying to work out your angle, what it is that you want.
Or maybe you don't know.
As soon as you find out who he is, you'll turn your pretty nose up at him and walk the other way. He shouldn't smile at you, he definitely shouldn't fix your bike.
He can't help it. He's so starved for positive attention that he follows you all the way through the park, westside to east.
He checks the driveway of his own home and smiles mildly when he spots Wayne's new car. It's new in the sense that it's different. It's actually way older than the one he'd had before, the one he'd pawned to pay for Eddie's — well, Eddie's everything. His check-ups, his court dates, his goddamn bail. In the same way that this trailer isn't the trailer, but an older, smaller one as far away from their first as possible.
Kid, if I had the money…
Wayne hadn't needed to finish. If he had the money, they'd leave. Leave Hawkins, leave Indiana. Settle down in some other mediocre Midwestern state with all the same creature comforts and none of the "You were acquitted but literally none of us believe you didn't kill someone," motif.
All they have now is debt, each other, and the Great Munson mug collection.
Eddie keeps his head down as they pass the old trailer. Nobody lives inside now. Only termites.
He can taste blood by the time they reach your home. Far from the metallicity of his human blood, Eddie's blood now harbours a bitter taste. Not quite like coffee but with that same overwhelming earthiness. He pulls his teeth from the bitten flesh of his bottom lip and quickly raises a hand to his teeth, alarmed.
No knife-like points. Normal teeth.
"Are you thirsty?" you ask him.
Eddie flinches and drops his hand. You've parked your bike against the wooden lifts of your porch and are halfway up the steps to your front door, hand clasped loosely on the railing.
His heart fucking pounds.
"I have grape juice?"
"Right," he says hurriedly, "right. Yeah, that would be awesome."
Duh, you meant juice.
You send him another endearing smile and pop up the last of your steps and into the front door. It's not locked. He doesn't follow, thinking you must live with somebody (who's gonna know exactly who he is and tell him to get lost).
He turns his attention to your bike instead. It's easy enough to fix. He rolls the bike so its handlebars are resting against your concrete driveway and covers the top bar of the metal body with his sneaker to stop it from toppling. He rolls up his sleeves and bares his arms, but pulls them back down immediately when he remembers the white-purple whorls of scar tissue lurking underneath.
"Fuck," he mutters. Everything is a reminder, all of the time. He can't escape what happened.
It's everywhere.
He's getting his fingers under the chain when you reappear. You've layered up, bracelets and naked arms hidden by a black hoodie.
The wind blows and your skirt shifts. From his position he can see a ladder hiding in your tights where your inner thighs are pressed together. He whips his gaze up like a high-school perv caught sneaking peeks in the girls locker room and notices the stitching on your chest for the first time.
"You like Dio?" he asks excitedly.
"Who?"
He wilts. "Uh, your hoodie. Dio."
"I got it for three dollars in the bargain bins," you supply helpfully, all pep as you climb down the stairs and offer him a glass cup adorned in dainty enamel flowers. "Is Dio good?"
He waves his hand at the glass apologetically. "Two seconds…" Lifting the chain with the second hand, Eddie tugs and then feeds until the links are lined up with the bumps on the big chainring. The skin on his fingertips get pinched and his eyebrows pull together in pain, but it's a mild irritant at worst and after a moment the chain is back in place.
He pulls his hand away and wipes dark grease down the front of his jacket. "I think I did it."
You're glowing, earrings like a metronome as you ask, "That fast? You're awesome."
He turns the pedal and your back wheel spins in time with his heart. You're awesome. When was the last time somebody who wasn't Wayne said anything like that?
Although Dustin had told him he thought Eddie was a much cooler, more fucked up version of the guy from Van Halen the other day.
You're just saying that 'cos we're both called Eddie, Eddie had said morosely.
Learn to take a compliment, dude.
When they aren't pity compliments, he might.
Eddie lifts your bike back onto the wheels to show you that it's working perfectly. You giggle your evident pleasure. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" you say, super sweet even as grape juice sloshes over the rims of your flowered glasses and drips down your fingers.
"Here, let me," he says, taking the glasses from your purple-stained hands.
You kiss your hands clean which is a thing, a lot to watch. Eddie admits to himself that he thinks you're really pretty, recognises that that is a bad thing to think considering the likely very short life span of your acquaintance. God knows you won't be saying anything as friendly when you find out who he is.
"You're so nice," you say. It feels like you're talking more to yourself than him. "Thank you. It's slipped off three times this month, and ten dollars is ten dollars. Wait, do you want ten dollars?"
"My services were administered charitably.”
Your smile grows. You accept your glass and take a small sip, eyes lit up as Eddie steers your bike one-handed to rest against the porch.
"Do you wanna come inside? I don't have any of the Dio, but I have Blondie."
He holds in a throwaway comment about real rock and roll, astounded that you’d ask him. "Your folks aren't home?"
"I'm twenty-two."
Eddie squints at you. "Seriously?"
"You didn't think so?"
He shrugs. It's not that you don't look twenty two. Or even that you don't act twenty two. But it's been a long time since he met somebody living alone in the park. Forest Hills is where poverty comes to settle.
"A boyfriend?"
"Just me and mister Porterson."
"That your grandpa?"
"That's my pet fish."
He smiles. It's his first real, authentic smile in days. He's genuinely elated by your offer and your attitude, but he doesn't know how to handle it, struck with a sudden nightmare of you, afterward, telling somebody you'd invited him in and he'd tried to hurt you. It isn't fair of him to assume you'd do anything like that. You've been nothing but sweet and sincere this whole time.
Eddie hasn't let his guard down in a long time.
You're giving him this wide-eyed, imploring look that promptly suffocates any fear.
And in a week, when she finds out who you are and feels betrayed, feels tricked? What then, Munson?
"You know what happened?" he asks.
"What happened?"
"Two years ago. Chrissy… Chrissy Cunningham?"
Don't say her fucking name.
Your expression clears as clarity blooms. You take a step. He needs a second to realise you've come forward rather than away, fingers twitching toward his hand.
"I know about it. I'm sorry that happened to you."
He stares.
This is a trick. Two years and he can count the amount of people who believe him on his two hands, and only because they'd all gone through it with him. Sometimes there are outliers, logical people who seem to realise Eddie couldn't have killed all those people, couldn't have been in all those different places without leaving any evidence behind. And sometimes there are people who agree he didn't kill Chrissy, but he's a coward for leaving her to die. (She’d already been dead.)
Eddie doesn't know what he thinks. Wayne sets the record straight every now and then with a clap on the shoulder. You did what every parent wants their kid to do. You lived. I can't ask for more than that.
"You don't believe it?"
"That you hurt her?" You hold his gaze, face practically impassive. "No, I don't believe it."
He pulls in a breath that fills every inch of his chest. "I could learn to like Blondie," he says.
—
You're standing in the driveway of Eddie's trailer with a heavy bag over your shoulder, face to face with a man who kind of looks like him but not really. You assume it's his uncle because who else could he be? If you hadn't seen him here you'd never guess.
"Eddie's mom must've had strong genes," you say. You bring your shoulder up toward your cheek thoughtfully. "He didn't get any of your face. Was she pretty? Eddie's really pretty."
"She was," he says, peering down his nose at you.
"I got sandwiches. Do you want one?"
"What kind?"
"I have ham and cheese, or ham and lettuce and tomato, or I have pumpernickel cookies. Is Eddie a vegetarian?"
"Why?"
"'Cause I only brought one cheese and cucumber, and I have dibs."
He climbs down the last couple of steps and is still taller but definitely less imposing, face covered in scratchy salt and pepper stubble and crows feet deeply embedded into the corners of his eyes. He looks like a man who has been tired for a very long time. You make a mental note to bring him some lavender for his pillow on your next visit.
"You're Eddie's new friend?"
You nod your head briskly. "Yes, sir. I'm Y/N."
He opens his box of camels like a pro, bottom pressed to his chest. He tucks a cigarette between his lips and pulls his lighter out. He doesn't light it.
"It's nice to meet you," he says eventually, voice warming.
You search through the mess of your skirt for the zipper on your bag and peel it open, pulling out your tupperware of cookies and cracking them open to release the fragrant smell of cinnamon and almonds. It's a heady scent, fitting for the holiday season approaching.
You offer Eddie’s uncle a cookie.
"Thought pumpernickel was bread," he says gruffly, taking one.
"It is, but there's this little town in France that makes these every year at Christmas and they call them pumpernickel biscuits," — he takes a bite and winces at the hard snap — "you're s'posed to dip them in hot chocolate."
"You don't say."
You nod happily and he moves aside to let you pass.
"Thanks, kid."
You turn back to him with your fingers curled around the door handle. "Of course! It's really nice to meet you, Mr. Munson, sir."
"Wayne is fine."
You laugh and repeat his name in a similarly rough voice, letting yourself in as Eddie had told you to do. You find him immediately in a man-made corner of the living room, pale and in his pyjamas. The trailer is open planned, a living room they’ve divided by propping a couch against the kitchen counter, a slim hallway leading to a cramped bathroom and the single bedroom. It's exactly like in your home.
You're somewhat surprised to see him in pyjamas. Eddie doesn't wear comfy looking clothes out of the house — you've only ever seen him in jeans and jackets like a real rockstar.
"Are you ready?" you ask.
You've invited him to come and search for bugs with you. Catching any kind of bug, whether beetle or butterfly or spider, is really scary, but you need to be able to catch them to draw them.
You'd expressed this to him over the phone and he'd said, "I can come and help. I have good reflexes."
He rubs his hands over his knees. There's a blanket pooled around his feet, a quilt he must sleep with, and the room is decorated with not a whole lot of stuff but enough to make you take a step back.
"Is this your room?" you ask, enchanted.
"Kind of." He pulls his hair from behind his ear, obscuring a pale cheek. "I don't think I can come with you today, I'm sorry. I meant to call you."
You toy with a dark thigh high sock as you ease out of your shoes, height drastically decreasing. "That's okay, we can stay here. I brought you a sandwich. I brought you two sandwiches," you correct.
He nods. Rather sadly, in your opinion. "Alright. Thanks."
You step over a tented paperback and hand off the cookies before sitting down beside him on the couch he's occupying. It's smaller than the one against the wall and round like a clam, lots of room for your legs to stretch out.
"I feel like a pearl," you say.
You and Eddie have been friends for a little while now. Long enough for you to realise he's either depressed or mentally unwell in some way. You hardly mind keeping him company on his bad days if he needs somebody, so drawing bugs will have to wait.
His hair is limp, not totally greasy but not super clean either. His face looks fresh enough, though the bags under his eyes make you frown.
You pull your purse into your lap, thighs covered by the thin layers of your midi skirt. "I have just the thing for you," you murmur.
"Yeah? Bring me another bracelet?"
You like that he sounds eager. Making his bracelet had been a challenge, lots of knotting and double knotting, three restarts and one small under the breath tantrum. It's not anything special, black and white hearts seven strands wide, but he'd been very appreciative.
"No, but I can make you another one if you want. I mastered the inverse chevron last night."
He hums. You pull a saran wrapped sandwich from the depths of your crowded bag, glad to see it's mostly intact. When you open it up you find that it's the ham and lettuce and tomato one, so you drop it into his lap haphazardly and move onto the next.
"Aha! Here," you pull a cucumber from your sandwich. "For you."
He takes it between two tentative fingers. "Thank you?"
"For your eyes."
"There's cheese on it."
"I'll still work," you assure him.
"M'not putting cheese on my eyes."
You laugh because he probably shouldn't put cheese on his eyes, cucumber adjacent or otherwise. "Okay, don't. I'll make you a hot towel."
He drops his hand on your arm as you go to stand. You like how he touches you, soft but not scared. "You just got here. Stay here." He pats you nicely. "Tell me about work last night."
You settle heavily into the seat beside him, your thigh to his thigh, your hip squished against his hip, doughy flesh separated by nothing more than a strappy tank top and a cotton long-sleeve t-shirt. His heat quickly becomes yours, a sinking transference of warmth.
"Well," you begin, cheek turning into the couch to face him. "It was mostly okay. I dropped another plate, but this time it didn't have a stack of waffles on it."
He smiles ruefully and sinks back as you had. Neither of you eat your sandwiches. "Progress. Taking it out of your pay?"
"Yes, definitely."
"Discrimination."
"That's what I said! I said, Sarah, I was born with butterfingers and you know that."
"She didn't budge?"
"Dishwashing all week next week. Whatever, though, 'cause it's Saturday."
He laughs and shakes his head, his gaze dropping to your neck. He does that sometimes. You can't blame him; you wear a varying assortment of necklaces because you think they're pretty, and you're glad he likes them too.
"See my new one?"
"What?"
"New necklace." You look down at your chest and pull the newest addition from between the cups of your bra. "It's real silver."
"It's nice."
"It's surprisingly heavy. Wanna feel?"
"That's okay," he says, slightly strained.
Right, you think. I'm talking a lot.
You press your lips together in a mild pout and look at him through appreciative eyes. He's a very pretty boy, all soft and pale and sweet dark curls.
"Do you want me to put your hair up?"
His lips part before he talks. "I don't know if you should."
"Sure I should. It's getting in your eyes, right?" You take his hand where it's laid unsuspectingly in his lap and slip the hair tie from around his wrist, his fingertips tickling the inside of your palm. "Sit forward, Eddie."
He takes a deep breath, holds it, and sits up. You twist and then realise you need some more height, pushing a leg under yourself to kneel next to his lap.
You weave our fingers softly into the hair at the front of his face and rake away in lieu of a brush. After it's mostly tamed you pull it all into one hand and wrap the tie at the base of his head. You hum to yourself as you go, pleased when his lovely curls behave.
"Voilà," you announce, moving back on your haunches.
He breathes out. "Thank you."
You reach for a curl you'd missed at the very front and encourage it behind his ear. He has subtle indents in his cheeks today like he's in need of a good meal, and his skin is colder than it should be when you flatten your palm.
"You need something to eat," you fret. Your fingertips stroke under his eye, your thumb his smile lines.
He moves away slowly.
You pull your hand back into your lap. "Maybe we can go out and get something, if you don't like the sandwich?"
"What?" he asks, pale lips taut as he simpers at you. "Are you kidding? This is about to fix everything that's wrong with me."
His enthusiasm emboldens you. "It so will! There's ham and cheese too, if you prefer that one."
"Get it! I'm gonna eat both of them." S
Eddie eats both of his sandwiches and you eat your own, the two of you with your heads dropped back against the couch as you watch TV. There's a guy you've never seen before running around the streets of Chicago city centre looking for people to be in his play. Eddie's seen it before. He repeats dialogue in time with the characters, performing each line. Impressive, what with how tired he looks.
"What did he just say?" you ask, mouth full of cucumber.
"He said he's gonna throw himself off a bridge," Eddie informs. "Poor guy. I know the feeling."
You swallow harshly.
"Seriously?"
Your sad tone surprises him.
"I- No, I'm kidding," he says, scratching the base of his throat, friendship bracelet his only adornment.
His nervous itching makes you even more worried.
"If you did wanna do that, you can talk to me-"
He baulks, tongue poking out past his lips as he licks the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, sweetheart," he says, pet name like a kiss. It sounds silly but it really feels like one, right in the centre of your chest. "But I'm fine. Promise. It was a bad joke."
"Okay," you say, letting your suspicion shine through. You hold his eyes.
You haven't known Eddie long. It feels like you met yesterday, though really it's been two or three weeks. You fit together in a way you hadn't expected and adore more than you can articulate, two funny puzzle pieces.
"Well, I just wanted you to know. I like being your friend, I don't want you to disappear."
He laughs and licks his lips, a rough, chesty sound. "I don't want you to disappear either."
Tires crunch outside, a shushing sound and then the sharp shriek of a jeep being put into park. Eddie perks up considerably, his shoulders straightening.
"Hey, Chief," Wayne calls.
Trailer walls. Basically made of cardboard.
"Hey, Wayne. Where's the kid?"
You can't hear what Wayne says after that, words stolen by the TV.
"Is that Chief Hopper?" you ask, trying to catch a glimpse of him through the mostly shuttered blinds.
"Yeah, he- He's friends with Wayne."
"Why's he wanna know where you are?"
"'Cause I got into so much trouble."
You bite your tongue. His tone is hard, not stern but almost, and you realise you've overstepped as you usually do. You want to apologise but you don't want to pick the wound, eager to gloss over and make him smile again.
"It's pretty cool, isn't it?" you ask him.
"What?"
You spread your legs wider to slide onto your thighs and make him the taller one again, legs bent in a 'W' shape. "Coming back from the dead! First Will Byers, then Hopper."
Something surfaces in his expression. An irony.
"The undead," you croon, aiming for a smile, a laugh.
He cracks. "The undead," he agrees, smiling in bemusement. His eyes are a funny shade of brown.
—
Eddie shoo’s you home early that night but tries to do it kindly. He feigns exhaustion, a facade that's difficult to uphold when his entire body is thrumming with want. If there's one thing Eddie hates about being a vampire (there are literally hundreds of things he hates, but this one's special) it's that he wants to hurt the people he likes a thousand times more than the people he doesn't.
He can't explain it. Your blood is more appealing than any lonesome stranger's. Your pulse is practically music to his ears when you sit beside him. He'd kill himself before he ever hurt you, though. Or that's what he likes to think. Whether he has that amount of control is debatable.
No. He would kill himself before he hurt you, or Wayne, or any of his friends.
Steve can see the way that he's feeling on his face.
Hopper's delivery set to one side, a tall glass with blood congealed in a sticky ring at the bottom, Eddie curls under his huge quilt and tries not to pass out. Blood sate feels the same as a thanksgiving food coma. It's awesome.
He hates how good it feels.
"Stop feeling guilty," Steve says.
"He doesn't look guilty to me," Dustin says beside him, taller than the last time Eddie had seen him but still miles off of Steve's tall stature. He's changed his hat again, this one a garish green. It's not a good look.
"He looks like he's napping," Robin says, delighted.
"Can you guys go home?" Eddie asks.
"Shithead."
"What Steve means to say," Robin corrects, grinning her huge, catching smile, "is that no, we aren't going home. We brought games."
"I don't wanna play games." He does. Eddie needs the distraction, because eventually the blood sate will fade and all that will remain will be self-revulsion and a cruel desire to do something awful.
"I do not care even slightly," Steve says, deadpan, as he sits right there next to Eddie where you'd been sitting before. Steve's nowhere near as soft and he doesn't smell as nice, but Eddie's honestly glad someone is willing to sit next to him at all.
"Ouch, what the fuck?"
Dustin looks up from where he's sat himself on the floor. Robin giggles in her seat on the coffee table.
"Munson, are you fucking shedding? I just got stabbed."
"They don't work like that. They retract."
Eddie feels at his broken gums with his tongue. There's a clean incision where his fangs come out and then snap back inside after a time. They're remarkably thin, fitting in front of his natural incisors neatly.
Steve grumbles, hips lifted and hand searching under his butt for whatever it is that jabbed him. He retrieves exactly what Eddie had been expecting but hadn't had the forethought to prepare a lie about with a shocked gasp.
"Is this an earring? You don't have your ears pierced."
He swallows, knowing it's a very guilty gesture, and meets Steve's eyes straight on.
Funny how Steve's hair speaks as much as his expression, bobbing as he nods his head to emphasise each word, "Munson, do you have a girlfriend?"
Silence.
"...Not really."
"Holy shit," Dustin says, sounding extremely pleased. "No way."
Robin tucks her short hair behind her ears, hands paused in disbelief at her neck. "Actually?"
"I have a friend," Eddie admits.
"Thank god," Steve says, dropping your heart earring onto Eddie's thigh. The silver feels extremely hot over his pyjamas, like it's been held in the centre of a blistering hearth.
"I really thought Steve was gonna have to take one for the team and give you a pity handie," Robin says agreeably, scratchy voice coloured by genuine awe.
Eddie groans, "Harrington, get this shit off of me. You know I can't touch that."
"I forgot," Steve lies. "Can you wait? My hands are busy."
—
He has Steve put your earring between two pieces of kitchen towel and holds onto it. He doesn't see you for a week, and he keeps your damn earring in his pocket that entire time worried it's gonna slip out and brand him at any second.
Finally, you call him. He pretends he wasn't waiting.
"Hello," you say, like you're announcing something.
"Hey. How are you?"
"Eddie, I need your help. Badly."
He flinches up where he'd been leaning casually, hard enough to make Wayne jump. Eddie smiles at him placatingly and mouths a poor sorry, turning away to pretend there's a semblance of privacy to be found in such close quarters.
"Are you okay?"
"I gotta find a rainbow leaf beetle. Do you have a torch?"
"...What?"
"They only come out at night, so I'm gonna go look but I don't have a torch that works."
He relaxes, the lilting cadence of your voice enough to make his whole night. You sound so pretty even through the phone. He suspects you could hold any pitch, deep or high, and you'd still sound nice.
It's all in the way you — he says this with love — perform the words. You speak like each word you're saying has equal importance, and it's calming.
Even when you say stuff that's nonsense to him.
Right now, you don't sound upset or even worried about not having a torch, simply curious to know if he has one. If he focuses hard (and he's been trying not to, as you deserve your privacy) he can hear you all the way across the park, shifting from foot to foot in your bedroom, carpet crushed under your heels.
The action makes him think this might be more urgent to you than you'd first admitted.
"I have a torch." He also has amazing night vision. Like, impeccable. "Can I come help?"
"You want to?"
"I'd love to. Are you going out tonight?" He leans back to glance out the window. "The rain is finally stopping."
"Yeah, tonight! Is that okay for you? We could go tomorrow if you can't."
You're willing to change your plans now that he's asked to go with you. It's a gesture as lovely as you are. Eddie doesn't think you'd ever think it of yourself; your kindness is so intrinsic you don't notice it, like the fine stitching of a leather bound book. Integral and widely unappreciated.
"That's perfect."
Wayne raises an eyebrow when Eddie relays the conversation. "You're going out in the middle of the night with this girl to… look for bugs."
Eddie crosses his arms over his chest. "I swear."
"Be honest with me, kid."
"I am!"
Wayne swirls his coke can around in his hand as he thinks, a reluctance evident in his scowl. Eddie knows he's way too old for a guardian's oversight like this but he lets Wayne have a say because Wayne loves him, and Eddie doesn't ever want to put his old man through the turmoil he went through when he ran away. If that means a curfew in his twenties, Eddie's okay with that.
"If you're going to have sex with this girl, I'd prefer you did it here. You have to treat women with respect."
Eddie shivers, full body. "Wayne," he groans, covering his face. He can feel his cheeks pink under his palms, that's how quickly his embarrassment rises.
"I know you're more responsible these days, and you're a grown up. If you want a girlfriend and you want to do adult things with her-"
"Jesus Christ."
"- then that's alright. You don't have to fool around outside."
He drags his hands down on his face, pained. "It's not like that. You met her, you know she's…"
"Strange?"
"Alternative."
"No, you're alternative. She's cooky."
"Don't," he says. He knows his uncle isn't actually being cruel, so he lets it lie and fights for his own cause. "We aren't messing around. She genuinely wants me to go find these bugs with her. And…" He hates himself. "She has her own place, you know? If we were going to-"
Wayne seems stricken by the same mortified embarrassment as Eddie, raising a calloused hand in surrender. "Spare me."
"Thank you," Eddie says, spinning on his heel to hide in the bathroom for a while. It's only when he's sitting on the closed toilet does he realise Wayne hadn't mentioned his more dangerous ailment. For a time, he'd been a normal (debatable) person having a normal (horrifying) conversation with his dad. Not a vampire. Not somebody who ruins everything he touches.
—
"It's so quiet," you whisper.
For you, Eddie thinks.
You're in the forest surrounding the aptly named Forest Hills trailer park, wielding your borrowed torch carefully into the dark. Eddie's following in your footsteps, trying not to smell everything that's on you today and failing.
You smell like a person as everybody does. Over that is your soap, a faint hint of milk and honey that sticks to your skin even after you've washed it away. Over that is your deodorant, 'unscented', and over that is your perfume, which he likes most. It's a mix of smells, some Eddie doesn't know and some he does. There's lavender, though that might be down to the bunch you'd brought for his uncle wrapped in newspaper, and there's something fruity he can't quite put his finger on, all of it wrapped up in a cloying pairing of vanilla and coconut.
"Eddie?"
"What?"
"Are you okay? You're almost as quiet as the trees."
If only you knew the trees aren't quiet.
"I'm alright," he says quickly, catching up to you where you stand a few feet ahead. "What are we looking for?"
Best change the subject. How to explain he'd been smelling the notes of your perfume?
"They rest on tree trunks. You have to be careful, any sudden sound or light will scare them away. But if you flash the torch on them, they shine like oil stains."
He loves when you talk. "Where'd they come from?"
"Place called Snowdon. They're so rare, they think there's only about a thousand alive there."
"Well, how did they get here?"
You laugh under your breath, so quiet he would've missed it if he wasn't enhanced. "I don't know. How do beetles get to different places?"
"They fly?"
A twig crunches under your shoe.
Eddie tips his head to the side, thinking. "If there's only a thousand, how-" He stops, your circle of torch light growing further and further away. "Are you sure that they live here?"
"No, but if they do we'll be the first to find them."
"So they've never found any out here? In- In the midwest?"
"Not yet. Where'd you go?"
He shakes his head in an affectionate disbelief. "Right behind you."
You search in silence for a while. Eddie wishes he could say he was mad, or even mildly annoyed, wishes he had even the slightest regard for his own time, but really he thinks any time with you is time well spent. Especially if it's helping you do something you want to do. Whether you find your rainbow leaf beetle or not, he feels better knowing he's out here with you to keep you safe and in company.
Conversation is sparing. He doesn't mind. Your footsteps fill the sound and he finds even that stupid detail charming, the crunch, the pick up. His own are silent, a rare advantage to his terrible affliction.
"Any other beetles you want me to keep an eye out for?" he whispers.
"I'm not sure…" You turn to face him, torch pointed at your shoes. Rubber toes touched together, you lean in until you're all he can smell. Perfume. Blood. "If you see any cool spiders, too."
"You have the mason jar?"
"You know I do."
More than you realise, he thinks. The glass clicks in your bag.
There's enough light reflected to see the most minute details of your face. Your nose, the circle of your irises but not their colour. He suspects Eddie from early '86 wouldn't have been able to see hide nor hair, and it wouldn't shock him if you were technically blind right now.
"Thanks for coming out with me. I was gonna ask you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, but I didn't want to come on too strong." He can sense your smile even though he can't see it. It's in the way your breathing deepens. "I know I can be a lot to deal with."
"Who told you that?"
"What?"
Eddie doubles down.. "Who told you that?" he sounds heartbroken.
He kind of is. Yeah, you're weird — Who cares? Who isn't? — but you're not a lot to deal with. He doesn't 'deal' with you.
"Everybody tells me that. All the time."
"Everybody's stupid." To say it so loudly, scathingly, is sweet. It's therapeutic. "They are. This whole town is stupid."
Your fingertips touch his thigh. He's willing you to turn the torch up and see his face, because he has a lot of feelings on display that he isn't brave enough to say out loud.
"You never make me feel stupid," you say softly.
"You're not."
You giggle breathily at his vehemence, fingertips pressing in with a touch more pressure before you pull away and shine the torch deep into the trees.
"This whole town is stupid," you mumble. "But not you."
He thinks of his friends who are definitely stupid, but he loves anyways. He's about to add them to the not-stupid (subjectively) list when he remembers Steve's discovery: your earring burning a hole in his pocket. He'd been carrying it for long enough now to forget all about it.
"Hey, I have something for you."
"You do?"
"Don't get too excited. It's not a gift."
He digs in his pocket for the tissue paper wrapping and hisses in shock as the silver plating of your hoop graces his index finger. You shine the torch at him. His eyes ache like he's been stabbed and he slams them closed, hand pulled to his chest.
How embarrassing.
"Eddie, what happened?" you question loudly.
He winces at the sudden overstimulation. Slowly, he blinks, and finds you staring at him in a worry that softens every feature, even your nose. He doesn't know the logistics.
"It's okay. Stabbed a paper cut on the back. Your earring's in my pocket, the heart?"
"The hoop? I thought I lost it." Your worry turns to confusion and then melds into joy. You step forward and fish in his jacket pocket for your earring.
"Steve found it."
"'The hair'?"
"Yeah, the hair."
You both laugh and yours heightens when you find the earring, pulling it out like a knife to be brandished. "Yes."
"I meant to tell you a dozen times that I had it."
"You're the best."
There's a crunch of wood somewhere to the left like something heavy falling over.
The forest sprawls in every direction and the trees tower, their presence looming as skyscrapers. The wind ruffles the topmost branches and their trunks groan with pressure. It's enough to freak Eddie out super sense or not, feeling suddenly like he couldn't protect you. He could hear the individual droplets of drool dripping from a lynx's bloody maw, and he can sense each twig underfoot before he takes his next step, but none of that is going to keep you safe in the face of real danger.
"Maybe we should head back," he says tentatively.
"Okay. Do you want to come over?"
His breath catches. "You want me to?"
"Yeah, we can watch movies, I have leftover pasta."
That sounds more like what he should've been thinking. "I don't wanna keep you up."
"What kind of pasta?" he asks.
The torch flickers. "With the tiny tomatoes. You'll like it, super creamy."
"How do you know?"
"You like Alfredo," you say astutely, hitting the torch into the palm of your hand. It flashes weakly, the shadow of the trees flickering and so dark they're violet.
"Try tightening the handle."
You turn the barrel of the torch and the light switches off completely. You try to undo what you've done to no success, the sound of plastic rubbing plastic almost as loud as your heartbeat. Your pulse falters and then grows to racing when the light fails to come back on.
"Eddie," you say, sounding unsure. It's a new sound on you. "I don't know where we are. How are we gonna get home?"
Your admission is like a dousing of ice water over his head. "You don't know what direction we came from?"
"No, do you?"
Eddie wouldn't know if he couldn't hear the sound of the electricity pylon buzzing somewhere to the right. But how can he explain that? "Uh, we were turned around."
You creep to his side and grab his arm with both hands. "Are you sure?"
"Hey," he says gently. "Hey, it's okay. I know where we are. We'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" you ask again.
"I'm positive."
You take a deep breath that doesn't erase your shakiness, a failed attempt at self-soothing. "I really don't know where we are."
"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?"
"Not really… I don't wanna get lost out here."
"You won't. I know how to get back. C'mon," he prompts, pulling his arm to encourage you forward.
You let go of him and navigate a few steps by yourself. He weaves through the trees, waiting for your heartbeat to slow.
It doesn't. He opens his mouth to reassure you again when you gasp, kicking your foot against a root and tripping. You barely fall, catching yourself on the trunk of a tree, and Eddie remembers himself. You can't see the trees. That's why you're worried. You can't see anything.
Then the smell of blood hits him like a freight train.
—
Your hand stings where you caught yourself, palm scraped down against harsh bark.
"Shit," you mumble.
You're panicking badly, and you're confused as to why Eddie isn't. Not only was it fucking stupid of you to come out here with only one torch, it was stupid of you to assume you'd remember what way was home. It was stupid of you to come here tonight for that stupid beetle, and stupid of you to drag Eddie along. You're an idiot, and now you're bleeding.
Your eyes sting with tears, pain like a popped seal. I'm so stupid.
"Hey," Eddie says, his tone silky soft, "you're okay. Let me help you up."
You hold your hands out.
"Eddie, this is weird." Hopefully he understands that weird means scary.
He takes your hands, fingers closing slowly over your bloody palm. His breath is loud as he pulls you up toward him like he's panicked but his grip stays kind, and you abandon the notion when he rubs over your knuckles with his thumb. "It's alright."
He doesn't sound the same.
"Eddie, we can't see."
"We'll go slowly, okay? I'll put my hand out and we'll walk around anything that gets in the way."
"Yeah," you say hurriedly, heart bump-bump-bumping against your ribcage.
He keeps one hand, the injured one, and starts to drag you slowly through the trees. His grip tightens as you go until it starts to ache, until it feels like it might bruise.
"Ouch, Eds. You're hurting me," you say, going for a lightly teasing tone and missing the mark.
Instantly, he eases off. "Sorry, sweetheart. You hold onto me, alright?"
You do as he'd asked, hand clinging to him as he leads. He doesn't squeeze you again, walking slowly as he'd promised, and the closer you get to the edge of the forest the clearer it becomes. Light pollution from the centre of town leaches through the trees like water trickling from an overflowing basin.
His second hand is in his pocket.
"Here," he says after you've traversed to the very edge of the forest. "There's the park. We're bona fide explorers."
He looks out toward the park and you look at the side of his face. Something isn't right. Something uncanny.
You drop your gaze from his face to your joined hands. They come apart, blood smeared in both your palms like two halves of a dripping heart.
—
There is something weird about Eddie. As a residential freak of Hawkins you think you're an authority in this, and you don't feel guilty for judging him. Your brain can't stop going over your night in the forest. For days you play the scenes back and for days you lose the details. You forget how the wind had tousled his hair, how he'd smelled, what he'd said.
You remember the way he'd squeezed your bloody hand. You remember the way he'd spoken, strained.
Not strained like he didn't want to comfort you, he had, but strained.
Restrained.
You're poking at the shallow cut half-healed now in your palm at work when a dude walks in, very tall, handsome, and gunning straight for you.
You straighten your badge and hide your bracelet heavy wrists behind your back, receding slightly as he approaches. He slows in front of you.
You have a light bulb moment.
"The hair," you say.
He scowls. "He told you that, huh. Typical."
"You're Steve?"
"That's me." Steve crosses his arms across his chest, his back to a booth, your back to the diner bar. "You're Eddie's new friend."
"What counts as new?" A month and a half doesn't feel so new to you.
"Trust me, you're new."
He has the strangest patch covering the outside of his left wrist, the same peculiar scarring that you can see on Eddie's waist when he reaches for a glass out of the kitchen cabinet. You don't ask because you're not a dick no matter how curious you find yourself, but it makes your heart skip. What is that? You'd assumed Eddie's was road rash. Now you're not so sure.
He tucks it under his arm.
You meet his suspicious gaze.
"You want coffee?"
"No."
You kick your foot, shoe sliding over the shiny waxed floor with a squeal. "Is Eddie okay?"
"Did you want to come to a party next Friday?"
"No," you say honestly. "Like a cult?"
"What?"
"Are you initiating me into your cult?"
He finally smiles, eyes creased with amusement. "I'm inviting you to our club."
"Club where you chew on each other?"
You look pointedly at Steve's wrist.
"No. Club where we play board games and drink jiffy pop. Come or don't, doesn't matter."
"If it doesn't matter, why are you asking me?"
It's a strangely intense conversation to have this early in the morning. Patrons chatter about work, coffee gets poured. The diner smells of syrup and sugar and bitter cold-press. You're both in work apparel, both refusing to move back. If this is some kind of shovel talk then that's fine, and if it's a test you're determined to pass, even if Eddie's been super weird lately.
"I'll come if you promise not to eat me," you say.
"It's really not that kind of club."
—
"I had the weirdest visit in the entire world today," you declare, stopping in front of Eddie's porch with a smile.
"Yeah?" he asks without looking up, guitar in his lap and pen scribbling over a lined notebook.
You wait for him to stop before you continue, leaning forward with both arms braced on the porch by his feet. "Steve Harrington came to see me, and he was super mean. You said he was nice."
He frowns at you. "I told you he was a dick."
"You like him when you tell me stories."
"How mean?" Eddie asks, patting the seat beside him.
You climb up onto the porch and plop down onto the couch, worn leather cold with the weather and damp in the seams.
You take a strand of his hair and curl it around your finger. "Not really super mean, but he was, like, acting like I killed a baby."
"He's like that."
You sigh and lean your cheek against the couch cushion, watching Eddie's stubble move as he tamps down a teasing smile. "He invited me to a party next weekr."
"It's not a party- Sweetheart, what are you doing?"
You tickle his cheek with the end of his hair. "Nothing."
"M'gonna sneeze."
You tickle him again, fine dark strands brushing over his pale cheek. He's a very ashen guy, you've found. Likely because he barely goes out in the sun and he doesn't eat enough. You draw circles around the apple of his cheek and grin softly at his growing smile, a sweet, silly thing.
"I'll tickle you back," he warns.
"Promise?"
He steals the curl back and tucks it behind his ear.
"You're not a cannibal, are you?"
Eddie chokes on air. You startle at his coughing and move to pat his back, palm slapping a steady rhythm into his shoulder. When he calms down you run your hand down the length of his arm, long sleeve t-shirt soft beneath your touch. You linger at his wrist and decide to hold it.
He drops his pen and your hand travels until he's caught your thumb. He kneads it in his fingers.
"I'm not a cannibal. Why would you think that?"
"I don't, but you and Steve are in your club, right?"
"Hellfire wasn't like that," he says heatedly.
"No, not- Not that one."
He doesn't say anything.
"You have… He has this scar, on his wrist. Like something bit him, or-" He turns to you and he looks formidable and upset and himself, not mad at you but raw emotion in his expression anyhow. It's gone as quick as it came.
"When all that… stuff happened," he begins quietly, "we got hurt. A couple of us."
You drop your head, ashamed at having pried. "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me anything else."
"Don't be sorry…" He squeezes your hand and lets it go. "Don't worry about it."
"Okay."
"We usually call ourselves a party, these days. Not a club."
"Do you really play board games and drink jiffy pop?"
"Sometimes we get really crazy and order a pizza. You should come."
You realise as he says it how much his wanting you to go had mattered to you. Eddie's your friend, and you don't think that you're going to stay friends much longer.
"You think your friends will like me?" you ask, voice descending to a new kind of gentle.
He puts down his guitar and his notebook. His full attention is something you've come to really enjoy, not because of the hunger you often see flitting across his face — though that's neat —, but because of the inklings of adoration clinging to his smile when he looks at you. His blinking lashes. He smiles at you and just slows. A usually frenetic boy calmed.
"Maybe not Mike. Mike doesn't like anybody. Except for Will," he muses.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Who do you like?"
"I like all of them." He juts his cheek toward his shoulder, conceding, " I think Dustin's my favourite. He's funny. He's funnier than I am, and he's the smartest kid I've ever met. And he knows it."
Your eyes focus on the pink outline of his upper lip as he speaks. It's a pleasure to be this close, and see him in this kind of crazy detail. When you go home tonight you might try to draw him. You'll probably forget.
It's the kind of smile that deserves to be immortalised.
"I really like your smile," you tell him, hoping it'll last a little longer.
It stretches. The pink outline turns white. "Shut up."
"I do. I've seen a thousand different smiles but I've never met someone who smiles like you do."
"How's that?" he asks, edging toward you, face a mirror in which you can see your own charmed expression.
"Like you," — you shake your head with your lips parted — "know a secret. Something you won't tell anybody."
His smile abruptly ends.
You've nothing if not a talent for saying the wrong thing.
"A good secret," you amend.
He picks up his acoustic and gives it an experimental strum. "Maybe one or two," he agrees.
Relief catches you. You nibble at the inside of your lip and watch his fingers work over the neck of his guitar, tipping your head so you can read the words he's markered over the body.
"This machine slays dragons," you murmur to yourself. "Yeah? How many?"
"Just the one."
"Save any princesses?"
"Not yet." He plucks at the strings, lost in thought, before turning to you with eyebrows raised. "Can you play?"
You exhale out of the corner of your mouth as he pushes the guitar into your lap, an arm coming around your shoulder, the other reaching to guide your curled forefinger to the strings. You turn to face him, watching him talk with a growing fondness.
"It's easy, I swear. We'll do Call Me. Blondie's basic, even a baby could play it."
He realises you aren't listening and raises his gaze, shiny brown irises stuck on your lips. This close, it would be worse if he didn't look at them.
You glance at his, an obvious thing, half a wish. If he only lifted his chin.
Your breath mingles.
"It's easy," he says again, a murmur of his usual volume as his gaze pulls back up to yours. "I'll show you."
You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding; it's deafening. You wait, and you wait, and you turn your eyes back to his guitar and clamp your fingers down against the struts so he can't see them shaking with adrenaline.
—
Eddie sits beside Steve and tries not to admit to himself that Steve Harrington is, horrifyingly, his best friend (along with the rest of the party, obviously). Steve is the closest in age and Eddie can't make excuses (though he tries and tries and tries), Steve understands how much Eddie doesn't ever want to talk about anything that's happened to them, so he talks about literally everything else instead.
"It was the weirdest pawn shop I've ever been in. They had, like, a wall of combi's playing the same video at the same time but all slightly delayed."
Eddie blinks.
Steve turns his head from the TV, having expected a response. "Did you say something?"
"No." Then, because he's not a dick. "Sorry, Harrington. Want me to sit on your other side?"
"What for?" Steve says. Not because he denies how he's hard of hearing, but because he denies having conversations with Eddie.
He does end up moving to Steve's other side with a pathetic excuse. "I can't see the TV."
Steve doesn't say a word until he's sat down again. "Sorry I was mean to your girlfriend."
"Yeah, what was that about?"
"I was cranky because it was early and I don't want her to damage the integrity of the party." He gives equal weight to both reasons.
Eddie snorts at him. "Since when do you care about the integrity of the party?" Steve barely acknowledges that they are a party. He thinks that's a very nerdy way to say friends.
"Since always, dipshit."
"And inviting her to join the party was the solution because…?"
Steve drinks the rest of his coke and pretends to really care about what's on TV. "If," he begins after a minute, refusing to look at Eddie, "something happens with her, and something happens to you, that damages the integrity of the party."
"Steve," Eddie says, jaw dropped down to his chest, "do you have a crush on me?"
"Oh my god," Steve mutters. "Oh my god," he says louder. "I can't stand you."
To prove his point, he gets up from the couch with a wrinkled nose, stops to tap his shoe gently against Max's where she's sitting in the armchair across from the coffee table, and disappears into his kitchen.
Steve Harrington cares about me enough to give Y/N the shovel talk.
He feels kind of great about it.
But he's not sure your the one who needs warning.
That night in the forest, Eddie had almost snapped. There are rules to follow if he wants to keep people safe, self-imposed, Hopper-imposed, and he's broken too many with you already, the most important being no close proximity when he's hungry. Eddie doesn't even realise he is hungry half the time. He'll be standing by you and he'll want to touch you, and suddenly it's like he's three weeks in to the month without sating.
He thinks about kissing you and suddenly he's thinking about biting you, and hurting you, and it's literally tearing him up from the inside out.
How can he want to do that to you?
"You look so depressed and pathetic," Dustin says out of the blue.
Eddie pouts and falls back into the couch, Steve's fancy throw falling onto his shoulder. "I used to like you," he says, taking in Dustin's outfit with a kind of parental approval. He's getting older and it shows, slightly more handsome than he had been — he's kept all his baby weight and it suits him, his full cheeks surrounded by the softest brown curls Eddie has ever seen. The outfit stays immature, a funny t-shirt and ill-fitting pants.
"Sad. You have a sad face," Dustin says.
"Go play with your nerd squad, please."
He doesn't listen, collapsing in Steve's still-warm seat like a cheap tent and crossing longer, thicker arms over his chest. He smiles at Eddie genuinely. "Where's your girlfriend?"
"No."
"Where's Y/N?"
Eddie tips his head so he can see past the coffee table and points to where you're almost hidden, sitting with Robin on the floor by Steve's sideboard. You have a basket of tapes in front of you, the two of you trying to choose what's going in the stereo. Eddie prays for anything but Blondie.
You will most likely choose Blondie.
"What does she like?" Dustin asks curiously.
"Everything, kind of. Why?"
"I wanna know what to say when I talk to her."
Eddie smiles at his friend's face, a soft, surprised thing. "I don't know if she knows anything about the radio but if you're happy about it she'll be happy too. She's a good listener."
Dustin picks at a piece of lint on his t-shirt bearing a white and black print of a dog wearing sunglasses. "So you talk to her?" he asks without looking up.
"I mean, yeah. What else do you do?"
"With a girl that likes you? Huh, let me think." Dustin laughs and ruins his own sarcasm, pointer finger laid against his chin in a show of thoughtfulness.
"It's not like that," Eddie says lightly.
"It could be."
"Could it? I mean… I don't even know if she'll stick around. And I feel bad 'cos I can't be honest with her."
"Why not?"
"Hopper said he would literally put me in the hole if I even thought about it." There's no need to expand. Dustin would know better than anyone what he's talking about.
He cringes at the thought, self hatred a hot poker down his throat. He must've said it to Dustin a hundred times when he finally came around from his coma (that wasn't a coma, but a death, and then a rebirth). I can't believe I put you through that. I can't believe I put you through that. I'm so sorry.
I'm just glad you're alive, Eddie.
And for a while, Eddie hadn't felt the same. The world he'd woken up to was hard. There had been lawyers and grief and guilt and becoming. He doesn't have the words to describe how it feels to become something new, something that needs to hurt people to live, something that will hurt people to live, whether Eddie wants to or not.
The loss of choice is suffocating.
Though moments like this with his friends– they don't make it 'worth it', they're just how it had to happen. There isn't a scenario where Eddie could give up. He can't leave Wayne, and he can't leave Dustin. He can live with the grief of what he is if it means other people don't have to live with grief of what he isn't.
"Eddie, are you okay?"
He's missed something. Dustin isn't the only one looking at him.
He curls a hand around his forearm subconsciously. "I'm fine. I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom, actually. Gotta piss real bad."
"Eddie-"
"I'm fine, Henderson." He puts on a good show, patting Dustin's arm. His heart, usually so slow these days, has enough life in it to ache.
He can't have been in the bathroom for five minutes when somebody knocks on the door aggressively. He's expecting Steve, pissed at his disappearance and likely preparing a speech on attention seeking behaviours and how they're hurting the youth of America, so he opens the door with a tired glare.
He finds you, beaming and pretty, dressed ridiculously nicely for his idiot friends.
"Hi," you say. He can hear something from Blondie's Parallel Lines playing from the living room, familiar because it's your favourite album. "Any room for me?"
Eddie moves back. You close the door behind you. The bathroom becomes a vacuum of your sounds and smells.
"They didn't have any Dio," you say with a smile.
"I honestly wouldn't expect any different."
"You could've brought some tapes, your mix from the van," you suggest. "I love that one."
"Which one?" he asks, and he can't help it, whenever he's with you his voice crops to a dulcet murmur. The urge to speak to you as you speak to him is unconquerable.
"One with the winking smile on the slipcase. I really like it."
"You can have it."
You lean against the sink. "I can?"
"Mm. Whatever you want." Especially when you look like this.
You smile at him, your 'thank you' smile, all sticky fondness and mischievousness. He has no idea what you're thinking.
"'S a small bathroom in a huge house," you marvel. Your voice echoes "Where does he shower?"
"There's an upstairs bathroom."
"Two bathrooms? That's-"
"Audacious?"
"I was gonna say overkill."
Your candidness has him shaking with laughter. He clutches at his sides, arms crossed and leaning forward. You visibly take in his appearance, eyes panning slowly over his clean hair. He'd taken care to look like somebody you might want to look at tonight.
"Why don't you sit down, Eds?" you ask, eyes creased with an unreadable emotion.
Eddie feels blindly for the toilet lid and pushes it down so he can do as you ask, wondering why you're asking.
"You look very handsome today."
He hugs himself. "As opposed to every other day, when I don't?"
You take a step forward, a second, hands playing with the hem of your shirt. Your outfit today is delightfully simple, a pressed black t-shirt long enough to cover the waistband of your pleated skirt. There's an expanse of thigh that makes his heart beat spin out, one longer than the other where your thigh-high is falling down.
He wants to pull it up.
"C'mere," he says.
You take that last step between his shoes and he reaches out, getting his fingertips under the elastic of your sock and tugging it upward over the soft fat of your leg. Your hands come up to his shoulders for balance, and you say, "No, you look handsome every day. Today you look very handsome. I made the distinction."
He covers your thigh with both hands, looking up into your face as you look down. "You look really pretty today," he says boldly, fingers spreading behind your knee.
"Thank you. Do you like my t-shirt?"
It's a screen print of Debbie Harry. Eddie tries not to roll his eyes. "I love it, but your dedication to Blondie is seriously worrying, sweetheart." He gives your leg a short squeeze and pulls the most giggly smile out of you yet.
"Like Madonna."
"No!" he bemoans.
You laugh and grow closer, arms on his shoulder, a hand threaded into his hair. "Cyndi Lauper?" you suggest.
He puts a hand on your waist as you move in for a hug. Your arms wrap around his neck and the tops of his shoulders, cheek crushed to the top of his head.
He'd ask if you were okay if he thought you weren't. You're not upset or seeking comfort. You're affectionate. You've been getting more and more touchy for weeks, as he has. Stolen touches, your almost-kiss on the porch last week.
"No, not Cyndi Lauper," he says, his hand skirting around your back to pull you in properly.
"R.E.M?"
"God, no. Where are you hearing all this junk?"
"The radio."
"Tuned into the wrong station."
You pet the back of his head. "Yeah," you say softly, "I think I was."
The hug is shorter than Eddie wants it to be. You make one of your happy sounds and pull away to get your hands on his face, stroking curls from his cheeks with a protective touch. "Handsome," you say, turning your hand to stroke his cheek with your knuckles. "Pretty. You have really big eyes, Eddie, so brown, and so…" You tilt your head to one side, face inching forward.
He turns his face to suit, to fit, breath held as you close the gap.
"So pretty," you murmur, and kiss him.
His hands are limp and then alive, one clutching your hip, one splaying against your chest. He can hear the thud of your heart clear as day — you're bumping with excitement as you kiss him. It's a delicate, tender thing, the party suddenly far away, the music drowned by the sounds of your breathing. You kiss as you talk, as you move, gentle but with bursts of ardency. Your lips are a blissful heat, the tip of your nose smushing into his as you part your lips over his.
He lifts his chin higher, his neck craned to receive you. He's savouring every movement. Each pause for breath that you take. The feeling of your inhales over his quick-bruising lips.
Your hands play in his hair so sweetly it makes his eyes burn with an embarrassing amount of emotion. He screws them closed and squeezes up your waist, steadying himself as you feel along his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue.
You don't get much further than that, seemingly pleased with your own brazeness or perhaps his touch, eyes glowing with mirth as you pull away.
"Sorry," you breathe, not sorry at all. "You just really looked like someone should be kissing you."
You're flushed. Eddie can practically see the heat emanating off of your cheeks. He can feel it.
He stands up, your pulse a ringing in his ears. The wet valves of your heart opening and closing.
"Eddie?" you ask quietly, lifting your head to meet his eyes as he walks you back into the door.
His gums sting. A click.
It's a compulsion.
His hands curl around your elbows, holding you in place. Your eyes are wide with confusion, your lightly swollen lips parted. He can see the tiniest slip of your pink tongue.
He holds your gaze as he leans in. Your eyelids flutter closed. You wrap your arms around him as he descends, totally trusting.
He's a meaner kiss than you are. He starts slow but swiftly loses a handle on it, kisses short but insistent, hot presses like little crescent moons against your barely open mouth.
His hands move up your arms, a near vice-like grip until he finds your sleeves. His fingers slip underneath, hands hungry for your warmth.
You make the worst sound anyone has ever made as he moves back, like something has been ripped from you. A gutted gasp, near silent.
He placates as he wades back in. Thumbs rubbing your arms, lips mouthing damp kisses down your face. The corner of your pout, the hill of your chin, the skin under your jaw. Your head tips back against the door with an audible thud. You exhale hard.
Eddie can't feel his hands.
Your pulse hammers under his lips. He kisses it once. He can't think. He can't breathe.
"You're always cold," you whisper, your hands drifting lazily under the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingertips trail up his spine. "But your lips are warm."
He kisses your neck, his lips parting slowly, a hair's width a second as he sucks your skin into his mouth gently. It's barely a kiss. He does it a second time. A third. You start to laugh, a golden sound.
The point of his fangs touch your skin and you stop.
Eddie closes his mouth abruptly. His hand leaps to your neck and he feels your heart skip as he holds you still. "I'm sorry," he says, nose rubbing over the damp spot he's left behind, your teased skin.
Your heart hikes again.
"I'm sorry," he repeats. He pulls away, an agony.
"It's okay," you say. Your breathlessness says otherwise.
Eddie takes as many deep breaths as he can stand, wanting to clear his head and filling it with you instead. Your everything; your smell, your skin. Your limp hands against his back.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks when he gets a look at you, your unreadable expression. He takes care to keep his head angled down so you can't see the lower half of his face.
"I don't think you could."
You cup his cheek in your hand and he leans into it, his weight against yours.
"I wanted to tell you something," you confess.
"What-" He licks his lips, wincing when his fangs slide into his tongue and scrape grooves across his taste buds. "What was that?"
"I know you…" You pause, fingertips rubbing at his cheek.
Does she know? Eddie thinks, horrified. He hadn't realised how scary waiting could be. A thousand worries condensed into a handful of seconds. Does she know?
How could she not?
You press your palm to his cheek with more insistence. "I don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me. I know you have scars," you say, fingers sliding into the soft baby hair at the back of his neck. "You don't have to cover up. You don't have to cover any of it."
"I won't hurt you," he says, trying to convince himself.
"I know."
-
You stay a while longer. Eddie's friends pretend that you hadn't been alone in the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time together. You thank them all silently and less so, trying to talk to as many of them as you can.
There's Lucas, who's really, really nice, and his girlfriend Max, who's less so. She gives you an unimpressed look through her thick-lensed glasses, but you compliment her crutches and she comes around.
There's Mike, who actually isn't anywhere as bad as Eddie had described him. He's not frosty or standoffish, he's sweet and he asks questions. There's a girl with him that you don't catch the name of, and a boy on her other side.
There's Dustin, who you adore immediately, Robin, who you adore more, and then there's Steve.
Steve offers you a pretzel like you're more than familiar. He strolls right up to you with a bowl of them in hand and doesn't leave until you've eaten half of them.
There's a couple of people you don't manage to talk to at all, and you feel guilty about it all the way home.
"What if they think I'm rude?" you ask, tired eyes locking onto the stereo system. The time blinks analog in the dark, 12:59AM.
"They don't, don't worry about it. You have lots of time to get to know them, anyway."
You hum and turn to his face, indulgent because you know he can't look back. "You're not too tired to drive, are you?" He's spent. Yesterday had been one of his bad days.
"I'm fine."
"You say that all the time," you observe, dropping your cheek into the passenger seat's headrest.
"I'm fine all the time."
"Liar."
"Nuisance."
You huff a laugh through your nose. The strands of his friendship bracelet, the small beads at the ends, swing like pendulums in the gap between his arm and the steering wheel. You can see the rough skin of a scar creeping out from under his sleeve.
"Mike was really nice," you say.
"He has a bleeding heart."
That feels accurate. "He reminds me of you."
Eddie rolls his eyes. You feel for every detail, the strange tension between you like a gaussian filter over everything. He's gorgeous in a horrific way, heartbreakingly pale, eyes dark as pitch, hands restless. They squeeze alone the wheel, thick fingers curling tight until his knuckles are stark white. Running down the back of his hands are veins like rivers. They're more purple than green.
"Eddie," you say, playful, a tiny bit insecure.
"What?"
"Wanna stay the night?"
His hand moves forward on the wheel like he's revving a motorcycle, the tendon in his wrist rising to the surface. He clenches. "Not sure it's a good idea."
"Just to sleep. It's late."
"I don't know if I can sleep next to you."
You don't wanna say please. You don't want to ask Eddie to do anything he can't or doesn't wanna do.
He pulls up outside of your house with his mind already made up. He gets out of the car and you follow his lead. He locks it, shoves the keys in his pocket as you join him on the path up to your porch.
He's been in here enough times to know what it looks like, but for some reason you find yourself checking his face, worried about what it is he thinks of your things, all your mismatched trinkets, your stained glass lamps, your life as you let yourselves in. He ducks through the beeded curtain into your bedroom wary that they'll get tangled in his hair like they sometimes do.
"Do you wanna call Wayne?" you ask, gesturing to your telephone on the right hand side, nestled between a stack of books and a cup full of coloured pencils.
You pull your knee up to your chest and unlace your shoes one at a time. Eddie punches the number into the phone and holds the receiver to his shoulder to do as you're doing. It takes him less time to pop his sneakers off than for you to get out of yours. He's just taken the phone back into his hand when Wayne picks up.
"Wayne?" he asks softly. "Didn't wake you up, did I?"
You can't hear his response.
"I'm gonna stay with Y/N tonight. Yeah, we had a good time. Yeah…" His eyes drift to you as you peel out of your thigh highs.
"Yeah, I'm still here. What?" He meets your eyes and it feels accidental, because he throws his eyes to your bedsheets and turns his face to the wall. "No," he says firmly.
You scrape together something to wear for bed and some fresh underwear and leave for the bathroom, telling yourself that nothing is gonna happen so don't get your hopes up but not wanting to get caught out if it does. You freshen up, brushing your teeth and washing your face.
You stare at yourself in the mirror and wonder if you should've left your face-powder and your mascara on. Maybe even the skirt. You'd looked nice and pretty for the party. Now you look like yourself, still pretty but without those extra touches. Will he care? Does it matter?
You debate your pyjama pants considerably.
There's a lot happening.
Eddie is… Eddie is something else. He's different, you'd known that for a long time, and his kiss had confirmed it.
He's something out of a science fiction book.
Well, nobody's perfect.
Whatever he is, he'd kissed you. You'd kissed him and he'd responded, he'd come back for more, and now he's sitting in your bed when he could've gone home. You bring your hand to your neck and crane to one side, fingertips poking at your unbroken skin. His hickey's haven't even bruised.
You screw the pants up and drop them into your laundry basket. You take off every piece of jewellery on your person.
"Do you wanna use the bathroom?" you ask from behind the beaded curtain. "I left a new toothbrush for you on the sink."
"Yeah, desperately, I…" He takes you in as you emerge. Fresh-faced, bare-legged. As naked as you've ever been in front of him, physically and otherwise.
Eddie meets you where you're standing. He's ditched his jacket, and for the first time since you met him you can see the full length of his arms.
"You're not wearing your bracelets," he says, looking between your bodies. His hand twitches toward yours.
"You have tattoos," you say.
"They were better, before."
There's a misshapen mess of black splodges near the crook of his elbow broken up by scar tissue. One arm is less scarred than the other, an almost perfect flank of white skin.
"Is that a puppet? He's super spooky."
"Mh-hm."
You bring your hand to his tattoo and feel over the skin. It doesn't feel like it's there. Eddie holds your wrist and the two of you move together, your fingertips stroking up until you're wrapped around his bicep.
Eddie brings his free hand to your collar. His index finger straightens, encouraging your chin up so he can ease forward and kiss you. He's firm, eager, and your lips curl up into a smile underneath it. He turns his head to the right and you fall left, smile worsened when you feel his own start to form.
He nudges your nose. You take it for a telling off and laugh. "Sorry," you apologise, kissing his top lip.
"You're making this difficult," he chides.
Despite any sternness, Eddie loosens his grip on your wrists to slide his fingers between yours, pressing your joined hands to your chest. He leans back down and he's careful, almost methodical in the way he kisses. Chaste pecks, hot and precious as tiny stars.
You reach for his waist.
Eddie kisses you a final time and steps back. "I'll be back," he promises.
You lower your chin, flustered and perplexed by his sudden departure.
Walking around to the right side of the bed, you click on your bedside lamp — a beautiful glass and foiled contraption that throws dainty stripes of stars and hearts over everything close in the dark — before climbing in. You sniff one of your pillows experimentally, trying to remember when you last changed the bed. You decide they're acceptable even if they really smell like your hair oil and flip them around to be safe, plumping them up with your hands.
You've curled up on your side and almost succumb to your fatigue when Eddie returns, bringing with him the smell of spearmint and a fuzzy feeling in your stomach as he shuts off the light and sits on the opposite side of the bed, facing you. The hair around his face is damp with water, baby hair's limp.
"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to wear, I-" Youre cut off by your own gasp as Eddie kisses you, his hand on your neck, his nose bridge sliding into your own. You hadn't been expecting it, and it's no less dizzying than any other kiss he's given you today.
"It's okay," he murmurs lowly, lips pressed to your lips, "have to wear you, is all."
You huff a laugh into his mouth. "I swear I'm always laughing when I'm with you," you muse as Eddie dedicates himself to your bottom lip. You cup the back of his head. "You're amazing."
Eddie groans and eases back. "I'm not good with words, sweetheart. To tell you how I feel about you."
You push one of your legs toward his knee. "...You can show me."
He shifts in the bed until he can lean over the entirety of your chest, hands cupping your face and lips poised hovering over your own, a millimetre of space between your mouth and his. "Okay," he says quietly.
He dips down. You can feel his bottom lip tremble, and then he's kissing you too hard to feel it anymore. You wrap loose arms around his back.
"Are you sure?" you whisper to him.
He rests his nose against your cheek, eyes closed, drawing the tiniest left to right. "I want you," he reassures.
"And you're okay?"
"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm okay. Do you want to?"
"Yeah. More than anything."
Another loving kiss against your cheek, Eddie moves down, down, down. "Tell me if I do something you don't like," he murmurs, top lip dragging and leaving a line of dampness to the base of your throat.
He adorns the canvas of your neck in half-moon contusions, big hands caressing your shoulders, your chest. You hold your breath as his fingers pass over your nipple, fighting to keep in any embarrassing sounds.
Eddie disagrees with his plan of action. You shiver as he brings his lips to a close and his bottom teeth scrape upward, as he pulls his head up and says, "C'mon, angel, breathe."
He follows his command with a manipulative touch, a circle over your nipple that makes you shudder. He kisses you and it feels like a thank you, pressure, a heat as his palm smooths over the bump of your tummy to your thighs. He squeezes the outside of one and for a while you can kiss him back, and then he pulls your thighs apart and you break away. Eddie follows, kisses you even when your reciprocation is weak.
He pushes your thigh flat to the bed.
You feel the heat of your excitement start to grow. Your stomach aches with the want to be touched.
"You're like a space heater, you're that warm," Eddie says, hand coasting down the inside of your thigh. He squeezes until fat melds under his fingers. "Are you scared?"
His whispering in your ear, his hand as close as it is to where you want it, it winds you up like a coil. You sigh as his thumb strokes the edge of your panties, sound coloured by an awful, devouring desire.
His face presses further into yours in reaction.
His touch is like the tide. He wades in, away. His thumb strokes inward over something soft and then his whole hand moves back to your thigh.
"Teasing," you utter.
"A little… Why, is there something you want me to do?"
His clueless whispering is infuriating and exciting at the same time. Your heart races and you can't discern if it's more lust or love.
"Touch me," you plead, pouting, knowing he's a pushover.
Anticipation stabs like a needle in your tummy as he slides his palm over your cunt completely. He rubs a careful, almost casual rhythm into your panties with the breadth of his fingers, lips kissing a lazy stripe up to your forehead, where he rests his face. You both watch his hand move past the valley of your rising chest.
"M'gonna pull these off, yeah?" He sits up, fingers pushing under the sides. "Lift your- yeah, thank you, sweetheart."
You buzz with his pet names, his soft voice, the feeling of your panties sliding up to your knees and his gentle exhale. You swear you can feel it fan over your slit. "Shit…" he moan, pulling at your spread cunt.
He looks like he's in pain, eyebrows pinched together and murmuring curses as he circles the wetness gathered at your entrance. You turn your head searchingly as he starts to ease his index finger inside your heat, a gentle probing.
One becomes two. He muffles your sighing with firm kisses, amorous praises, "That's it, baby, relax," as he works you open, fingers wet with slickness but not enough. He changes his position, pushing his middle and marriage finger inside and curving as his thumb slides up your slit looking for the bead of your clit.
Slow, slow circles. "There, huh?"
You shiver as he pushes in deeper, fingers as far as they can go. He spreads them wide, drops reassuring kisses all over your face when you keen. It's so new to have him kiss you at all, and to have him touching you — you're melting into nothing right there in his hold.
"I got you. Tell me if it hurts, okay?"
"Want you to- I want you to fuck me," you murmur, arms wrapping around him so you can hide your face in his neck.
"Fuck. Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck you just as soon as I can fit," he murmurs back, sinking three of his thick fingers into your snug cunt. He pulls wetness out with every thrust, a line of slick dribbling down onto the sheets underneath. He wipes it upward and pushes it back inside, his chest heaving. "Y'so tight, gotta take my time. Take our time." He rubs his nose against your head until he can kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Make sure you can take it."
"I can."
It doesn't bear repeating how quietly you're speaking, a mouthing inaudible under the wet, rhythmic thud of Eddie's pinky finger slapping your sticky cunt as he ups the pace of his finger-fucking.
"I don't think so," he coos, pulling his fingers from your cunt and making a show of spreading them wide. Your slick ribbons between them, almost invisible in the dark. "Ruin your sheets before any of that, maybe."
Eddie sits up and gets his hands under your armpits. You laugh as he tugs you up so your shoulders are on top of the pillows, but you don't have time to be confused. He quickly moves to kneel at your feet and pulls your leg over his shoulder, your back lifting unevenly from the sheets.
He starts with a sweet kiss pressed to the skin closest to his mouth, your lower thigh, and then works his way up, open mouthed, barely kisses at all until his hair whispers against your sensitive cunt and he's nipping at the stripe of skin between your thigh and the place where you most want his attention.
"Pretty," he says into your damp skin, lips shining. You reach down to stroke his hair behind his ears, worried he's gonna get it dirty.
He looks at you from between your thighs, his eyes dark in the dim light, their lashes long and soft where the outermost flutter into your skin. He's lovely.
He holds your gaze as he pulls back to your inner thigh. "Pretty everywhere," he says salaciously.
His lips part over your skin and you think he might bite you, a bruising hickey, but he pushes you down flat to the bed by your hips and kisses your clit, a simple kiss. Your fingers weave deeper into his hair. Your fingernails scratch lightly against his scalp, every tiny lick or kiss reflected in the minute tightening of your hands.
He goes slow, mouths down, kisses wetter and wetter as he reaches your entrance. "Poor girl," he murmurs, hands pulled down to further scandalise. He sinks two fingers inside and laughs into your cunt. You squirm.
"What happened? You're dripping on my fingers." Your thighs draw closed around his head as he curls his fingers against a soft spot.
"Eddie, can you-" You swallow. "Please. Please."
He pries your thighs open and rubs them soothingly, lapping at the heat of your cunt in face of your pleading. His tongue appears broad and flat up the centre of you until he's kissing on your clit, fingers pumping in rhythm. Your fingers work into his hair and he groans, the vibration enough to make you whimper under his mouth.
He laps at your clit messily and you tip your head back, breath coming in tight pants. You don't know what you say, only how you say it, desperate "please,"s and keening "Eddie,"s.
His thrusts grow in enthusiasm, fingers rubbing eagerly against something sweet. You pull your legs up and nudge his face to your cunt insistently, thigh shaking as you hold it up. Eddie doesn't need any more encouragement, his pretty pink lips suckling at your clit until you see stars. You make a pained little sound and try to move away from his kissing, startled at the intensity of your high.
Eddie lets your clit pop out of his mouth with a lewd, slick sound, his hands moving under your thighs and pulling you closer. "Good girl," he says, rubbing his wet face against the inside of your thigh. He inhales hard as you are, though he pauses to kiss your kneecap and pat your leg. "Good girl, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry," you say breathlessly, hands pulling his hair from his face. Pleasure rolls through you in hot waves.
"For what?"
"Tugging on your hair," you explain, shoulder pulled up to your cheek.
Eddie kisses your tummy lovingly and climbs on top of you to do the same just under your chin. "It’s okay, sweetheart, I like that shit. That was good, huh?" he asks, lips dropping down to yours all wet and warm.
He's not bragging, he's genuinely asking.
You nod into his kiss, your hands coming up to his sides. You swear your ears perk up as he unzips his jeans and eases them down, a hand disappearing into the mess of fabric. He moans quietly at the first touch.
You move his hair out of the way to watch. Eddie tugs at the length of his cock with a cruel hand, a short dribble of pearly precum sobbing down the tip and under his fingers. He spreads it as it goes, the slickness emphasising the ridges and veins of his cock. You can see it throb, if you look close enough.
He sits back and eases his jeans and boxers down enough to reveal a thatch of curls that brush his hand with every pump downward.
"You okay?" he asks, smirking.
You pull your shirt over your head and your chest warms at his adoring smile. "Will you take off yours?"
He doesn't hesitate like you worried he might. He sheds his t-shirt, pulling the fabric over the back of his head and dumping it off the side of the bed.
You take in his chest and it's abundance of ragged scarring still purpled with newness. He has a tattoo over his heart, a black whorl of legs and eyes. Fine dark hair crawls from the middle of his chest down his navel, joining with the thatch of coiled hair surrounding his aching cock. You shuffle forward and wait with two tentative hands held aloft until he says, "It's okay," before you touch him. You run your hands down the soft slopes of his waist.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore."
"Can I kiss it?"
He snorts. "Prefer you kiss something else."
That really makes you laugh. You dot a kiss against his jaw and can't make yourself stop, dropping them all the way to the skin behind his ear. Your hand creeps lower as you go, held to the curve of his tummy. His skin is hot to touch the lower you go, and his stomach feels solid, a heaviness you know all too well.
"Can I touch you?" you whisper into his ear.
"Please."
You drop your forehead against his chest and he brings his hand up to cup the back of your head. His cock pulses as you wrap your hand around it, skin smooth and slick as you palm slowly up and down. You watch in awe as a bead of precum wells at the tip, Eddie's rough breathing loud overhead.
"Lie down, Y/N," he says, hand moving behind your naked shoulders.
"What way?"
"How do you want it, sweetheart? We'll do it whatever way you want."
You think about it. Whatever way you want. No matter how indulgent, you know he means it.
"Will you spoon me?"
He pushes you gently and follows behind, dragging your body into his front and angling your hips, cock hot and prodding your back. He gets his hand under your knee and pulls it up, splaying your cunt. You jump in surprise as he pushes his cock through your folds, tip rubbing against the still sensitive bead of your clit.
Eddie wraps his arms around you, hugging you from behind. "You wanna put it in for me, baby?"
You reach between your bodies and take his sticky cock into your hand, shifting until the head nudges against your hole. He sinks in inch by inch, arms tightening around your waist and grinding you down onto his cock until you're whimpering.
You grab at his arms with your hands and tether yourself to him as he starts to rock his hips, his thrusting tender and his face turned into your neck.
He presses his hand flat to your abdomen, an anchoring point as he moulds your weepy cunt around his length, each slovenly movement into your heat spreading you that little bit wider.
"Fuck," he says finally, sounding seconds from a black out. "Oh, fuck- You're tight. Gonna fuck you open slow, okay?"
You're pretty sure you'd let him do just about anything. You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss every white knuckle, every freckle you can see on the back, and when he bottoms out your cover your lips with his stolen hand to smother a tearful gasp.
Eddie's thrusts are spearing in their steady rhythm, a dirty slap ringing with every punching thrust forward. You curl in on yourself and hide your mouth in the sheets, wet pants smothered by fabric. Eddie's grip falls to your hip, where he pulls your body back and forces your cunt open even deeper.
His cock pushes into your sweet spot sudden and emphatic. You moan and he stills, rutting into that same space without pulling out until you're babbling his name, body knocked forward with every thrust.
Eddie turns your face toward him as much as he can without hurting your neck, your moans echoing in time with each thrust. "There you go," he says, "wanna hear how good it feels."
If he cares that you can't answer him he doesn't show it, arm coming up under you arm to grasp at your chest, your breaststroke soft and aching under his hand as he squeezes tenderly. His cock kisses at the sweet spot inside you intermittently; you're dizzy with it.
Eddie can't keep quiet either, his moans breathy, his breath hissing between his teeth when you clamp down around him. "Fuck," he begs, dragging his cock out of your heat, "fuck, Y/N."
He says your name like the syllables alone are appraising.
You can tell when it gets too much for him. He slows. His face drops into your shoulder, and he matches his pace to the wet kisses he leaves behind. Your wetness feels stickying, each of his thrusts snug.
His breath hitches, ragged pants accompanying every slow push of his hips. "Where's my girl?" he asks, eyes still closed as his hand abandons where it'd been squeezing the bump of your tummy to search further downward, fingers disappearing into your folds, short curls wet with slick. He can't find any purchase. You roll your hips, chase his touch and the pleasure that comes with it.
He groans into your shoulder. It sounds more pain than pleasure.
"Are you okay?" you ask, trying to turn in his arms. He holds you in place. "Eddie?"
"Yeah, fuck, I'm okay." He grinds up into your cunt. "Fuck, you're perfect."
"Will you kiss me?"
He does. It's nowhere near the bruising press you'd wanted. It's too careful.
"Listen," he murmurs, "I'm gonna get you on your front, okay? Gonna make you feel so good," he promises, waiting for you to nod before he pushes your shoulder away from him and climbs up behind you. You lay flat on your stomach and Eddie settles on your thighs, a heavy weight.
He pushes into your cunt with two fingers first, the new position allowing for a new pleasure. He pumps in and out and swaps his fingers for his cock quickly after, bearing the full weight of his body into your back as sinks to the hilt.
You both moan in time, hands fisted in the sheets.
He kisses your neck, lips parted, and his teeth feel so sharp that your heart sinks as it had in the bathroom.
"Eddie-" you start.
He pulls away, stops every movement.
"Eddie," you say again. What are you supposed to say? You both know what he is.
There's a lull where neither of you knows what to do filled by your too-fast breathing.
"I won't hurt you," he says, hands rubbing up the length of your back and then under. He holds a hand over your heart. He drops his lips to your back. "Do you want me to stop?"
He must feel your pulse calm under his touch, but he still asks again when you don't answer. "Do you want me to stop? It's okay if you do. You're okay, baby, I promise."
You steal a pillow from against the headboard and rise up on elbows. Your admission comes weak but completely honest. "Fuck me, Eddie, please... I want you. I want you-" Your murmuring's interrupted by a sharp breath as Eddie starts to move again, the head of his cock pushing into your cunt, a slick, perfect feeling.
He moans from the back of his throat as his cock pushes into you again and again, hips smacking the dough of your ass as his pace quickens. You hug your pillow tightly, tears popping up in the corners as he ruts deep.
"Being so good for me," he groans, clamped down on your hip with a vice-like grip. "Fuck, you feel so good. Fucking clinging to me every time I pull out, baby, Christ." His blasphemy is punctuated by a thrust that has you sliding up the bed, sheets wrinkling under your arms. You spread your thighs and wetness pools at your clit as his pelvis thrusts into you, driving pleasure so deeply it aches in your hips.
You moan pathetically and reach back to hold his hand, wiggling your fingers. He takes it in one and presses your arm against your lower back with the other, struggling to maintain a steady pace as he gets close to cumming. You're a babbling stream of sounds as he fucks in deep, swollen sweet spot tapped against mercilessly.
He throws himself back on his haunches, cock dragged out of your heat.
You pull your legs out from underneath him and curl onto your side to watch, eyes wide as white spurts of pearlescence jump out of the head of his reddened cock and drip down the bumps of his fingers. He leans back, his stomach and thighs tensed with every pump.
He groans through a smile, moan's coloured by a happy, relieved laughter. "F-uck," he drags, fisting his cock dry.
He meets your eyes as the last of it slides down onto his stomach.
You smile softly. "Fuck," you mumble.
Eddie wipes his hand in his jeans like a fucking hooligan and tucks his cock back into his boxers with a wince, and then he collapses on top of you. He's sort of nice about it, his arm over your shoulder and his face behind your ear.
"Fucking beautiful," he praises, dropping his head back on the bed so you're face to face. "You're so fucking pretty. So perfect." He kisses you. "You're perfect," he repeats, staring intently into your eyes.
You pull a hand from between your legs, smelling of sex. Eddie literally couldn't care less if he tried, and he lets you take his face into your hand without complaint.
He gets his arm under your arm and starts to rub your back. "You want me to take care of you again?" he asks, eyebrows raised gently. "Yeah?"
And you would let him, you would, but you need to see them for yourself.
You touch your index fingertip to his lip.
"Can I see?" you ask.
He loses his boisterous joy, tamps it down. He realises that he can't lie, that he hasn't been lying, and he nods. You tremble as you pull his lip up over his canine tooth, excited and scared.
A sharp, exceptionally white tooth pokes out of Eddie's gums. You're taken aback, though you'd known exactly what you'd find.
A fang.
Blood oozes at the gums.
"You're bleeding," you worry aloud, touching your finger to the dark beading at the base of his tooth.
Eddie's eyes rove over your face thoughtfully. He pulls your hand away from his lip and sets it on his neck instead. "They always do that. The gum heals, breaks when they wanna come out."
"How often do they come out?"
"A lot more since I met you. Whenever my adrenaline spikes, they seem to think it's… feeding time."
That is a dizzying thing to learn.
You're not sure how you feel, but you know one thing: he's Eddie. "It's too bad," you say, forcing a lightness that turns real more easily than you expect. "I really want to kiss you right now."
He strokes your cheek with his thumb. "I really wanna kiss you too. Maybe a small one?"
You find yourself leaning forward, unafraid.
He kisses you once, twice, three times, the two of you holding each other's faces and covered in mess. Slick and sweat and blood. The hearts and stars from your lamp spray over his hip and paint him with pinks, greens, oranges, a rainbow cutting over his trim waist. You rest your hand overtop, feel his keloid scars like hills under your fingers.
"My boyfriend's a vampire," you mutter, bemused at fate.
Eddie blinks at you. "I'm your boyfriend?"
"Yeah, I think so. Don't you?"
Eddie pulls you into his chest and doesn't let you go for a long, long time.
-
Your first time watching a blood sate is weird.
For one, Chief Hopper is firmly against it. He's got his kid with him, the boy from the party that Mike had been so heavily doting on, and if he didn't you might think he was a pretty scary guy.
"I think this is stupid," the chief says plainly. "I think this is stupid, I think you're stupid," — he points at Eddie where he's sitting sickly in the round couch — "and I think you're plain crazy, kid." He points at you last.
You beam at him. "People have said that about me."
His kid laughs.
"Will," Hopper says tiredly, "go sit in the car."
"Look, Chief, I know I messed up, okay, but she kind of stuck her hand in my mouth and I didn't really have a choice."
Wayne looks at you with new eyes. "You did?"
You nod at him faux-seriously.
"And what gave her the inkling that you might have had something in your mouth worth looking at?" Hopper says, which is hilarious. You laugh behind your hand.
He gives you a disapproving look that you completely ignore. If you'd taken notice of disapproval you would've stopped having this much fun years ago.
"Uh, well, she might have… felt them?" His pitch rises.
Hopper looks like he's about to blow a gasket when Will says, "What was he supposed to do? Never talk to anyone new ever again?"
"He did a lot more than just talk to me," you say. There'd been a fixed bike, phone calls, lots of sandwiches, bug hunts, an entire sketchbook full of drawings.
"I told you to wait in the car," Hopper says.
Will grins and raises his hands in surrender. "Bye," he mouths. You wave.
Hopper waits for the door to close before he continues. "I get it, when you're a teenager you think your hormones are the end of the world-"
"I'm almost twenty three."
Hopper pinches his hand closed. "But you do not understand the danger that you are creating here."
"Like a stake-ing," you whisper, very very quietly. Eddie's the only one who can hear you, and he laughs so hard he snorts.
"I'm glad you find this funny." Hopper's tone could not imply the opposite any more.
He hands Wayne a paper bag that audibly sloshes and stalks out, his anger a palpable cloud of steam rising off of his shoulders. Eddie seizes up beside you at the sound, lips parting as his fangs come through. You don't touch him because you value your blood inside your body, only slide away from him and smile. "You okay, handsome?"
"Kid, maybe the chief is right. We don't know how Eds is gonna act with you here," Wayne says.
You nod respectfully. You like Wayne, and he knows about all of this stuff more than you ever could.
"No," Eddie mumbles, putting his hand out for you across the couch.
You take it without thinking.
Wayne sighs. You can hear him grumbling as he disappears from view into the kitchen and puts a pot on the stove. There's the sound of a bag being punctured with a knife, a wet slosh. Eddie's grip on your hand tightens.
You're still fascinated that he even drinks blood in the first place. That's wickedly sickening. Wicked, because it's cool that he's a vampire, with his impressive hearing, senses and smell. But sickening, because if you had to drink a pint of blood every couple of weeks you'd throw up.
"I read about a new blood-sucker."
Eddie raises his heavy head. "Another bug?"
"No, a finch! A vampire finch. They're really pretty, Teddy. They're small and brown with long beaks and they drink blood because there's barely any water on their island." You give him a loving smile. "They aren't parasites. S'just how they had to change to survive."
He squeezes your hand, this time on purpose.
"Are you gonna come and have it in here, Eddie?" Wayne asks, one last shot at separating the two of you.
"I'm okay," he says loudly. His eyes trace your smile. "Really."
It can't be fun to have two people watch you drink a warm mug of blood, but Eddie finds it funny. He keeps laughing every time he brings the rim of the glass to his mouth.
"I can't do it if you're looking at me," he says.
Wayne rolls his eyes and looks away. You cover your face with both hands and part your fingers to spy on him through the gaps. He makes it look easy, draining the mug basically in one long pull, though his hunger turns violent as the cup empties. He chokes. Blood trickles down from one corner of his mouth.
You automatically want to reach over and wipe it away. Wayne grabs your arm before you can and gives you a fatherly look that says, I wouldn't do that if I were you.
"Shit," Eddie says, slamming his now empty mug down on the coffee table. It makes a grating sound like a ground mortar and pestle. He sits as far back on the couch cushions as he can, nausea clear on his face.
"Deep breath," Wayne says.
"Fuck, Wayne."
"You're aces. Deep breaths."
Your heart hurts watching Eddie like this. He covers his mouth with eyes closed tightly and breathes hard through his nose. Already there's colour coming back into his face, not a lot but anything is an improvement. He'd been practically grey.
When Eddie pulls his hand from his mouth blood has spread over his lips and jaw. Your eyes widen.
"I'll get the shower running," Wayne says, slapping his knees as he stands. He stops before the hallway. "Good job, Eddie."
The boy in question slouches into a ball on the sofa and nods into a cushion. You wait for the sound of Wayne pulling the shower cord that turns on the hot water before you stand up, head tipped to one side.
"You okay, handsome?".
"Tired."
"You want a hug from me?"
"Is anyone else offering?" He opens one eye to peek at you and grins at your distraught expression. "I'm joking, I'm kidding. C'mere, before I start bawling." You sit and then flop onto your side, pulling your legs up next to his. "Such a frowny face." His voice is adorably tired.
"Better than yours. You look like someone from Night of the Living Dead, baby."
Eddie's arm lies limp like a dead fish over your waist. "Lemme nibble on your brains," he says, words thick as dark honey, eyes closed. "Just a snack."
You're waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under your feet. No way your boyfriend, your cries at the end of every movie, brings you flowers because he felt like it, won't step on cracks in the sidewalk boyfriend just skulled a glass of O-negative like it was a milkshake.
You feel guilty as soon as you think about it. He's not confined to all his softest parts and he never will be. He's snarky and angry and loud. He plays guitar like a real rockstar and he doesn't take anyone's shit. He's a survivor. A glass of blood every now and then was never gonna stop him.
You keep wondering if you should let him suck your blood. It could be hot. It could also probably be the worst idea ever, a relationship faux pas up there with proposing after a month or saying I love you on the first date.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks.
You brush the hair out of his eyes with your ring finger. "Embarrassing relationship fumbles."
"Oh yeah? Like letting your girlfriend watch you drink human blood from a mug shaped like Woodstock?"
"Least it wasn't Snoopy."
"God forbid."
"Is it always like this?" You stroke your hand down his face and rub along his jaw with your thumb. "D'you always get sleepy?"
"Yeah." He turns his face so your hand covers his mouth.
You've stopped wearing silver jewellery, your wrists bare besides the endearingly awful friendship bracelet he's constructed for you. Not a friendship bracelet, he'd corrected. You're not kissing other friends, are you? Because that's really gonna put a downer on this whole thing.
You dip your forehead to his chin and the two of you lay there in silence. You can smell blood, a thick, metallic stick permeating every corner of the room. It's especially strong between the both of you.
"Do you wanna bite me right now?" you inquire without opening your eyes.
"Not really. Blood sate kicks in quickly. It's the worst for, like, the first ten seconds after. Now I wanna sleep, but Wayne's gonna make me shower."
"Maybe I can shower with you."
"I'm sure he'd jump for joy if you suggest it."
"Really?"
Eddie kisses your hand. "No," he says with a giddy laugh.
"I'll pretend I'm gonna sit on the toilet. Keep watch."
"How will you stop your hair from getting wet?"
"I'll lean out."
Eddie laughs even more than he had been, peeling laughter that warms you from the inside out as he kisses your hand again. "That'll definitely work."
Wayne clears his throat.
"Shower's hot. I'm going out. For an hour." Eddie perks up. His uncle looks him dead in the eye. "Don't make me regret this."
And while Wayne had been under the impression you and Eddie were gonna have some grown up fun together in the shower, what you really do is an innocent act of affection: you wash Eddie's hair.
"You have to lean your head back," you chide.
"I am."
"More than that."
"There's no room."
You're lucky you both fit. You're freezing standing behind Eddie, the only relief the warm water that trickles down from your hands to your elbows as you draw circles in his scalp, working the shampoo into a fine lather.
"How did you get blood here?" you ask, scratching rusty flakes from the hair behind his ear.
"I don't know. It gets everywhere. Like eyeshadow."
You push your chin over his shoulder. "You wear eyeshadow?"
"For shows."
"Really?"
"Is it hard to believe?"
You encourage his head under the water and rake your hands through his curls, encouraging the soapy water down to the ends with patient hands. "Lip gloss too? Hey, can I do your makeup?"
"Maybe tomorrow," he bargains. While the shower has helped to wake him up, lethargy remains thick and unshakeable as adamant.
You kiss the wet ridge of his shoulder blade, picturing his pretty face decked out in dark liners and sticky balm. "Thank you."
"I haven't worn any in a long time. Haven't played a show in a really long time."
You wring the water out of his hair and search in the steam for his conditioner. It's mostly empty. "You could put on a show for me. I never got to see you play," you say, shaking it really hard. A dollop collects in your hand and you work the dregs through the ends of his long hair.
"You want that?"
"I think you're the best guitar player in the world."
You're not joking. He's the best, and he plays guitar. And he's pretty good, semantics aside. You love sitting out on the porch with him and listening to him play old rock songs off the top of his head. You could watch his hands move over the strings for hours.
"If that's the case, I can definitely put on a show. Make-up, costume, stage dives. The whole nine yards. Anything for my girl."
You roll the ends of his hair between two coated palms and step back. "There. You have to let it soak in for a couple of minutes."
Eddie turns with a grin, angling his chest and hair forward, away from the stream.
"Whatever will we do?"
You wipe an escaped streak of blood off of his bottom lip and smile. "I have no idea."
You kiss. Eddie leans down and you move up, damp noses glancing off of each other. You're used to short kisses, never enough to make his heart race in case it prompts an unnecessary appearance of his fangs, so when Eddie encourages your lips apart to wade in deeper you pull back questioningly.
"Blood sate. I'm 'sated'. They won't come out."
Your jaw drops. "For real?"
He shakes his head with a pleased smile. "For real. Kiss me sick, sweetheart."
You throw your arm around his neck and drag his face to yours, kissing with an ardency that both surprises and amuses him. He laughs into your open mouth until suddenly he's not laughing at all, only breathing, pushing against you with the same urgent force and the same adoring smile.
"Does this mean you can give me a hickey?" you ask enthusiastically. Eddie has yet to give you a proper love bite.
He leans back under the show spray and pulls you in with him, laughing when you dissolve like rice paper in his arms, finally warm. There's never been a sweeter sound.
/\^._.^/\
thank you for reading! | my masterlist | my halloween party
if you enjoyed reading his, please consider reblogging. i promise it makes a huge difference
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x reader imagine#eddie munson x reader hurt/comfort#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x afab!reader#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#eddie munson smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#stranger things#vampire!au#vampire!eddie#vampire!eddie munson#vampire eddie au#vampire eddie smut#vampire eddie munson#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#stranger things 4#stranger things 4 spoilers#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson x afab!reader smut#fem!reader#luveline's halloween party
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Sukuna eats pussy like a starved man and you simply cannot disagree with me on this, it’s a canon fact, I’m Gege.
Mild blood warning!
Sukuna, who will spread your thighs apart as far as they can go and then a little more. Even if it hurts, he’s not easing up.
Sukuna, who prefers to eat you out while you’re laying down because it’s just that much more effortless for him.
Sukuna, who will use his free pair of hands to spread your folds open so he has easier access, while the other plunges inside.
Sukuna, who will shamelessly drool and slobber all over your cunt until he can’t tell if the wet mark below you is from his spit or from your arousal — not that he cares either way.
Sukuna, who will use his other mouth to eat you out while hurtling insults at you, watching fat tears roll down your cheeks as he brutally bullies you.
Sukuna, ignoring every pleading request that falls from your lips, shoving a fourth finger in your sopping cunt. He’s being generous, he’s being kind to you. You should be thankful.
Sukuna, who’s tongue is longer than it should be, fitting it’s way between your slick walks every so often just to fuck with you when you’re being too fucking loud.
Sukuna, who won’t edge you, fuck no, he prefers to overstimulate you. He loves to hear you begging him to stop. He prefers it over you begging him to let you cum.
Sukuna, who’s nails will dig into your plush thighs whenever your cunt twitches and spasms around his mouth and fingers when you cum.
Sukuna, who groans loudly when you cover his fingers and face in your sweet, sticky arousal.
Sukuna, who will bully you to no end while he eats you out but will make sure you know that nobody will ever fuck you the way he does… and he’s fucking correct.
Sukuna, who will bite your folds, your clit, your inner thighs. Loving the way you scream for mercy, ignoring it completely.
Sukuna, who will not stop eating you out even if you pass out. If he’s going down on you, you’ll be there for a few hours.
Sukuna, who pulls away from your cunt entirely just to admire how wet and swollen he’s made it.
“Sukuna please!” You begged again, voice hoarse from hours of screaming. His head had been buried between your thighs for so long now you couldn’t quite remember how it started. Not that you could really care, it wasn’t every day someone was graced with the king of curses himself eating their cunt.
He ignored you, just as he had ever other time you cried and pleaded. You weren’t even sure why you kept begging at this point, thighs aching so deeply from how long he’s had you spread out for him. Though you had to admit you really couldn’t feel your legs from your thighs downward.
What was still haunting your fucked out mind was the fact that your cunt still had any feeling at all. Sukuna had been abusing to for so long now, he had made you cum more times than you could count… and yet you were still throbbing from everything.
“So good to me! I don’t deserve your generosit-ahh fuck~!” Your back arched upwards as you came again, blood starting to mix with your arousal from the amount of times you’ve orgasmed. He loved it, he loved every fucking second of it.
#banner from cafekitsune!#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#sukuna imagine#sukuna smut#sukuna headcanons#ryomen sukuna smut#sukuna x reader#jjk sukuna#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#jujutsu kaisen imagine#jujutsu kaisen headcanons
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"Well hello there Secret Keeper!" Scar says, chipper. "It's a bea-ut-i-ful day today here on the Secret Life server, and I'm here for my daily hearts for winning! I have to say, it is gorgeous today. Really a lot easier to keep the rain away without other players, what with sleeping through the night not being a problem at all! Did you know, by the way, that sleeping and rain are connected? I didn't until recently, but by golly, they sure are! Can you imagine? The world is full of so many strange things."
The Secret Keeper, being a big dumb stone statue, doesn't reply. Scar's beginning to think it's just rude. It sure replies whenever he hits the button, which is the first step in his morning routine these days. He's gotten better at dodging damage, really, even with the nearly infinite hearts! He's just not so good at dodging skeletons and creepers and such that he shouldn't top off every day.
He hits the button. He feels his health return to him. He gets a new task: Win Secret Life.
He snorts, a little bitter, to himself as he reads it and folds it into his pocket. "You know, I don't know if I'm lucky or unlucky that you're such a moron that you don't know what winning means. Your machine is broken."
No response, again, because the Secret Keeper is, as established, a big old dumb rock. Well, whatever. Besides, if he lingers on resentment and upset for too long, it might catch up with him! He's certainly let it catch up with him before. Why, a few days after he'd won, when he really had it sink in that he was for-real alone on a server covered in lightning burn marks and blood, he had a bit of a breakdown! There was sobbing, screaming, yelling at the world, the whole works! And when no one responded then, well--
"Did I just call you a moron? I'm sorry, I didn't mean that!" Scar says. "You know how I get sometimes. The world is beautiful and warm, but sometimes it gets a little hard to breathe around here! Now, where were we... oh, right! The trading post terraforming project! Now, we hit a bit of a snag the other day, what with the wandering traders I'd caught all sort of--dying--and all that, but luckily, more of them might show up any moment, and they really are vital to making the place feel alive and breathing. So today we're taking a break from that to build up some trees!"
He waves his arms like someone is listening. He'd like to imagine someone is. Grian told him he won--just because all the ghosts are quiet now doesn't mean they aren't there! And if that was a moment of temporary insanity, well, he probably--he needs to think it's not, is the thing! He absolutely needs to think it's not.
He hums and gathers more logs. His makeshift tree farms are pretty nice, if he does say so himself. He pauses as he hears distant howling and sighs. "I guess we will also be spending today cleaning up the wolf population! I swear, I have no idea what those people were thinking making a wolf spawner. A man takes a nap for a day and then the entire server is overrun with stupid white animals! And you know, I do hate having to cull the things, but, well, you know me. I've learned how to kill pretty well, I think, and really, dogs are easier to kill than people."
He grabs a sword from his chest and sharpens it. He keeps it perfectly clean so that there isn't too much blood on it. Good thing, too; most of the blood would probably be his. He's a bit clumsy, after all. He cuts his fingers on it all the time. No matter how well he bandages up his hands, he just keeps making them bleed, drip, drip, dripping blood on every path he walks down. No matter how hard he works to clean up his massive building projects, the little splatters of blood follow him, so he's sticking to dark colors where he can.
The flowers will probably show the blood, he thinks. The flowers and trees he's building. Hopefully, the blood doesn't stand out too much. It feels wrong, in a world where there are no bodies.
He stands up. He heads in the direction of today's pack of unwanted pests. He sighs. "You know, I know your question is, well gosh, Scar! All the previous winners died. When are you going to finish it off and kill yourself? And wow, that's a pretty dark question. You should be ashamed of yourself for asking, really." He laughs. It's not funny. Who cares.
Instead, he shakes his head.
"And, well, you have to understand. I'm not done building yet! I can make my base so much nicer looking! And besides, you're still handing me hearts. If I get hurt, I can just come back and get more from you! If you want to die, you have to kill me yourself. You fucking cowards!"
No response.
He sighs. "Well, that's enough of that for today. Sorry, I'm feeling kind of morose. It's all this sunshine! Can't be good for a man. Did you know populated servers rain more often than unpopulated ones? It's true! It's because people don't sleep enough. But here I am, getting all the sleep I need. Now, time to go kill some dogs and build some trees! I can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon, can you?"
His hands hurt. He ignores it. He ignores a lot of hurt, these days. It's not like it's hard.
#secret life smp#goodtimeswithscar#a bee fic#implied/referenced suicide#implied/referenced self harm#SO UH. HOW ABOUT THAT SCAR NOT DYING IN THE END NONSENSE HUH.#trying to write this all very much in scar's voice was fun. dark premise. goofy guy. result: this.#also i DO love occasionally giving a character who otherwise wouldn't exactly ONE precision swear-word. very fun.
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Imagine | Protect (Luffy)
Imagine guarding Luffy’s hat.
Warnings: hurt/comfort
Word Count: 1,224
(Not my gif)
There is something you are one hundred percent certain of. In a life plagued with precariousness and anxiety, there is one truth you can always cling to.
And that is the fact that your captain, Monkey D. Luffy, always has your back.
No matter what situation you find yourself in, he never fails to brighten your day with a smile and defeat whatever foe you're facing.
Whether you're homesick, bored, or literally having your life threatened, he's always right by your side.
He guards each of his crew with a vigour that only he can. His warm smile brighter than a thousand suns as he celebrates yet another victory.
There is another thing you're certain of.
That your captain has one treasure more precious than any of his other objects.
His straw hat.
Given to him by the infamous Red-Haired Shanks, Luffy values that hat above all else.
Even at the cost of his own safety.
There's been countless times where you've watched in horror as Luffy was struck but managed to keep one hand firmly atop his hat.
It never got easier seeing him battle men quadruple his size and strength. Your stomach would clench with worry and you'd do your best to help battle the other opponents, but you always felt so helpless.
Watching him take on such intense foes made you feel proud of him and also concerned for his well being.
Although now that you've been sailing as a Straw Hat Crew member for months, you've come to realize that your captain can take on anything.
His hat, less so.
So, here you sit, quietly mending his hat as Luffy gapes at your handiwork.
"Awesome!" He grins, face alight with joy, "You're good at this, Y/n!"
"I'm just glad you're okay," you confess, carefully stitching away.
It's no secret how you feel about Luffy: everyone on the crew knows about your crush. And you have confidence that Luffy feels the same way.
It's in the little things he does. Always finding an excuse to hug you, explore new islands with you, and even share his food with you. And he never shares his food with anyone else.
So, it's safe to say he at least likes you.
He laughs, "You need to stop worrying so much!"
"You need to stop getting beat up!" You fire back, finishing your stitch. "Seriously, I'm starting to think you like pain."
He laughs, "I don't! But I got him in the end, Y/n! That's all that matters."
You sigh and motion for him to bow his head. He does and you gently set his hat back in its rightful place.
He grins up at you, "Thanks, Y/n! Let's go see if Sanji's done making supper!"
Luffy snatches your hand in his as soon as you drop your needle into your sewing kit. He drags you into the kitchen, using his devil fruit power to snatch up an apple.
"Sanji," he mumbles around a mouthful of fruit, "When's food gonna be ready? I'm hungry."
"Not yet," the cook shakes his head. "I need thirty more minutes."
Luffy groans loudly, leaning his head on your shoulder, "That's too long!"
"You have to wait!"
Luffy scrunches his nose in annoyance before dragging you outside again. Once there, he shoves the apple near your mouth, "Have a bite!"
You're surprised he hasn't eaten it all already. Opening your mouth, you take a large bite of the tangy goodness, humming your approval.
"Thanks," you start to mumble but he stops you mid sentence by leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.
A furious heat flushes your face at his abrupt actions.
"W-what was that for?"
He grins and swipes his tongue over his mouth, "You had juice on your lips."
You're floored, unable to respond as the kiss replays in your head. Meanwhile, he's already walking away with a giddy giggle.
~
You watch with bated breath as Luffy's hat goes flying.
He's fighting a particularly strong foe, having to use all his focus on the battle.
Without a second thought, you race after his treasure, determined to keep it safe for him. He's always doing so much for you, so you want to return the favour.
The other Straw Hats are occupied, no one noticing as you slip away to chase after the stray hat. A strong wind has blown it quite the distance, and you find it stuck on a tree branch.
You grab it, turning on your heel to trudge back to the main fight. But there's a problem.
A large group of marines stand in front of you, each one wearing a menacing grin.
"Look who we have here," the supposed leader comments, stepping forwards.
You instinctively hide Luffy's hat behind your back, grinning back ferociously.
"Gentlemen, what are you doing so far from the real fight?"
"Could ask you the same," he sneers. "What's that behind your back? Is it the infamous Straw Hat Luffy's straw hat?"
Your grip on the straw tightens.
"You're in charge of safeguarding it huh? Is that all you're good for?"
They laugh amongst themselves.
"I wonder if they'd kick you out if you failed the one task they gave you," he steps forward again.
"Over my dead body," you hiss, taking out your weapon after securing the hat to your belt. "If this hat is destroyed, then I have no reason to go on."
Before they can make the first move, you've taken down two of them, angered at their words and fuelled with the desire to protect Luffy's treasure.
The fight goes on too long.
Outnumbered, you take hits that knock you down and leave you bloodied and bruised. Maybe even with a few broken bones.
By now, you're on the ground, clutching the hat in your bloodied hands as a torrent of kicks fall on your back.
You took down well over half the marines but the few remaining are mad as hell and taking it out on you.
You barely register the outraged cry of your captain as he shouts, "Gum-Gum Gatling!"
The kicks stop as your attackers go flying, landing with dull thuds. They don’t get back up again.
Luffy is quick to rush to your side, “Y/n! Are you alright?!”
“Luffy,” you manage a small smile, shakily handing him his hat. “I protected your treasure.”
He doesn’t smile, in fact he looks angry.
“Idiot! You’re my treasure,” he shouts, gripping onto your shoulders, “And now you’re hurt!”
Confused, you stare up into his eyes, “But you love this hat.”
“But I love you more,” he shakes you again before screaming for Chopper to come and assess the damage done to you.
After you’re back on the ship, nicely bandaged and safe in bed, Luffy approaches you again. He seems less energetic than normal, dragging his feet as he comes to the bed.
“Thank you for protecting my hat. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”
“Luffy,” you gently clasp his hand, “You’ve always protected me.”
His eyes are wet with tears, “But-“
“I couldn’t ask for a better captain,” you reiterate, pulling him closer. “You’re all I could hope for.”
“Really?”
“Honest,” you smile, “Now come here.”
You drag him into your arms, wincing slightly. He is cautious of your injuries, gently returning your hug.
“Thank you.”
#female reader#imagine#reader insert#one piece imagine#op x reader#one piece#one piece x reader#monkey d luffy#luffy x reader#monkey d luffy x reader#Luffy op#one shot#fanfic
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— PUSSY P♡WER.
They only have one goal before you leave Sumeru for another land, and that is to satiate their fantasies about your cunt.
꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱ . . . afab!reader. tease!reader. traveler!reader not pertaining to the twins in game. i got a biiit carried away with cyno’s part (i mean, it’s cyno my number one slut). nonetheless, please enjoy!
CYNO + lots of cum, undertones of perv!cyno, unprotected.
cyno is unfamiliar with defeat in all aspects of life. in sumeru, everyone with ears and eyes knows that whatever the general mahamatra wants, the general mahamatra gets. or in this case, you: the traveler from another land. that being said, none could gauge his discontent upon having his persuasions denied every time.
“i can give you anything: money, power, influence. just name it.” his lilt unmasked his dwindling patience. after all, as general mahamatra, it is not a walk in the park to leave his base for a journey to the rainforest. coming home defeated each time calls for desperate measures indeed.
such a wily thing you are, adroit in pushing back after cultivating make-believe for cyno to relish in. it’s always hidden in your smile, followed by an innocent “general, you wish to fuck me that badly?”
to which, he’d answer, “yes. hard and preferably in my bed. but as you are now, stubborn and unbent, say yes and i wouldn’t mind anywhere.”
he awaits the laugh that is certain to follow, a sound that peels off at his sanity, all while tempting his cock to spring out of its restraints, but none echoed. instead, he finds himself inside an inn, with your naked body and wet cunt spread out in the creaky bed. at long fucking last.
sumeru is home to breathtaking panoramas. but in cyno’s opinion, no vista could ever vie with how your arousal coats the plumped lips of your cunt, waiting to be fucked hard. or how gorgeous you look in all fours, back smoothly curving to present yourself to him.
and when he finally, finally pops his cock into your pulsing walls, his breath hitches at the sensation. proving the fantasies he has painted about you all while maintaining the surprise, your cunt is indeed warm, wet, and perfect. it’s loud, too— producing a sucking noise every time cyno picks up his pace, burying himself in you until the white ring around his girth dribbles down his heavy balls.
you clamp around him and his eyes roll back to his skull. his cocktip kisses your spot and he drools at the feeling. the cycle of pulling and pushing and endless huff of jagged breathing tips him over the edge. until he’s coming loads straight into your insides. cyno overstimulates himself until his shoulders begin to jitter, pistoling his rawed-out cock to give you every drop of his thick and hot cum. in hopes that you’ll never forget what it feels like.
AL-HAITHAM + might be ooc, spare me this man is hard to write. undertones of yandere. big balled and big brained al-haitham. you walk in on him touching himself.
as someone in possession of knowledge that remains shrouded in most people’s cognizance, al-haitham has mastered the art of deceit easier than anyone with a functioning brain in sumeru. deceit that he equips as white lies, all in order to fall in your good graces. or if he is to be candid, to get under your pants.
he particularly roisters in hearing about your curiosities merely to obscure his answers and lead you astray from what you seek. a calculated effort that will establish the day you’d come for his help again, therefore nailing your attention to him and no one else. and as expected from an outlander strange to the land of dendro, you seem oblivious to al-haitham’s advances.
which he finds remarkably endearing, for if there exists an image that could shake his carnal desires awake, it is the manner of how you look at him: doe-eyed, awaiting the answers to your inquiries to slip past his lips.
you are a tight knot in his chest, pressing down on his stomach and between his legs. the product of his salacity, you take away any crumbs of reason and logic from him each night as he pumps himself with big hands. until there are drops of cum on his floor, and his cock falls limp to his stomach once he lays back panting on his bed.
that is until one particular day when his lust has overcome all rational thoughts. al-haitham ends up behind crates in an abandoned room in port ormos, sweating bullets while fucking himself greedily. it was meant to be a quick release, propelled by his growing need to fuck you. never had he foreseen that you’d be following his trail, therefore catching him abusing his cock while panting your name.
“i… allow me to explain,” he mutters in haste, grappling for the waistband of his breaches to hide his swelling cock. “it’s not… i have not any intentions—”
“do you need my help?” you offer. he blinks at you, and you blink back innocently. “we cannot leave you in that painful state, can we?”
no, you can’t. but al-haitham, even after the first time he came inside you, has not found the satisfaction he quests after. what was supposed to be a quick fuck ended up with him fucking you in a few different positions inside the dim room. nevermind the cobwebs or the dust, al-haitham has only one thing in mind, and that is to pump you full with cum it’s the only thing you’d be thinking about once you depart from sumeru.
TIGHNARI + perv!tighnari. oral sex (reader receiving). voyeurism.
being a scholar equates to having the freedom of committing deeds that would’ve been questionable in someone else’s eyes. and in his lifetime, tighnari surely has done quite a few things that are considered eccentric from a standpoint of a bystander. he is not apologetic, not one bit. after all, nothing is prohibited for the sake of knowledge.
however, this particular curiosity rallied by the arrival of a certain outlander has the young scholar pondering about what’s considered moral and not. and yet his nature’s heightened instincts galloped faster than his ability to provide himself an answer.
it’s your scent, tighnari thinks. the overwhelming whiff of something addictive. something that he’d search for in the morning, or follow in the middle of the night. your scent provides him a certain heat, which travels from his nape down his spine. and with that scent, tighnari learns how to pleasure himself again. yet, it barely filled the desire seeping in his bones whenever you’d look his way or touch his skin accidentally.
he has been consumed by the thought before he could formalize a way to free himself from it: tighnari wants to eat your cunt and fuck you right after. all this he has kept to himself for weeks until one fateful night.
he knows that your body has been shaped to the point of perfection, he knows it. but nothing prepared him to see you with no clothes while you pistol two fingers in your cunt with so much enthusiasm. and perhaps he has moved from where he stands gelid or breathed a little too loud from where he hides, for the next thing he knows, your eyes are on his.
tighnari counts the seconds, telling himself that once it reaches five, you’d be covering yourself in mortification. imagine his surprise when you widen your legs and rub your clit while tugging at your nipple.
he wants to break here and there. take his cock out and shoot a fat load to the ground. what he ended up doing was kneeling before you in silent agreement. his lips buzz against your cunt as he enthusiastically feasts between your legs. he loves it, so much that he feels his cock leaking with every suck and lick of his tongue. when you arch your back and cried out into the night, tighnari’s balls tighten. even without touching himself, thick globules squirt from his throbbing slit. he realizes, then: your scent is unique because it comes from between your legs. and that night, tighnari drowned in it.
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#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#cyno smut#cyno x reader#al haitham smut#al haitham x reader#tighnari smut#tighnari x reader
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Keep them away (Max Verstappen)
Even though it was part of his job, Max's rules were clear: no one could get close to you or the children
Note: english is not my first language. A couple of blurbs originated this one! I'm not sure how I feel about it, if I like it or not tbh...
Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!
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Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3
"I want to talk to you about something, liefje", Max said as you walked around the bedroom, laying out your clothes for the next day and taking off the jewellery you didn't like to sleep with.
"Is everything alright?", you asked pulling the covers and joining him in bed, holding his hand in yours and interlocking your fingers.
"It didn't occur to me until last week that now Finn can walk into the paddock without being on your arms or mine, and the stroller can only hide so much, and there will come a time when it will be the same for Julia, and I don't want the kids' faces on media in such a free and uncontrolled way", he admitted.
The last Grand Prix you attended made it real tp you. It seemed such a big step and something you thought people would respect intuitively, but the moment the photographers swarmed you and you had difficulty walking along the paddock to get to RedBull, you had enough.
"Me neither, but I get what you mean. Last week, I had to keep telling Finn to come close to me so I could sort of cover his face", you offered, "is there something we can make for that, though?", you wondered.
"Yes, I spoke to the team and they know about these forms where you can grant photographic allowances to certain photographers if they want to record or take pictures if we go down that route - it states who is allowed and what terms and conditions they can do it in inside the paddock. And there's also one for outside the paddock, if we sign it, it will mean no one can take pictures of you or the kids outside of the paddock and we'll be supported legally in case someone breaches it", Max assured.
"I like the sound of that, it does soothe my heart", you tapped your chest with your palm.
"I'll have them draw up the forms and then we can go over them together and sign then", he smiled, pulling you to his chest.
"I'm not saying we are keeping them away from the world - even though that would hardly be an issue - but having a restricted set of people in who we trust is doable", you mused, resting your head on his chest completely and kissing his skin, "I don't want them to do whatever they please with my little ones", you grumbled.
"Mama bear is out, hm?", Max chuckled, "but I agree, love, I wouldn't want it either".
.
"I can get the stroller, Sophie", you called for your mother in-law, letting her take Finn's hand instead as you walked out of the hotel, Max by your side as you strolled around the ses front, making some time before your lunch reservation.
Max wasn't racing until the next weekend, so you were making the most out of family time you could. To make things easier for you on the flight home, Sophie offered to come with you so you wouldn't have to fly back on your own with two kids since Max was flying straight to the city where the Grand Prix was being held.
"Is she going to fall asleep on the way there?", you peeped at the little girl, eyes droopy even though she tried her best to look at you and Max, "she didn't sleep all that well, so probably", your husband shrugged his shoulders, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walked behind Sophie and Finn.
At first, Max thought it was his mind making things up and that people were taking pictures of the beach and the architecture details, so he set his guard down. When you sat down for lunch, though, it was obvious.
"They're taking pictures of us, aren't they?", Max asked as he pointed with his eyes to the group of three people holding cameras, suddenly pulling them from eyesight the moment they saw you both stare at them as one of the waiters came to the table.
"Mr. Verstappen, I'm sorry to bother you, but that group is asking if they can come closer for some pictures and it didn't seem like it was our place to decide that", he explained as Max sighed, "thank you for that - I'll go talk to them just now. We didn't want any of this to happen or for you, your colleagues or your clients to be bothered by this, it wasn't our intention", Max assured as the waiter nodded before excusing himself.
"I'm going to talk to them, I'll be right back", he told you, kissing the top of your head and stepping closer to them.
"Hello, it has come to my understanding - correct me if I'm wrong even though I'm probably right - that you're taking pictures of me and my family, and I won't allow it", he stated firmly but politely, not wanting to cause a scene despite his blood boiling.
"It was just of you, we'll edit everything else out, if we could jus-", one of them tried and Max drew the line there.
"We have made it clear! When my family is in the paddock, Finn, Julia and Y/N can be photographed by a closed group of photographers - and I know who they are because we allowed them and none of you are them! We are outside of the paddock so no one is allowed to take pictures of them to begin with, and then you're disrespecting the other people who work and who are eating here. We have given strict guidelines that are clear as we won't accept this!", Max spoke sternly.
Back at the table, Sophie took the pencil case out of the backpack so Finn could draw while you waited for the food,
"Why is papa talking to those people? Do we know them?", Finn asked, "they're taking pictures of us and papa and mama don't want that, so papa is telling them that", you explained, knowing your clever boy would catch up with it sooner than later and knowing honesty would be the way to go.
"You'd think they would get the boundaries you've set", Sophie told you, "especially with the kids around, it's a no brainer".
"They're always looking for anything to make a big great story of - if those pictures ever see daylight, they'll probably start calling me names and making assumptions they have no business or information to make", you groaned.
Max came back, sitting on the chair you saved for him, "they really didn't want to budge and they kept asking if they could "just take a few more" like I hadn't just told them that what they were doing was breaching agreements", he groaned lightly to make sure Finn didn't hear too much, looking at the stroller to see Julia was still taking a nap.
"Did you see the e-mail I sent you, liefje?", Max asked over FaceTime now that he had wished goodnight to both kids, meaning he had your attention all to himself now.
"I saw it was a statement, I didn't get to read anything else", you added, getting your iPad to read it properly.
"The team helped me make a statement about your privacy and the kids', so nothing else happens again", he stated.
Earlier this week, the social media department at RedBull noticed a photo of you circulating the press platforms, and judging by the location, you were indeed back home and not somewhere in the paddock to surprise Max, making the photo a breach of contract.
"Hopefully they take the hint", Max sighed, keeping his calm and collected attitude he wanted you to have too. For anyone else, Max always seemed rash to the point some considered rude. But when it involved his family, he knew how to go about it, wanting his children to learn and know he was protecting you and how he would never allow anyone to disrespect you like that.
"We'll be fine, and I genuinely hope that, from the way we mentioned legal consequences, people actually take it seriously", you shrugged your shoulders. It wasn't that you didn't care about it, but rather you realized there was only so much you could control, and you wouldn't let that control your life, "we'll see how it goes, okay?", you checked over, "anyway, how does the car look for qualifying?", you changed the subject as the cats sat on your lap.
.
"Mama, I'm scared", Finn muttered, clinging closer to you and hiding his face on your neck. That was all it took for you to let your mama bear instincts out, holding your son as you walked past them, looking for a security member that could escort you to the RedBull hospitality as it was harder to push the stroller when you had to carry Finn as well.
"Excuse me, Excuse me!", you yelled, "I'm sure you know you're not allowed to take pictures, so I would appreciate it if you didn't do it, much less when my children are here!", you spoked, catching a few photographers off guard and the attention of one of the security staff by the entrance.
"I'll help you with her if that's okay", he quesioned as his hand went straight to the stroller, "yes, please", you breathed out, holding Finn close to you and whispering soothing words on his ear, "it's okay, my love, we're okay".
Stepping inside the hospitality, you set your things down and sat Finn down on the sofa so you could get Julia in your arms, soothing her cries.
"Thank you so much, it was getting crazy out there", you said, holding your daughter's head to your chest and bouncing her.
"No problem, glad I could help", the security guard excused himself to go back to his spot as you looked at Finn.
"Are you okay, love?", you wondered as Julia's cries quieted down.
"I didn't like how they were yelling and running", he told you, "I thought papa said they only did it when we were there", he pointed to the people walking outside, "That's true, they shouldn't do it outside", you explained, "I'm sorry they scared you, but you're safe with me and with papa, okay?", you added, kissing his once again on his forehead as Max appeared.
"Hey", he kissed the top of your head, Julia's and then Finn's, "I heard what happened. Are you two okay?", he asked, looking at Finn who pulled him into a hug, "Finn was a bit shaken up by it, but we've taken some deep breaths and we are going to stay inside for today, isn't that right, love?", you saw him nod.
Finn fell asleep on top of him soon after, "I have spoken to the lawyers, they will be taking the legal actions necessary for this situation. Are you sure you're okay?", Max questioned again.
"We are, Max. It shook him up a little bit because they were so close to us - and the stroller could only keep them so far -, and I told them a few times that we were outside of the paddock, but they just wouldn't listen", you frowned, "it's not great, but if this means you guys are safe, I don't care about anything else. I want you safe, all of you", he smiled, kissing your cheek and pulling you so your side rested against his torso.
"I hate having to yell at people, poor Julia just looked at me like I was mad and Finn was a little shaken up", you mumbled, "but they wouldn't move away, no matter how many times I told them to, only when the security guard was near us was I able to free up space from them".
"Don't worry about that, they're the ones in the wrong, not us", Max comforted.
#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen fic#max verstappen fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fluff#f1 fic#f1 fanfic
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Hi love! Your content is great and always makes my head spin🤤 I was wondering if you could maybe do fitness trainer Toji with a plush reader? Like you go to the gym wanting to slim down and ask for a trainer and before any of the other loser trainers can get to you, Toji steps in. He is constantly reassuring you the entire time And at the end of the session he just can’t resist from not touching you🥺🫶🏼 thank you in advance and I hope you have the best day possible!
I can literally imagine Toji quoting this in his head as he hears you talk negatively about your body (not proofed I'm lazy)
warnings: chubby!reader, body issues, raw sex, slightly public, praise etc etc lmk if i missed any
"Huh?"
"I literally need a gym trainer who's going to help me look like a rake."
"I- what? A fuckin' rake? What are you talking about?"
"My boyfriend cheated on me, and of course the girl he slept with is tiny. He left me for her... I don't want him back but I want to prove a point!" you explain, looking at him with hopeful eyes, desperate for him to help with your mission.
He stared at you, and it scared you a little. You aren't sure if you've said something wrong or if he just had no interest in your tragic love life. But you can only assume he doesn't get many clients with this attitude.
"Fine, kid. But listen, I'm not helping you 'look like a rake'." he tells you.
"B-But..."
"I'll help you train. If you lose weight, whatever. If you gain muscle... I think that'll be a better revenge body to make your ex regret leaving you." he explains.
"O-Oh... really? Okay, I trust you."
He smirks at that.
It's not often he's trusted by women.
"I hate sit ups." you pant, breathlessly.
"It's your last set, just do it 'n then you can go home." he tells you, as he sits beside you drinking some water from his comically large bottle. By the size of it, you'd think he'd be the one who had been working out for the last hour.
"C'mere." he shuffles his body so that he's closer to you, positioning your legs and hips like you're weightless. "You might find it easier now. I'll stay here, gimme ten more."
"Ten?!"
"Do it."
You sigh, lying flat as you mentally prepare yourself for how bad your stomach is about to ache. Your cheeks fill as you blow out a puff of air. You're painfully aware of his eyes on you, and honestly, you're embarrassed. You begin to sit up again and again as you think about his incredible physique. About how he surely thinks the same way as your ex boyfriend.
Your eyes lock with his with ever sit up you perform, his hands grabbing your knees to keep you in place. Your noses almost touch and his eyes are filled with what you can only assume is disgust. You're humiliating yourself trying to make yourself appear more attractive to the male species.
"Aaaand done, good job, kid." he smiles at you, his small mouth scar pulling slightly as he does. "So, wanna make this a regular thing?"
You hold up a finger as you catch your breath, eventually nodding. He holds his hand out to you, helping you to your feet with ease. He walks away from you, tilting his head and indicating for you to follow. You aren't sure where he's taking you, but you follow mindlessly.
"My calendar is in my office, I'll get you booked in for a few sessions this month and then you can just give them your card details at the fron desk." he explains.
"Sure, sounds good." you smile, he walks into his office first and holds the door opening, closing it right after you come in. Your ears prick when you hear the door lock, but for whatever reason you don't feel alarmed.
The air is knocked from your lungs as you feel his hands on your waist, lifting you into the air and practically slamming you onto his desk.
"W-What are you doing?!" you gasp.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks, it's almost polite but not really. He's expecting one answer, and luckily for you you're nodding before you can think of declining. He hikes up your leg and squeezes your plush thigh as his lips connect with yours. "You're so soft... so fuckin' perfect."
"Shut up." you laugh, you try to kiss him again but he pulls away.
"I'm serious." he lifts your up your sports bra and tosses it aside, grabbing a handful of your large chest. He pushes you backwards so that your spine is flat against his desk, tugging off your leggings with no hesitation. He peppers kisses across your tender skin. Your thighs, your tummy, your heavy tits. "There's nothin' wrong with your body, y'know? Your ex is a fuckin' pussy."
Your body tenses up, feeling horrendously aware of how exposed your figure is and how he's examining you.
"I- I was too heavy for him." you pant, unsure whether to try and chat casually about it or make a run for your clothes and the exit. "I don't blame him."
"You weigh the same as paper to me, darlin'." he smirks, picking you up and making you wrap your legs around his waist. He slams you against the wall as you makeout heavily. "You want this cock? F-Feel how hard I am for ya?"
"P-Please. You're so big.. please fuck me." you beg. You paw at his shirt, desperate to feel the muscles that you could clearly see beneath.
His facial expression is almost menacing as he knows he's won, he's got you exactly where he wants you and you're begging for his cock. Thick fingers dig into malleable flesh, bruises of his name signed into your skin like a binding contract that you're his new favourite play thing.
"You're so fuckin' perfect, sweetheart. Love cute bodies like yours..." he tells you, staring into your eyes to catch your expression, grinning at the way your cheeks flush and a bead of sweat forms in your hairline.
"Aah! Ah, fuck.. 'h my god..." you moan, the embarrassment overwhelming you and the feeling of his heavy cock splitting you open making your heart race.
He begins a brutal pace, easily holding your body up with one muscular arm as he slams into you, his free hand tweaking your pert nipple. The way your eyes cross dumbly as he ruins your insides almost makes him blow his load on the spot.
"Too— mmmnn.." you moan, unable to form a coherent thought.
"Too what?" he laughs a little, "Too? Have I fucked you so stupid you already can't think? Oh sweetheart... think I'm in love." he tells you as he kisses your neck.
Your fingers scratch his back repeatedly and he can only his from the pain and pleasure of it all. He's happy to be marked by you, he's going to do the same to your insides after all.
"'m gonna cum, I'm— ah—!" your cunt tightens around him as you finish, and soon enough he's pressing his body as much as he can into yours, pinning you between him and the wall as his balls tighten and he paints your desperate, wanting walls.
You pant against each other, neither of you moving for a while. All you can bring yourself to do is catch your breath and stare into his jade coloured eyes. And eventually, he helps you down and offers you a towel before sitting at his desk and checking through his calendar.
"Are you free Friday night?" he asks.
"O-Oh, Toji, I'm too exhausted from that workout to even think about my next training session." you chuckle a little, wiping yourself down before collecting your scattered clothing.
"No, baby, I'm takin' you on a date." he smiles at you earnestly. "Perfect body, perfect pussy, and newly single. You're crazy if you think I'm not taking full advantage of the opportunity to make you mine."
© 2023 fuwushiguro
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Love Potions and Unspoken Desires - Sirius Black
A mishap with Amortentia has you and Sirius head over heels for each other. Except, your feelings are genuine. But what is his were too?
A/N: I haven't posted in forever and I'm so sorry! I've been busy with school and have been studying a lot. I'm really proud of this one shot though and I hope everyone likes it!! If there are any errors or constructive criticism you want to give please tell me <3
Warnings: Slight mentions of abuse, kissing
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The torch-lit halls guide your way as you walk towards Potions, mind racing at the mere thought of the lesson. You wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable, trying your best to keep your back straight.
They slump as soon as you enter the room.
“You’re late,” Professor Slughorn announces loudly causing your cheeks to heat. Everyone's heads whipped around to face you and you prayed to Merlin the ground would swallow you up whole.
You clear your throat so your voice doesn't come out scratchy, “Sorry, Professor. I was helping out in Transfiguration.”
He nods in dismissal and you take that as your queue to find a seat, eyes scanning the crowded room for an empty spot. Your eyes land on the only free seat next to Sirius Black and you tense. You can barely be in the same room as him and now you're going to have to sit next to you? Merlin, you wish this day was over.
And he looks so pretty today too. His hair was freshly washed, Gryffindor tie slung loosely around his neck, and shirt sleeves pulled up to his elbows.
A pointed cough snaps you out of your thoughts and you hurry towards the seat, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
You’re pretty sure everyone just saw you check out Sirius Black.
Could this day get any worse?
Turns out it could.
You go to chuck your bag underneath the table but miss by a long shot, the bottom of your school bag hitting Sirius in the face, causing him to let out a surprised groan. Some people behind you let out a laugh and you squeeze your eyes shut, kicking your bag underneath the table and sitting in your seat.
You barely make eye contact before you look away, muttering a hushed ‘sorry’ and attempting to catch up on the notes you missed.
“Today we’re making Amortentia. Can someone tell me what this is?” At the lack of answers, he turns to you with a pointed look.
You raise your hand nervously. “It’s the most potent love potion. When consumed it causes a powerful infatuation or obsession in the drinker towards the person who administered the potion. it does not create genuine love; rather, it amplifies preexisting feelings or creates an artificial attraction.”
“Very good. Five points to Gryffindor.”
You nod your head awkwardly and look back down at your notes.
“Write down the ingredients and instructions and then get started. You’re going to be working with the people next to you.”
You tense up, head snapping up. Sirius chuckles next to you and you turn to face him.
“Looks like we’re working together, Love. I’ll go get the ingredients.”
You nod your head awkwardly, too shocked to respond. Did he just call you love? Are you okay?
Your cheeks heat and you groan internally at yourself. Stop blushing you dipshit.
Attempting to distract yourself, you make quick work of cleaning the workspace, spotting Sirius talking to James and Remus out of the corner of your eye. James smacks Sirius’ back, whispering something that causes Remus to shake his head and Sirius to grin.
He comes back a minute later, ingredients in hand.
“You seem to know a lot about this potion, you ever used it on someone?” He smirks teasingly causing your cheeks to flush. “No,” You mutter quietly, “I just like making potions.”
He nodded in acknowledgement, eyes searching your face. You look away quickly, his stare burning your face as you pour some ingredients into the cauldron.
You continue the work in comfortable - for him at least- silence, working with him easier than ever.
You were finished in no time, grinning in triumph as you tried not to breathe in the strong smell.
“Well done you too! Grab a vile and bottle some up why don't you.” Professor Slughorn smiles, hurrying off to another table whose cauldron is smoking.
“Good job, love. I might have to work with you more,” Sirius flirts and you jerk in surprise, hand flying back and knocking the vile that he was holding with your own, Amortentia effectively spilling over you both.
His eyes grow dilated in seconds and you assume yours do the same, heart thumping and palms sweating as you stare up at him with heart eyes.
“I-I'm so sorry.” You force out, too focused on how he looked at you like you hung the moon.
“For?” He questions, seemingly in a daze. He looks down at his shirt and grins. “Right, it’s no problem, Love. You can do nothing wrong in my eyes.” He flirts and you go back to respond but are successfully cut off by James.
“Sirius! You’re in deep shit, man.” He laughs, slapping him on the back. You track the hand, wishing it was yours instead.
Sirius doesn’t respond, too busy grinning at you. Merlin, this potion is good.
“Dear, dear.” Professor Slughorn mutters as he comes to inspect the chaos. “Right, it will wear off soon. You’re just going to be partially in love with each other for a bit.”
Sirius grins, “I am in love with her-” James cuts him off with a hand on the shoulder, dragging him towards the door. “I’ll just keep him away until the potion wears off-”
“The class isn’t over-” Professor Slughorn protests but James is already gone. You frown in disappointment, already missing Sirius.
—
It was a few hours later, the potion's effects still thrumming through your blood, your infatuation for him stronger than ever. You were distracted the whole day, mind always seeming to stray away to thoughts of Sirius. How pretty he looked, how he’d let you put his hair up, maybe even braid it, how he’d smile at you. He’d probably be great in bed too-
“You’re doing it again.” Lily mutters, face scrunched up in disgust and you groan in shame. “It’s like my feelings for him have been amplified by 100. It’s amazing but unbearable at the same time.”
She grabs your hand in comfort, grabbing the mashed potatoes with her other hand and piling them onto her plate. You’re in the Great Hall for dinner, loud chattering filling the crowded space. From just a few feet away Sirius and his friends sit and if you listen hard enough you can hear James’ obnoxious laugh.
“I'm sure the potion will wear off soon,” Alice reassures from beside you, grinning at you in hopes of making you feel better.
You shake your head in disagreement. “It’s only been two hours and these potions can last for days.”
“We just have to keep you away from him. How hard can that be?”
Very hard, you realise, eyes widening at the sight of Sirius Black stalking towards you, encouraged by the jeering of his friends.
“Hello, Love.” He smiles, eyes soft as he admires your face. You sigh, chin resting on your hand, too distracted by his beauty to respond. He seems too distracted by your beauty to call you out on your silence.
“Fucking hell,” Lily whispers from somewhere behind you but you pay her no mind, continuing to smile at Sirius as he does the same.
A loud laugh from James who still sits at the table, snaps him out of his daze, “W-would you want to have breakfast with me tomorrow?”
You nod immediately, smile blinding, probably losing a few brain cells from how intensely you were nodding.
He flashes his pearly whites, “Great! I’ll meet you in the common room at seven?” He questions and you nod, too distracted by this freckle you just spotted right underneath his eye. He doesn’t make a move to go, eyes tracing your jawline slowly.
“Okay!” You jump at Lily’s hands on your shoulders, slowly dragging you out of the hall. “Time to say goodbye.” You and Sirius both frown. “Don’t be like that, you’ll see each other tomorrow.” She grabs your arm and waves it back and forth, “Now say bye-bye.”
“Bye,” You whisper, cheeks flushing. “Bye, Love.” He mutters back.
—
“Why did today of all days be the day nothing turned out properly!” You whine, head falling in defeat onto your folded arms that rest on your dresser, abandoned mascara bottle hanging loosely in your hand.
Lily coos softly from behind you, distracted by getting dressed. “Sweetheart, you look amazing. You’re not having a bad eyelash day and your hair looks great! Sirius is going to fall to his knees when he sees you.”
You look up from your arms slowly, meeting Lily’s eyes in the mirror, “You think?” You question hopefully. She nods. “And my eyelashes look okay?” She nods again and you smile softly. “Thank you,” You stand up, moving to get dressed. “I don’t even know why I care so much, it’s just breakfast. I swear this love potion is making me go crazy.”
“Sure, it’s the ‘love potion’ that’s making you go crazy,” Lily mutters sarcastically from behind you but you’re too busy daydreaming about Sirius’ eyes to notice.
–
“Hello.” You mutter, successfully gaining Sirius’ attention as he turns to face you. He’s dressed in his uniform but he’s obviously tried to tidy it up a little bit. His usually loose tie wrapped tightly around his neck, his white t-shirt tucked into his freshly ironed slacks. “You look nice today, but-” You walk over, hand gripping his tie and losing it. “That’s better.”
You notice a faint blush on his cheeks and grin. “Thank you, love. So do you. Are you ready for breakfast?”
You nod you both start walking to the hall together, his hand brushing yours slightly. You take in a deep breath for confidence, trying to calm your racing heart as you link your fingers through his.
He doesn't pull away.
You make it into the hall a few minutes later, taking a seat beside Sirius. James attempts to sit across from us but one look from Sirius sends him sitting at the end of the table beside Remus, a pout on his lips.
“You didn't have to send him away,” You mutter, feeling bad.
“He’ll live. Besides, I wanted to spend time with you.” Sirius states, causing you to blush. He grabs your plate, piling it with the stuff you get every morning before handing it back to you.
“How do you know what I eat for breakfast?” You question, face scrunched in confusion. Sirius pauses his movements of piling his own plate, cheeks tinted pink. “I-I guess the potion has made me more aware of what you eat.”
“Yeah, but the incident happened after breakfast yesterday.”
He shrugs, “Huh, I don’t know then.”
“Have you-”
“Do you like to read? There's this really pretty bookstore that just opened up in Hogsmeade. Maybe we can go after breakfast? Get some butter beer too?”
You decide to let it go, “Yeah, I’d love to go. I’ve been meaning to get some more books to read, too.”
He grins, eyes sparkling in delight as he stares into your eyes, “Great! It’s a date.”
—
“I don’t believe you!” You laugh, knocking your shoulder against Sirius’, hands linked as you make your way down the snowy path to Hogsmeade.
“It’s true!” Sirius insists, pulling you closer, nose red from the cold. He looks so pretty, you think. If only his feelings for you were true.
“And Euphemia let you stay after that? She must have a heart of gold.” You tease playfulling, relishing in his laugh that warms your insides.
“Oh she does, I owe her my life.” Before you can question him he’s pulling you towards The Three Broomsticks. “Now c’mon, let's get you a butterbeer before you freeze to death.”
You comply, following him into the warm building, the quiet talks of chatter greeting you as Sirius leads you to a table in the corner.
“So,” He begins, leaning forward for suspense. “Tell me something that you’ve told no one else.”
You impulsively grab his hand, letting it warm up your cold one. He doesn't mention it as you speak, “Um, in first year I once walked in on The Grey Lady and The Bloody Baron trying to ‘get it on.’ I was too traumatized to tell anyone.”
He stares at you, shellshocked. “Well- That’s certainly not what I was expecting. Is that even possible?”
You chuckle quietly at his shocked impression, “No, actually. They kept on going through each other. It was horrible to watch.”
“Your poor eyes,” He winces in sympathy, squeezing your hand tightly.
“It’s still engraved in my mind. It’s put me off kissing ever since.”
He freezes slightly. “So you haven't kissed anyone?” He questions quietly, eyes shining in delight. Your cheeks flush, “No.”
He takes in a breath, leaning forward and you instinctively do the same until your noses are brushing. “So if I were to kiss you right now, I’d be the first one to ever touch these precious lips?” You nod and his eyes squeeze shut.
“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. “Can I-”
“Here are your two butterbeers.” You jerk back at the unexpected voice, watching as Sirius does the same. “T-thank you,” You mutter to the waitress who is already gone, taking a big gulp of your butterbeer in the hope of cooling down your flushed body.
You sit in silence until it gets too awkward for you and you attempt to start a conversation, “We’re still going to the bookstore after this, right?”
He jumps, not expecting you to speak before he breaks out into a relaxed grin. “Of course, Love. I’m not much of a reader but I know you are.”
“Oh, that’s sweet. If you don’t want to go then we can just head back-”
“I want to go. I want to spend time with you.”
“Oh.” You curse internally. You’ve already said ‘Oh.’ “Thank you? Yeah, thank you.”
He laughs, “Don’t thank me, love.”
You flush, “Sorry-”
“And don't say sorry either.”
You nod, “Sorry- I mean, shit.” He laughs at your ramble causing your cheeks to go bright red. You attempt to turn the conversation around, “What do you mean you owe Euphemia your life?” He visibly tenses and you curse. Fucking idiot.
“You don’t have to- That was rude-” He links your fingers together, placing them on the table and successfully cutting you off.
“It’s okay. I trust you, love.” He grins but it seems fake. “My parents and I never got along, and after I joined Gryfindor things started getting worse. Whenever they got violent I went to James and Euphemia would take care of me. My family successfully kicked me out last summer and I’ve been living with James ever since.” He falls quiet and you squeeze his hand.
“I’m sorry-” You cut yourself off at his glare. “I hope you’re okay.”
He manages a grin, a true one this time. “I’m okay, especially with you.” He teases causing your cheeks to flush.
“That’ll change once the potion wears off,” You attempt to joke but Sirius is silent. “Yeah…”
Crickets.
“Want to go check out the bookstore?” You grasp at any shred of confidence.
Sirius practically jumps out of his seat, taking you with him. “Let’s go.”
—-
“I had fun tonight.” You state, awkwardly standing by the steps that will lead you to your dorm. Sirius stalks closer towards you.
“I did too,” He grins, diamonds in his eyes as he brushes your hair behind your ear before cradling your cheek gently. “Remember to tell me what you thought of that book,” He shrugs down at the book in your hand, unable to keep his eyes off you.
“Yeah. I should go…” You make no move to leave and Sirius makes no move to remove his hand from your cheek.
“You should,” He whispers, eyes trained on your lips, swollen from how many times you’ve bitten it out of nervousness.
And then his lips are on yours.
And then you're kissing him back.
And your back is against the wall, his tongue pushes into your mouth, and he’s holding your waist. You can't breathe and you're scratching your nails down his shirt-clad back until he groans against your mouth in pleasure.
And then you’re pulling away. “Stop,” You whisper against his lips.
He stops immediately, taking a few steps away from you, “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.” His lips are swollen and wet and you want nothing more than to kiss him again.
But you can't.
“No, I’m sorry.” You hide your face in your hands, back against the wall. “I-I should’ve said no to the date. I just- I wanted so badly for your feelings to be real. That you’d actually like me but it’s not fair on you. And I’m sorry.”
He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “I do like you.”
You shake your head, “Sirius-”
“I do! I’ve liked you for years. I’ve been wanting to tell you but you just make me so nervous-”
“Sirius-”
“C’mon, listen to me-”
“This is the potion!”
“The potion wore off hours ago and you know it!”
You slump against the wall in defeat, legs against your chest as you look away from him. You know he’s right. The once amplified feelings you had for him are more sane and you no longer feel like you’d kill every single person who so much as looked at him the wrong way.
“You can’t like me back. I don’t believe you.”
He crouches down in front of you, hands shaking as he reaches to touch your knee. “Why don’t you believe me, my love?” He questions, his voice much quieter than it was before.
“Because you’re Sirius Black,” You whisper like it explains everything. And it does. He’s Sirius Black, the golden boy who could have anyone he wanted.
“And you’re you. If anything I don’t deserve you. You’re smart, beautiful, way out of my league.” You open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off. “But I’m going to work every day to be the man you deserve because I want you. So badly it hurts.”
“I want you too,” You mutter shyly, you look into his eyes that still look at you like you’ve hung the moon.
“Aw my love,” He pulls you closer, breath fanning your cheek. “You’ve had me for a long time.”
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