#it's fun when you try to pretend the ending isn't there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The average Tumblr user visits about 67 pages every month.

#it's fun when you try to pretend the ending isn't there

icharchivist · 6 months

Note

like i said. if you wanna suffer ill be happy to watch. but also the only thing i know about ff 15 is that one max0r video which while very funny is probably not 100% accurate to the story

now this is giving me too much power. I'll be happy (and sad) to oblige. And give you a quick overview.

and yeah i doubt that one video is a good description of it. so.

cracks fingers.

One of us is going to end up crying by the end of this. it's going to be me. but you're welcome to join me.

Final Fantasy 15 is the story of Noctis Lucis Caelum, crown prince of the kingdom of Lucis.

The Kingdom of Lucis is facing a crisis as the ever-growing Niflheim Empire is trying to expend and take the kingdom over, at the same time as a sickness called Starscrouge is slowly killing people. When the night falls, daemons come in the dark, and ever since those events have started happening, nights are growing longer in longer.

As the Empire of Niflheim is discussing peace treaty with the Kingdom, a clause is made on their contract to have Noctis marry Princess Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, who's been held captive by Niflheim for about a decade, and who has been Noctis's childhood friend and penpal. She is the Oracle, chosen by a prophecy to be the only person capable of healing the Starscrouge before the sickness takes hold.

King Regis decides to send his son to his marriage-to-be right before the peace treaty is officially signed, accompanied by his three most trusted friends - Ignis Scientia, who's been working as a royal advisor, cook, caretaker ever since they were children, Gladiolus Amicitia, who's been Noctis' bodyguard and royal trainer for a very long time, and Prompto Argentum, Noctis' school bestie who, despite having no relation to the royal family, is the only person outside of it Noctis managed to get close with.

But soon after their departure, the peace ceremony goes array- King Regis is murdered and the Kingdom of Lucis fall to the Empire, now leading a manhunt for Noctis to kill the royal lineage, and recover the Ring of Lucis, a powerful artefact carried through the family that, especially once coupled with the Magic Crystal that is the source of all magic in Lucis, can connect its wielder with the Kings of Old to access tremendous power left by the Gods.

See, there is a prophecy in the Lucis lineage that one day the One True King Of Light, chosen by the Gods, will be able to purge the world of the Starscrouge and Daemons, ending this curse at all cost. and, as you can imagine, this burden will fall on Noctis's shoulders as he goes through his new journey to awake the old gods and reunites the soul weapons of the previous Kings in order to unlock the full potential of his power.

The game mostly plays as an open world where you explore the valley with your besties. There is a lot that is very difficult to communicate that is just about how it feels like a camping simulator. You don't want to stay up at night for too long because Daemons are overleveled and bitch to kill, so you try to level up, do your missions, and enjoy your time connecting with your friends, learning more about them.

From Prompto's insecurities about his place in this journey, to Ignis's unwavering loyalty that would oversee Noctis's protection to the end, to Gladio devoting himself to being the shield even when everything starts to fall apart, you end up caring a lot for this group of misfits who are just trying to enjoy their journey knowing it might be their last.

You spend the game mostly having fun with them. Finding place to camp, new recipes for Ignis to cook, Prompto is constantly taking pictures and selfies to remember the journey by, you stop to every ponds to be sure Noctis can enjoy all of the fishing he can, you meet up with Gladio's little sister, it's really a really heartful game in ways that are very difficult to articulate.

... until shit hit the fan.

You're introduced to the real antagonist of the game, the Empire's chancelor, Ardyn Izunia, who's been pulling the strings all along, while also helping Noctis unlock the powers of the Gods.

And when finally it's time for you to go find Lunafreya for their wedding and hopefully linking the power of the Oracle to the King of Light in order to finally purge it all.....

Ardyn will brutally murder Lunafreya in front of Noctis, killing with her any possibility to stop the Starscrouge and the endless nights around the corner. The death itself is pretty heartbreaking, showcasing Noctis' very difficult time to deal with her loss, and Luna was defined by how she was willing to do everything to carry her duty to the end, so it was really sad.. but Luna was not very well written unfortunately (she appears maybe 15mins in the whole game up until this point) so i don't have as much to say about it :( it was super heartbreaking but yeah... yeah.

During this confrontation, Ignis will lose his eyes trying to protect Noctis, as Noctis was unconscious and Ignis grabbed the Ring of Lucis to ask for the powers of the Gods to protect him, and the Gods burn his eyes off. (it's so hard to properly explain but Ignis becoming blind ends up developping a lot of problems in the plot, of course, but especially in the gameplay. Like you spend the game having Ignis cook all sort of things and exitedly tell you about what he's going to cook today, and then your first campire after this incident you see the only food you can cook is some canned bean and it's just. so sudden in the way to tell you Ignis is changed for ever by it.)

Shortly afterward, Ardyn will create illusions that will push Noctis to push Prompto off from a moving train, resulting in Prompto getting kidnapped and experimented on by the Empire.

all while Gladio is losing his faith in Noctis because everyone is expecting so much from him, that they're their only hope, and yet Noctis is so lost in his grief that he doesn't focus on the bigger picture, while everyone he loves is losing everything around them.

When you finally decide to take down the Empire's HQ to get Prompto's back, is when a lot of truth starts to unravel.

You learn that Prompto is the clone of one of the highest funding members of the Empire, who was created to become one of the mindless drone enemies you fight the whole game, but has been smuggled out of the labs before he could be turned as such - only keeping a mark on his wrist reminding him of who he truly is. As much as Prompto always wanted to be Noctis' friend, he always feared that him being a clone, a failed weapon made by the enemies, would eventually disgust Noctis, and he feared all his life that Noctis would turn against him. so you can imagine the panic for Prompto when Noctis did attack him due to the illusions.

Most importantly though, you learn that Ardyn Izunia is actually Ardyn Lucis Caelum - one of the prince of Olds, the first person who was prophetized to be the King of Light. Bahamut himself, god of gods, gave him for missions to purge the Starscrouge, and Ardyn did just that, and took all of the Starscrouge in the world inside of his body, eradicating it from this world... and when he came to ask what he was supposed to do now, the Gods turned on him and left him to his fate, as he was not the one to actually serve to finish this prophecy. (if i recall correctly they legit say it wouldn't be narratively satisfying. Fuck the Gods, fuck Bahamut, all the homies hate Bahamut no matter the universe.)

Then, as the gods refused to clean him from the scrouge, his brothe, Somnus, tried to kill him before locking him into a magical prison and a magical slumber for the centuries that followed. Somnus became known as the Savior of Lucis, he took the credit for the actions of his brother, and build his kingdom on his ashes, continuing his royal line until Noctis' birth out of it.

When the Niflheim Empire started to come to power, they freed Ardyn, and figured out how to be able to use his power -- Ardyn could unlean the Starscrouge inside of him and have it spread into the world.... and we learn that people who "die" from the Starscrouge actually become Daemons, creature of the night, and the more people become Daemons, the longer the night will last.

And so Ardyn unleashed all of his power, all of his suffering, but himself has been turned into a Daemon at this point due to the sickness ravaging his body for centuries. He only feels pain, and he cannot die, for the sickness made him immortal. So while the Empire woke him up to use him, Ardyn decided instead to use the Empire to take revenge on the descendant of his brother, destroy the world he had sworn to save, and finally by the end, being killed by the True King of Light in the way the Gods will find narratively satisfying.

And finally, as our four companions are trying to escape the forteress, Noctis finds the Crystal, and with all the power he has gathered since then, and prompted by Ardyn telling him that the only way for him to know how to defeat him, Noctis approached it... and was taken in by the Crystal.

In there he met the Kings of Old who told him about the prophecy. The King of Light will pure the world of the Starscrouge and the Demons by taking out Ardyn for good.... but since Ardyn cannot die, his soul will always come back into his body, the King of Light must die as well in order to kill Ardyn's soul in the afterlife once its there.

Noctis therefore learns that by the end of his journey, the only thing that awaits is his own suicide in order to finally put Ardyn to rest.

The Crystal kept Noctis in it for about ten years. For ten years Noctis could do nothing but wait, as the Night fully took the lands over and destroyed everything. Only small camps here and there managed to survive and fight -- and his three friends have been trying to do their best for the people's survival, while being torn apart at the sudden loss of Noctis that day.

When Noctis finally returns, he can meet with his friends one last time. And tell them what awaits him.

youtube

For one last time you team up with your dearest friends, all of them having to be aware that they're walking you out so you can kill yourself to finally bring peace.

youtube

Before entering the final room to the final boss fight, Noctis turns to his friends, and ask Prompto to give him one of the pictures he took. You go through all the pictures you took as Prompto as you decide which picture Noctis will hold on in his last moments, holding on knowing they were the people who brought him on this journey to start with. In there Noctis will share his final words with them.

And finally you leave your friends behind. Finally it's time to fight Ardyn as he himself only awaits for death. Two dead men giving each other a last fight, two pawns by the prophecy made by the Gods, tool in a narrative that never saw them as humans, no matter how hard they clang to their humanity and to the people they loved.

One last final fight, finally killing Ardyn. And watching Noctis climbs on the throne of his father, and empale himself with all of the swords of the previous kings, in order to finish this fight in the afterlife.

And so the game ends. Ardyn is dead. The Starscrouge and Daemons are purged from this world. the Kingdom of Lucis can live on and see better days. And Noctis is dead as well, standing on the throne of his father.

In the last moments of the game you see him in the afterlife where he reunited with Lunafreya. He's holding the picture you picked in the previous scene. Looking over his friends one last time.

And then in case it's not enough you have the DLCs. Ardyn's DLC tell you more about how the Gods set them up for narrative satisfaction to start with. Then you have all three friends' DLC, set at points in game when you don't know what happened to them. But all of them ends with some final goodbye of some sort.

Gladio's DLC is the most underwhelming one in general so i don't really know what to say about it, and it doesn't really have a big payoff.

Prompto's show how he felt, abandonned in the snow when Noctis almost killed him. Having to wrestle with his existence as a clone, and figuring out if Noctis even wants him by his side. This DLC ends on a last conversation between Prompto and Noctis right before Noctis entered the crystal, in which Noctis tells Prompto he hopes he'll be by his side as he'll try to be a good king. Prompto promise he will be, always.

youtube

And then. Ignis' DLC. god that fucking DLC.

You really see the events in which Ignis stole the Ring to try to protect Noctis there, the event that rendered him blind. You see how much he fights out of devotion for Noctis. And you learn that when he put the ring on, the Kings of Old told him Noctis was going to die. Ignis spent his life protecting Noctis. In fact, you go through various flashback of their first meeting. Ignis has to learn that the kid he's protected his whole life, is going to die, and there's nothing he can do about it, because this is the fate that has been drawn on him.

On the first ending of the DLC, There is one last goodbye. Where Ignis wants to follow Noctis to the end and Noctis has to stop him, telling him that he wants him to live on.

youtube

(so that's the scene where i was crying so hard i ended up tripping in the stairs)

BUT THEN Ignis's DLC has an alternative ending. an ending where when Ignis hears the plans the Gods had planned for Noctis, he tells them, screw you. I'm never going to let it happen to him. I'll fight all of you if i have to and i'll save Noctis from this cruel fate you have planned.

And so in this ending, Ignis doesn't let Noctis walk into the Crystal and they work together, in an alternative way, until they can save him and put him on the throne.

and let me be clear: this ending is impossible by the game's lore. It's purely a fanservice fix-it ending, a what if, Ignis' ultimate proof of love that is enough to screw over the prophecy hundred of years in the making.

Where Ignis manages to save Noctis so Noctis can actually live on as the King he was raised to be. For ever at his side.

SO. WELL. WELL. I NEVER RECOVERED.

(and i am in fact crying as i'm writing all of this)

all of that while the main theme of the game is a Stand By Me cover by Florence + The Machine that will forever rip your heart and will leave you crying your eyes out as you finish this game, especially after the true ending, watching Noctis' die, and then hearing this fucking damn song.

youtube

Anyway i never fucking recovered from it. Like, never.

Like, even a summary doesn't do it justice. My first playthrough took me hundreds of hours. I spent hundred of hours with those kids. Enjoying their banters, seeing them protect each other, fight with one another. There's so much of their dynamic that is so deep into the gameplay, the way your companions will check on you during a fight, the moments they'll pause to have a high five, those moments of pure happiness where you know they're having fun by each other's side.

and Noctis being such a good character you really get to love and for what. And for what!!!!!!!! to get him killed by the end???? like for crying out loud. literally.

So yeah that's the speedrun of what FF15 is about. It's about tearing my heart out of my chest, that's what it is. (and others themes but you get my point)

Anyway. Yeah. Here you are. Here you know FF15's story.

and btw there was a little webseries set right before the event of the games, telling you how each of those friendships started. if you ever goot curious through reading all of this, i definitely recommend it. (the playlist is from newest to oldest though so be sure to watch on the right order)

was it worth it.

#*puts hands on my face and starts screaming*#i started a replay not so long ago #it's fun when you try to pretend the ending isn't there #but then you remember the ending in every fucking things you do and you cry :)#any mistakes in the summary is due to me being an emotional mess if i ever did anything wrong #ichareply #ichafantalks ffxv #anonymous #sorry i gave up and posted videos but you will watch them. you will get me. you're welcome.#also if you're here from gbf all the seiyuu are in gbf #in japanese noctis' is Aglovale's seiyuu. Prompto's elmott. Gladio's Deliford. And Ignis is Mamoru Miyano (not in gbf. yet. but you know hi #im more used to the english bc i played in english tho #(mostly bc the subs kept jumping and some banters weren't subbed so i had to compromise)#(the english cast is very good tho)#but yeah. yeah.

3 notes · View notes

xiaowhore · 4 months

Text

intoxicating.

premise. your boyfriend dumps you and says he doesn't love you anymore. of course, being the petty bitch that you are, you have to prove that you don't need him in your life either. and of course, intense emotions often lead to rash decisions, so you go to a bar in hopes of finding a new man.

somehow, even when all you've managed to do is scowl at anyone who approaches you and mope at the bar counter, you still manage to get one.

Wriothesley has dealt with his fair share of unruly drunks before, but they were something more along the lines of aggressive and sloppy, not depressed and sappy.

He finds that he'd rather manhandle angry alcoholics than a person who makes a slobbering mess all over his shirt, clinging to his arm and sobbing to his sleeve. Your body starts to sway even when he supports your weight, your footsteps unstable as your attempt to walk in a straight line fails entirely.

Okay, so maybe you are sloppy after all.

Wriothesley sighs and tightens his grip on your shoulders. There's no point in losing his patience with a drunk person. He didn't even mean to pick you up, it's just that as a police officer, his sense of responsibility makes him want to fix a troublesome situation whenever he sees one. Even when he isn't on duty, he often leads disruptive drunks out of bars and restaurants, forces them out when he has to, and is always on the receiving end of owners' gratitude.

However, he has no experience dealing with drunks that just got dumped by their boyfriend and chugged away the sorrow with alcohol. You know, like the one dragging their feet as he drags their inebriated body away.

At first, he thought you were hitting on him when he felt your head lean on his shoulder in the bar. It's a common strategy, one that he's dealt with enough times to know when someone is just pretending to be drunk and trying to get his attention. He was still thinking of what to say when tears actually rolled down your cheeks and you started retelling your life story that he never asked to hear about.

Wriothesley isn't actually trying to listen, but he still gets the gist of it. It would be hard not to when you're still prattling on about it beside his ear as we speak.

“He said...” You hiccup, warm liquid seeping into his shirt as you sob into his arm. He hopes that's from your tears and not your snot. “He said he doesn't feel anything for me anymore...”

So you glammed up for tonight and tried to have fun at a bar so you could prove to yourself you didn't need him in the same way he didn't need you. He can already recite the story perfectly from the amount of times you told him. Your plan is irrational at best, and he doesn't see himself doing the same if he were ever to be in the same situation, but he can't berate you for it. Not when you looked so miserable and hopeless to the extent he didn't think it would be safe to leave you alone back at the bar.

“You can't force yourself to be happy,” Wriothesley grumbles, finally giving up on carrying you by the shoulder and instead hoists you up on his back to give you a piggyback ride. Your shoes slip off your feet, so he sighs as he crouches down to pick them up. “At times like this, you should find other ways to feel better.”

Your body jolts against him as you hiccup once again. “Like what?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, and he can feel you gradually getting used to being carried. It takes only a bit more for you to melt against his body, your chin snugly tucked in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “Watch movies at home in your pajamas, I guess. Treat yourself to good food. Go on a trip. You look like the type to enjoy that. Much safer than getting involved with guys when you're still emotionally unavailable.”

You sniffle. “Romance movies only remind me of him. Eating at restaurants will make me remember the dates we've gone to. And going on trips will make me wish he's there with me.”

Why do they have an argument for each point I make? And I never said anything about the movie having to be romance. “Well, you still have to go through that,” he gives up on making you think otherwise. “But one day, you'll feel a little better about it. Maybe you'll want to start dating again when you watch that romance movie, or you'll want someone else to eat with on that restaurant you once went to. And when you're on a trip, maybe you'll even think you want somebody special to go with you.”

You go quiet. For a moment, he thinks you've fallen asleep. But then your head slowly rises from his shoulder, dazed eyes peeking at him unsurely. “You really think so?”

“It won't be easy,” Wriothesley says, because nothing ever is. “But you want to say you don't love him anymore, right?” He glances at you, at the dry tear streaks on your cheeks, at what glitter remains around your eyes from all the times you've rubbed away your tears.

For the first time that night, he sees you smile. “Yeah... I want to say it without feeling hurt anymore.”

He turns away, and he feels himself smiling without meaning to. “That's good.”

“...So do you like watching romance movies? Or eating [hometown] cuisine?”

“...No?”

“Then I'll settle for a movie you like. And I can make good food from anywhere.”

“...Are you hitting on me? Using my advice?”

“Is it working?”

Wriothesley laughs, looking at the person he's carrying on his back, who he is escorting to his apartment because you lost your keys and your roommate won't be back until tomorrow, whom he wrapped his leather jacket around because he felt you shivering against him, and who caught his eye the very moment he entered the bar.

“That's not a no.” He knows you're pouting even when he isn't looking anymore.

“Yeah,” he agrees with you, almost indulgently. “It isn't.”

When you wake up in an unfamiliar bedroom, dressed down to your undergarments and a t-shirt you definitely do not own, and with hardly any recollection of events from the past night, you think you've made a terrible, terrible mistake.

But then you spot the hangover medicine on the bedside table, your alcohol-spilled clothes drying in the laundry room, and possibly the most gorgeous man you've ever seen cooking breakfast in the kitchen, so whatever you did last night couldn't really be that bad.

“Oh, you're awake,” he says once he notices you standing in the middle of the room, completely awestruck. You don't even know what you should be staring at; his chiseled face, his strong arms, his tight tank top that faintly traces his muscled torso, the gray sweatpants that-

Okay. You are not going to look anywhere below his waist.

“Yeah,” is all you can manage, simply glad you didn't fuck up that one syllable. You feel like you're on the verge of either saying something really stupid or making really weird strangled noises. You prefer the former, if you can help it.

“Sit.” He pulls one chair from the dining table, gesturing for you to take it. You meekly take your seat, eyes shifting everywhere but his face. “You're rather quiet today,” he muses, taking one glance at your reddening face as he fixes the plates of pancakes in front and across you.

“...How was I yesterday, then?” You ask, though you don't actually want to hear the answer.

The man hums in thought, taking his sweet time while pouring coffee over two mugs. “Troublesome,” he decides to say. “You nearly puked over my rug, after all.”

You sputter, making all kinds of apologies and promises of compensation when all of a sudden, he laughs. “Nah, I'm kidding. But this means you don't remember anything at all, right?” He sits across from you, sliding the mug to your hand.

“No...” You take a sip, but you barely register how it tastes. “I remember ordering a lot of drinks, but that's pretty much it.”

“That's a shame.” He sighs, leaning back on his chair as he sips coffee. “I suppose that means our dinner plans are void, then.”

“Absolutely not!” The words come out of your lips before your brain-to-mouth filter processes it fully, your hand slamming down the mug on the table in protest. “Uh... that is... if you're available whenever...” You get a hold of yourself and feel your cheeks burning in shame.

He doesn't try to hide the amused smirk on his face. “Sure. I'll be looking forward to your hometown cooking, then.”

Just what on earth did you do last night...?

???

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fic #fluff #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x you #it doesn't happen immediately but you do get together eventually #your ex sees you with your new man so he realizes who really won that breakup

3K notes · View notes

murdrdocs · 4 months

Text

THRILL OF IT. luke castellan

description. when luke chases you, most of the fun comes with what happens next.

includes. suggestive content MDNI, GN!reader, chasing, hunter/prey vibes, luke lifts r once, size kink vibes, dom!luke

wc: 1k+

a/n: inspired by luke saying "they know better"

Footsteps sound from behind you, heavy and thunderous as they snap twigs and leaves with each step. You know he’s not attempting to be stealthy. He wants you to know he’s right on you. He wants you a little scared.

You try to pretend you’re not, but your heart is thumping with more than exertion.

You, on the other hand, run as light as you can. Lodging your sneakers amongst the in-between spots, searching for the softest part of the ground to press into. You hope he's not checking for foot prints, you can't afford time to cover your tracks.

Speed is your main concern, and Luke Castellan is fast. He's agile. And he's going to catch you. it's only a matter of time before you're wrapped in his arms and left at his mercy.

No matter how many times you and Luke rehearse this dance, changing moves throughout, the ending is always the same.

He gives you a head start only to catch up in less than a minute. He runs a little bit slower only to eventually have you in his arms. No matter how much mercy he chooses to give you, you always lose.

He's always the winner.

(Yet, with the reward he chooses, you figure that you both win in the end)

Luke snaps a twig diagonal to your left and sings your name. He's smiling, you can hear it in the syllables. Just as you know he's going to catch you, he knows the same.

He's a natural at this. He was born with something you weren't. Something you had to work to gain. Something he had to train you in, and even then the skill wasn't completely hardwired into your body.

Still, he must have taught you something because it is pure instinct whenever your body sends you to the right.

You weave between trees, bouncing off of rocks with trained deftness. If luke wasn’t hunting you like you were prey currently, you would boast to him about your improvement. Instead, you worry about how you're accidentally triggering the loud crunch of leaves along the way. You're breathing too hard, too, you can't really help it, and you figure that at this point you should try to hide.

You thought you would have more time, maybe a little more distance to adequately prepare yourself, but you turn around the base of a large tree and then you’re being pulled into his chest, lifted off the ground a little without much effort from him.

You hadn't heard him get closer to you, or maybe you misinterpreted where he was the entire time. Still, it doesn't matter because you've been caught.

You try to squirm out of his grasp. Maybe get away and buy yourself some more time. After all, it's not over until you've given up. Until he's made you submit.

But Luke's strong. His arms aren't budging and after only a few fruitless seconds of trying to escape, you go limp.

He’s laughing as he's putting you down facing that same tree, not even gracing you with the sight of his face. He cages you against bark by pushing his groin into your ass and pressing both of his hands into the tree on either side of your head. He's a little tired, too, breathing just loud enough for you to hear.

When he rests his forehead against the back of your neck, you can feel how damp his skin is. It makes you proud. Finally, you'd given Luke a real challenge. Gone were the times where he had you in his arms within five minutes.

"Longest you've lasted," he admits, laughing a little against your skin before he presses a kiss there.

You're about to say something snarky and full of pride, feeling like you're allowed to brag this once. But Luke speaks before you can even think of a reply.

“But you know better, don't you?” He speaks next to your ear, his cheek soft against your earlobe and your own cheek with the proximity. You know the question isn't rhetorical, he expects you to respond.

You're too headstrong to do so. Too upset at having been caught again.

As if to prompt you, Luke nudges the side of your face with his nose. "Hm? Don't you, angel?"

He removes one hand from the rough bark to run it down your side, gripping your hip with enough strength to warn you.

Don't try to run, he's telling you.

With where this is leading, you wouldn't dream of it.

You sigh with a little too much attitude. It's harsh, a small growl almost forming in your throat like you're one of Hades' own creatures and not Luke's lover.

He briefly comments on your behavior with a tut, digging into your side and pulling you back against him with more force. "You know how I get when you're like this."

It's not a threat or a warning. He likes when you have some bite. The stiff erection in his pants is testament.

His head ducks and he nips at your neck. "Answer me."

You might as well. Especially if you want to get what you want.

"Yes, Luke."

"'Yes' what?"

"I know better."

He hums a little appreciatively. Like he's pleased.

His hand circles around to the front of your shorts where he pops the button and slides the zipper down. He slips his hand into the gap created, pressing two fingers into the damp spot of your underwear. His free hand grips your chin, turning your head to the side so he can fully stare down at you.

There's a hard look in his eyes. The deep brown, practically black, is full of arrogance. The look of a winner.

"And what else do you know?" He's slid his hand under the elastic of your underwear at this point. He's not wasting any time, and you understand that there's no point in prolonging things.

This time, you're quick to respond, letting your head fall back to rest against the solid flesh of Luke's chest as you wrap a hand around his wrist to ground yourself.

"You'll always catch me," comes your response, a little breathless.

That only makes Luke grin wider. Bigger. More triumphant.

"That's right."

#lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #celeste writes misc #luke castellan

1K notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

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

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

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

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

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

He's looking at you, Bram Stoker.

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

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

Eddie would know. He's tried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t.

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

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

"Hi, Eddie," you call.

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

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

"Hey," he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"God awful," he agrees sullenly.

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

"You should get a bike."

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

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

Eddie squints. "The o-zone?"

"Is there another one?"

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

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

"My chain slipped."

"So much for reliable."

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll do it for nothing."

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

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

Or maybe you don't know.

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

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

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

Kid, if I had the money…

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

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

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

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

No knife-like points. Normal teeth.

"Are you thirsty?" you ask him.

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

His heart fucking pounds.

"I have grape juice?"

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

Duh, you meant juice.

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

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

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

It's everywhere.

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

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

"You like Dio?" he asks excitedly.

"Who?"

He wilts. "Uh, your hoodie. Dio."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Learn to take a compliment, dude.

When they aren't pity compliments, he might.

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

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

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

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

"My services were administered charitably.”

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

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

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

"I'm twenty-two."

Eddie squints at you. "Seriously?"

"You didn't think so?"

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

"A boyfriend?"

"Just me and mister Porterson."

"That your grandpa?"

"That's my pet fish."

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

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

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

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

"You know what happened?" he asks.

"What happened?"

"Two years ago. Chrissy… Chrissy Cunningham?"

Don't say her fucking name.

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

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

He stares.

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

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

"You don't believe it?"

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

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

—

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

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

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

"I got sandwiches. Do you want one?"

"What kind?"

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

"Why?"

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

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

"You're Eddie's new friend?"

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

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

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

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

You offer Eddie’s uncle a cookie.

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

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

"You don't say."

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

"Thanks, kid."

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

"Wayne is fine."

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

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

"Are you ready?" you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel like a pearl," you say.

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

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

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

"Yeah? Bring me another bracelet?"

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

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

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

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

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

"For your eyes."

"There's cheese on it."

"I'll still work," you assure him.

"M'not putting cheese on my eyes."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, definitely."

"Discrimination."

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

"She didn't budge?"

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

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

"See my new one?"

"What?"

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

"It's nice."

"It's surprisingly heavy. Wanna feel?"

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

Right, you think. I'm talking a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He breathes out. "Thank you."

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

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

He moves away slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow harshly.

"Seriously?"

Your sad tone surprises him.

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

His nervous itching makes you even more worried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Chief," Wayne calls.

Trailer walls. Basically made of cardboard.

"Hey, Wayne. Where's the kid?"

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

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

"Yeah, he- He's friends with Wayne."

"Why's he wanna know where you are?"

"'Cause I got into so much trouble."

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

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

"What?"

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

Something surfaces in his expression. An irony.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

He hates how good it feels.

"Stop feeling guilty," Steve says.

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

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

"Can you guys go home?" Eddie asks.

"Shithead."

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

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

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

"Ouch, what the fuck?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

"...Not really."

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

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

"I have a friend," Eddie admits.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

"Hey. How are you?"

"Eddie, I need your help. Badly."

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

"Are you okay?"

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

"...What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You want to?"

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

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

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

"That's perfect."

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

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

"Be honest with me, kid."

"I am!"

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

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

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

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

"Jesus Christ."

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

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

"Strange?"

"Alternative."

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

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

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

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

—

"It's so quiet," you whisper.

For you, Eddie thinks.

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

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

"Eddie?"

"What?"

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

If only you knew the trees aren't quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, how did they get here?"

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

"They fly?"

A twig crunches under your shoe.

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

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

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

"Not yet. Where'd you go?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You have the mason jar?"

"You know I do."

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

"Who told you that?"

"What?"

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

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

"Everybody tells me that. All the time."

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

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

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

"You're not."

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

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

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

"Hey, I have something for you."

"You do?"

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

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

How embarrassing.

"Eddie, what happened?" you question loudly.

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

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

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

"Steve found it."

"'The hair'?"

"Yeah, the hair."

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

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

"You're the best."

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

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

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

"Okay. Do you want to come over?"

His breath catches. "You want me to?"

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

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

"What kind of pasta?" he asks.

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

"How do you know?"

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

"Try tightening the handle."

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

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

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

"No, do you?"

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

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

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

"Are you sure?" you ask again.

"I'm positive."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

"Shit," you mumble.

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

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

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

You hold your hands out.

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

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

He doesn't sound the same.

"Eddie, we can't see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

His second hand is in his pocket.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Restrained.

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

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

You have a light bulb moment.

"The hair," you say.

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

"You're Steve?"

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

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

"Trust me, you're new."

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

He tucks it under his arm.

You meet his suspicious gaze.

"You want coffee?"

"No."

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

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

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

"What?"

"Are you initiating me into your cult?"

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

"Club where you chew on each other?"

You look pointedly at Steve's wrist.

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

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

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

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

"It's really not that kind of club."

—

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

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

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

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

"You like him when you tell me stories."

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

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

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

"He's like that."

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

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

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

"M'gonna sneeze."

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

"I'll tickle you back," he warns.

"Promise?"

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

"You're not a cannibal, are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No, not- Not that one."

He doesn't say anything.

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

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

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

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

"Okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Who do you like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smile abruptly ends.

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

"A good secret," you amend.

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

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

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

"Just the one."

"Save any princesses?"

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath mingles.

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

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

—

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

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

Eddie blinks.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, what was that about?"

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

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

"Since always, dipshit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

He feels kind of great about it.

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

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

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

How can he want to do that to you?

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

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

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

"Go play with your nerd squad, please."

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

"No."

"Where's Y/N?"

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

You will most likely choose Blondie.

"What does she like?" Dustin asks curiously.

"Everything, kind of. Why?"

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

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

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

"I mean, yeah. What else do you do?"

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

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

"It could be."

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

"Why not?"

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

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

I'm just glad you're alive, Eddie.

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

The loss of choice is suffocating.

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

"Eddie, are you okay?"

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

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

"Eddie-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I honestly wouldn't expect any different."

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

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

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

"You can have it."

You lean against the sink. "I can?"

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

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

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

"There's an upstairs bathroom."

"Two bathrooms? That's-"

"Audacious?"

"I was gonna say overkill."

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

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

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

"You look very handsome today."

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

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

He wants to pull it up.

"C'mere," he says.

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

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

"Thank you. Do you like my t-shirt?"

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

"Like Madonna."

"No!" he bemoans.

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

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

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

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

"R.E.M?"

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

"The radio."

"Tuned into the wrong station."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gums sting. A click.

It's a compulsion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie can't feel his hands.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart hikes again.

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

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

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

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

"I don't think you could."

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

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

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

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

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

How could she not?

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm fine."

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

"I'm fine all the time."

"Liar."

"Nuisance."

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

"Mike was really nice," you say.

"He has a bleeding heart."

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

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

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

"What?"

"Wanna stay the night?"

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

"Just to sleep. It's late."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can't hear his response.

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

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

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

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

You debate your pyjama pants considerably.

There's a lot happening.

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

He's something out of a science fiction book.

Well, nobody's perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have tattoos," you say.

"They were better, before."

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

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

"Mh-hm."

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

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

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

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

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

You reach for his waist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure?" you whisper to him.

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

"And you're okay?"

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

"Yeah. More than anything."

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

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

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

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

He pushes your thigh flat to the bed.

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

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

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

His face presses further into yours in reaction.

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

"Teasing," you utter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slow, slow circles. "There, huh?"

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

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

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

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

"I can."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?" he asks, smirking.

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

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

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

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

"Can I kiss it?"

He snorts. "Prefer you kiss something else."

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

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

"Please."

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

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

"What way?"

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

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

"Will you spoon me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He says your name like the syllables alone are appraising.

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

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

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

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

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

"Will you kiss me?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Eddie-" you start.

He pulls away, stops every movement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile softly. "Fuck," you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

You touch your index fingertip to his lip.

"Can I see?" you ask.

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

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

A fang.

Blood oozes at the gums.

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

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

"How often do they come out?"

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

That is a dizzying thing to learn.

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

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

You find yourself leaning forward, unafraid.

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

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

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

"Yeah, I think so. Don't you?"

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

Your first time watching a blood sate is weird.

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

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

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

His kid laughs.

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

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

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

You nod at him faux-seriously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm almost twenty three."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take it without thinking.

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

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

"I read about a new blood-sucker."

Eddie raises his heavy head. "Another bug?"

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

He squeezes your hand, this time on purpose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Deep breath," Wayne says.

"Fuck, Wayne."

"You're aces. Deep breaths."

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

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

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

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

"You okay, handsome?".

"Tired."

"You want a hug from me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

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

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

"Least it wasn't Snoopy."

"God forbid."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe I can shower with you."

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

"I'll lean out."

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

Wayne clears his throat.

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

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

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

"I am."

"More than that."

"There's no room."

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

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

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

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

"For shows."

"Really?"

"Is it hard to believe?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You want that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever will we do?"

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

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

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

Your jaw drops. "For real?"

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

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

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

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

/\^._.^/\

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

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

10K notes · View notes

beatrixstonehill2 · 1 month

Text

"Come on, aren't you just in love with them?" Sophia asked her boyfriend, Matt.

"Jesus, how much do those things weigh now?"

Sophia shrugged casually. "I dunno. A lot? Probably thirty pounds each, wanna weigh them?"

"Sure..... maybe later. You know, you don't have to keep doing this, Sophia. They're plenty big."

"Awwww, don't pretend to feel bad for me! I'm your girlfriend, it's my job to please you!"

"I appreciate it..... but don't you think you're taking this a bit far?"

Sophia giggled in a way that made it seem like she took this as a challenge. "You get so timid when your boyish little fantasies get exposed..... I saw all that porn on your laptop. Every other girl you jerk it to is some Influencer who grew out their boobs so much their spines snapped and they legit end up paralyzed from the shoulders down. The girls wear it like a badge of honor. I was so shocked to hear them talk so casually about their bodies being numb, not feeling their pussies, not being able to cum all because they grew such colossal boobs..... They act like it's the pinnacle of sexual appeal to be completely helpless, buried under a gigantic pair of boobs they can't even feel, only able to watch as men fuck them, encouraging them to have fun with their paralyzed bodies and not hold back. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Sophie, you know I'd never ask that of you. Your career...."

"Being a therapist? Uh, duh, I can still do that over Zoom or Snapchat. Or my patients can come to me, trapped in bed, naked. I'll have to warn them not to mind my ponderous, 200lb-breasts. They're for my boyfriend, just try to ignore them! Or..... if men have pent up frustration, it might be a great way to get some of that anger and trauma out on what will amount to a pair of massive, fatty punching bags. I think that'll be an excellent option for my patients. Of course, I'll at least still be able to suck your cock and taste your cum, that'll be all I need--honest! And if you don't mind I can reward my clients by sucking their cocks, if they like...... this might be fun for the both of us after all!"

"Jesus, you're seriously committed to this?"

Sophia groped her oversized breasts, which were a D-Cup when they started dating only six months ago. "What gave it away? So, are you done pretending you don't want me to grow a pair of the biggest, heaviest, back-breaking tits you've ever seen?"

"Shit..... you are such a freak, I could marry a girl like you....."

"Down boy. Let's wait til my spine snaps! I'll look so much better getting wheeled down the aisle, my boobs well over 100lbs, wearing only a garter belt and veil, ooooo, maybe you can put huge hoops rings through my nipples at the altar? Not like I'll feel you piercing them. Won't that be fun?"

"Nothing would make me happier than to show your rich, snobby family what a good, obedient girl you turned out to be."

Sophia smiled, running over to kiss Matt, squishing her hefty breasts against his chest. Feeling that made both of them realize that although her breasts were absurdly large now, they were ultimately tiny compared to what they'd look like in another year or two.

#be #breast expansion #breast inflation #immobile kink #immobility kink #dark kinks #massive breasts

654 notes · View notes

sugawarassoulmate · 6 months

Text

no nut november - nov 01

didn't even make it past the first day. they didn't even try.

(let's pretend i didn't get sick and that this was posted on november 1st 🥲)

bokuto & bully!osamu

word count: 255 & 295

cw: fem!reader, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, name calling, bullying, minors dni

bokuto

there was no way bokuto would go a whole month without busting his load, let alone inside you.

he failed as soon as the clock struck midnight

the two of you got drunk at a halloween party and barely made it to an empty bedroom before ripping off each other's costumes.

"bo, you're ripping my dress," your whines quickly turned into gasps of pleasure when bokuto's warm mouth latched on your breast.

“can’t help myself, birdie,” he says when you’re finally bare in front of him. “been wanting this all night.”

the second bokuto feels the warmth of your cunt around his cock, he forgets all about the stupid bet he spoke about with his friends just a few hours ago.

"so you have to go the whole month without busting a nut," one of his friends said over a beer. "no jerking off and you absolutely can't fuck your girl."

bokuto remembered the idea sounded fun, a test of his endurance even but the look on akaashi's face told him he was full of it

"there's no way you'd last a day, let alone a month," he said to which bokuto immediately took offense.

"i could totally last a month!" he huffed but the second he saw you in your angel costume, his only mission in life was to bury his cock so deep inside you he can't think.

once the post-nut clarity hits, bo realizes he has to let his friends know he lost and he immediately gets roasted in the group chat.

bully!osamu

lol there's no way osamu could hold out that long

suna brought it up a few days ago with a knowing glance in osamu’s direction

osamu doesn’t like to lose bets and almost thought about going through with it but why should he be deprived of life’s pleasures?

then again he could make you suffer too, bring you to the end and never deliver

osamu tried it, the thought of teasing you was too much fun for him

but when he finally had you under him, fingers against your clit, that you're whining starts

"there ya go bitchin' again," he says, slapping your cunt to reprimand you as if he isn't rock hard in his sweats at this very moment.

"samu!" you cry, staring up at him with those stupid doe eyes, welling up with tears because he's just being so mean to you

there's only one thing that stops you when you're like this, and osamu's more than happy to give it to you

"ya want dick that badly? is that it?" he says pulling his cock out, sliding it against your cunt

your cries stop when he finally sinks himself into you, both of you gasping

and samu isn't one to hold back, not with you at least, fucking you hard and deep until your cumming around him in no time (all those thoughts of edging you leave his head)

for a brief moment, osamu actually thinks about not cumming in you (or on you) and taking part in the stupid bet but then he feels your legs wrap around his waist he quickly decides it's not worth it, flooding your cunt with his seed

it isn't until halfway through the month osamu finally tells everyone he lost on the first day 🥴

#haikyuu smut #haikyu smut #osamu smut #bokuto smut #bokuto x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu smut #bokuto koutarou smut #no nut november 🍑#bully!osamu #🥀#🥀bokuto #🥀osamu

2K notes · View notes

kdecays · 1 month

Text

°Sun Dress°

°Summary°: You and Chris can't control yourselves at dinner and it ends up getting freaky😛

°Warnings°: fingering, public sex, oral(male receiving)

Authors note: THIS IS MY FIRST STORY THATS NOT ON WATTPAD SO BARE WITH ME.

I jump at the feeling of someone's hands reach around my waist. Recognizing the touch of him I turn around as his hands are holding my waist.

"Hi chris" I say while staring at his lips. "Hi y/n".

Before I start talking I hear someone yelling at us.

"Come on love birds were all going to dinner!" Nick yells while drying himself with a towel.

"come on, I have the cutest sundress to wear for dinner." I say excitedly. Chris smiles as he admires my excitement.

We dry ourselves off and walk inside the beach house with our fingers interlocked.

"Chris I need to ask your opinion on this dress." I say as I walk out the bathroom giving him a spin.

Chris stares at me with wide eyes as he examines my body attentively. He began to walk over to me and grabbing my hand to twirl me around to get a better view.

"you look beautiful, it fits you very well." He'd say in a flirty voice, eagerly smiling at me. I look at him from his eyes to his lips giving him a signal that I need him.

I suddenly feel his hands travel my waist to my ass. Meanwhile my arms are going around his neck running my fingers through his hair.

Suddenly there's a knock at the door. A muffled voice comes from behind the door. "The Uber is here hurry up!" Nick shouts from behind the door.

"Were coming out!" I shout back. "Cmon we can continue this later." I say to Chris and give him a peck on the lips before I go grab my bag to leave.

We get in the car and Nick sits in the front seat and I'm in the middle on Matt and Chris. We got lucky and got a chill driver. The driver let us listen to music so it wouldnt be awkward and so we could have fun.

While we're listening to music we starts to calm down and just listen to music and talk to each other.

While I'm listening to Matt and nick argue I feel Chris start to whisper into my ear. "I need you so bad right now." I turned to look at him with wide eyes as I was not expecting it.

"your gonna have to wait." I say. Chris rolls his eyes and turns to face forward noticing that we have reached our final destination.

Nick checks us into our registration and we meet some friends at the table.

We all sit down. Our drink came to the table and look over the menu. I pick up my drink to take a sip when I feel Chris lean in to whisper something to me. "I would rather eat u out right now." I giggled. "Shut up we're with ur brothers and our friends anyone could see us." I look at him with a serious face but he just blows it off.

We finished eating our food and I suddenly feel Chris' hand find it's way to my inner thigh.

I try to pretend that nothing's happening but all I feel is Chris going higher and higher until he reaches my heat.

He searches for my panties just to find out that I don't have any on. I look at him for a split second.

He doesn't care he just starts to rub my clit with his thumb. The circular motion is making me go feral. I cant control my moans.

The table is loud so luckily nobody is noticing the noises coming out of me. I can feel Chris laughing as if he isn't He then inserts two fingers into me, which causes me to slightly jump at the feeling.

I feel a familiar feeling coursing throughout my body. I clench around his finger which gives him the sign that I'm going to finish. Before I finish he pulls them out. I quickly look at him with a annoyed face.

He doesn't give me any attention. He suddenly stand up from the table. "I'm gonna use the restroom I be back." Chris says. As he's walking away I'm waiting for him to look back at me but he doesn't give me any attention.

After thinking about what just happened I feel a vibration on my leg from my phone. Its chris.

Chris💕

Meet me in the bathroom.

6:52pm

"I'm gonna excuse myself to use the restroom very quickly." I say hurrying myself to the bathroom.

People might think it's suspicious but I don't care. I need this man in me right now.

I find the restroom and go inside to find Chris waiting inside for me.

As soon as I lock the door I turn to him and start to kiss him passionately. His lips move from mine to my neck. He quickly find my sweet spot which makes moan out loud.

He starts to unbuckle his pants and I bend down.

"what are you doing baby?" Chris asks.

I ignore him and pull his boxers down to see his hard dick spring out. I put my hands around the shaft as I kitty lick the tip. My eyes look up and I see him starting at me in delight.

I spit in my hand and start to rub it all over his dick. He starts to groan when I put my lips around the tip and start to bobble my head. "Fuck" he says in enjoyment.

I lift my head for breath and immediately go back in. Soon enough I can feel him twitch in my mouth. I keep eye contact with him while bobbling my head up and down. He starts to shut his eyes and in the same moment I feel a warm liquid shoot in the back of my throat.

I lift my head up and get up from off my knees. I kiss him and he can taste himself on my lips.

He starts to take my dress off exposing my bare chest. He takes my dress fully off and picks me up and puts me on the sink.

He breaks the kiss and moves his mouth to my bare tits. He sucks on my tits leaving me a hickey.

He positions me to have his dick aligned with my entrance. "Can I put it in" I nod my head quickly which makes him giggle.

He slides in an out of me at the perfect pace with each thrust hitting me in the correct spot each time.

I start feeling a familiar sensation throughout my whole body. I clench around him and at the same time I feel him twitch inside me. "Fuck I'm gonna cum." Chris groans.

He releases first and myself quickly after. "I love you" I say to Chris out of breath. "I love you too baby" he replies trying to catch his breath.

I give him a kiss before he helps me off the sink.

"what are we gonna say when people ask why we were gone for so long?" Chris asks. "I'll just say I got my period and u had to get me stuff. Nobody's gonna question." I say confidently.

We sit back at the table and as soon as I sit in my chair Nick gives me a weird look. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I say to nick. "Why were you guys gone for so long? And why is Chris sweaty?" Nick says suspiciously. "I got my period he had to get me some feminine products." I say in a normal tone so he doesn't suspect anything.

Good thing everyone is to busy with their own conversations to pay attention to the investigation Nick has for us.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

AUTHORS NOTE!

Hiiii okay this is prolly so bad but my friend gave me advice on how to write and stuff so yeah. And I wrote half of it during school💀 but I think it's okay PLEASE RECCOMEND PLOTS!! I literally came up with this bc I was listening to sundress by asap. But anyways bye.

#sturniolo triplets #Smut #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #Imagines

503 notes · View notes

pomefioredove · 11 days

Note

Hi !! I love your writing! I think you've nailed the twst characters personalities really nicely <33

So if possible, I'd like to have some hcs Sebek, Ruggie, Jack, Jamil and Deuce would realize that they have a crush on the reader (in which the reader is basically their closest friend atp) and how'd they'd react to it. Would they be the type to shove it back down or get it over with? Something else entirely, maybe??

Hope this isn't too much. Thank you in advance! Take all the time you need!

hii first off thank you so much!! <3 and ofc ofc I LOVE pining (and friends to lovers?!)

pomefiore part

summary: how they would have a crush on you type of post: headcanons characters: deuce, jack, ruggie, jamil, sebek additional info: romantic, reader isn't specified to be yuu except in sebek's part because I found it funny, reader is gender neutral, deuce is a cutie patootie

𝐃𝐞𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐞

oh, he is in utter turmoil about this

on one hand: he really, really likes you

you're such a wonderful person

the kind of partner he'd be proud to introduce to his mom

on the other hand...

he really, really doesn't want to mess this up

you already have such a great thing going on as friends!

if he ruined that, he would literally never forgive himself

and Ace would make fun of him for it until the very end of time itself

so, of course he just sits on these feelings. maybe if he focuses on something else, they'll go away?

spoiler alert: they do not

they definitely do not

if anything, trying to ignore them just makes it worse for him; suddenly he's becoming an entirely different person around you

it's like a switch is flipped the second you're in the room

he becomes clumsy, easily flustered, can barely string a sentence together

Ace gives him hell about it, of course

and when there's no hope of hiding it any longer, he just confesses

(not that it wasn't obvious already... but for his sake, you'll have to pretend like it's shocking news)

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥

he's actually... pretty upfront about it?

once he's got his feelings on the matter sorted, anyway

...which takes him a few weeks

when he first recognizes his crush on you, he pours himself into his training

not as a distraction, really; he just finds it easier to think when he's working out

he really does want to think this one through

much like Deuce, Jack understands that he'd put the friendship at risk if he were to confess

unlike Deuce, however, he's somewhat aware that ignoring and hiding is a coward's way out, and will only push you away

so, once he's very sure about his feelings, he confesses

it's not exactly like a confession, though

more of a... lecture?

just informs you that he's developed feelings, doesn't want them to affect the friendship, and leaves the decision up to you

won't freak if you don't reciprocate, but... he might be a little bummed out

okay... more than a little

𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢

first thought: he doesn't have time for this

Ruggie has a job, school, and a whole neighborhood to feed back home

now a partner? no, that's completely out of the question

besides, it's not like you'd ever reciprocate. who'd wanna spend every date eating dandelion salad?

no one, that's who

of course he doesn't bother asking, but he assumes that goes without saying

but he's busy enough to put those feelings on the back burner and deal with them some other day

...if only he wasn't so distracted by thoughts of you, that plan might have worked!

by his third slip-up, Leona's had enough and demands he's gotta sort out whatever's bothering him if he ever wants to show his face there again

(he might've been in a bad mood)

but, unfortunately, Ruggie knows he's right

it's better to be rejected now than to spend the rest of his school days mulling over it

so, he just spills the beans, as plain and simple as possible

tries to walk away as soon as he's done so he doesn't have to see the look on your face

you can imagine his surprise when you pull him back

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥 𝐕𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫

actually has a pretty similar reaction to Ruggie

Jamil can't possibly fathom having a partner in a world where he doesn't even have his own freedom

in a sense, he just doesn't want to drag you into his life

in another, more important sense, he would be devastated if you rejected him

so he just... ignores it

of course, Jamil knows that pretending the feelings aren't there won't do much, but he doesn't really have a lot of options

he's not one to talk through his feelings, after all

not that anyone asks...

and his ability to interact with you as if nothing is different is astonishing

even if it feels like he's melting inside

though, you may catch him smiling more at you these days

he just can't help himself

when he's got his other stuff sorted, you'll be next on the agenda

𝐒𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐤 𝐙𝐢𝐠𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐭

you claim to have no magic, and yet you bewitch him into caring about you just as much as his liege?!

well... maybe not as much...

but close! very close!

even admitting that to himself feels like high treason

nonetheless, you have to be something very special to distract him from what he calls his "true purpose in life"

he sees you and feels... ill?

he's light-headed, he's dizzy, his stomach feels funny...

and he's been thinking about you more so than usual

yes, you're friends... he'll even admit he's grown quite fond of you in comparison to the other people you call "friends"

but this is... unusual

surely, you've placed some kind of curse on him!

Silver is the first to hear about it

poor boy is too tired to deal, and so he passes on the problem to Lilia

who just chuckles and makes a lot of odd references and metaphors that no one of this century would understand

no, Sebek has to come to the conclusion that he likes you all on his own

(like-likes you)

and after some pestering from Lilia, he admits that perhaps you and he could protect Malleus... together!

(he's going to have to work on the wording of that confession)

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #deuce spade x reader #jack howl x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #jamil viper x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #queued

410 notes · View notes

il-miele-che-scrive · 5 months

Text

lando norris x reader

based on this request (because I take requests and I have to make it everyone's business): Hi not sure if you take requests but in case you do could you write reader x lando where y/n is a celebrity or an influencer and she drops subtle hints at who is her new bf maybe some fun facts about him like "oh he hates fish and I'm making a lot of fish for christmas" and eventually the fans are like "guys it's totally lando"

words count: 2.5k + fans' tweets at the end

author's note: my first request and it was so fun to write 🥹 also added a hospital scene from the time of Vegas GP so we could experience a bit of protective Y/n and painkillers-high Lando (I forgot about a fish scene)

edit: I've just realized I've messed up the dates so let's pretend the award thingie was in '23 instead of '22

A secret boyfriend

It was a normal Tuesday of 2023 when Y/n Y/l/n and Lando Norris met. Well, not so normal since it was the day Y/n won the first award in her musical career, and Lando had his first debut as an award presenter.

"And the winner is..." He opened the envelope and flipped it, as he held it upside down. "Y/n Y/l/n."

Y/n couldn't believe it at first. She looked at her best friend with tears in her eyes. They hugged before Y/n stood up and got on her way to the scene, still questioning if she actually heard her name or was it her mind playing tricks on her.

"Thank you," Y/n sent Lando a smile as he handed her the award, "are you sure it's for me?" She joked, trying to mask the anxiety she felt from the fact that now she had to give a speech while everyone watched.

"Absolutely, it's all yours. Well deserved." Lando said feeling a bit starstruck from being so close to one of his favorite singers.

Just this one simple interaction was enough for both Y/n's and Lando's fanbases to raise suspicions. However, what was unavailable to the fans' eyes were Y/n and Lando's interaction at the after party. Later the same evening, he approached her.

"Hey, congratulations again." He said with a grin on his face. "Your music is amazing, I couldn't imagine you not winning this award."

"Stop with the compliments, I'm gonna blush." Y/n laughed. "Nice to meet you. Lando Norris, isn't it?"

"Yeah, do you watch Formula One?"

"I'm going to be honest from the beginning and admit I did not, but I did my research and I just might start being a fan."

"If you're ever down for hearing firsthand gossip straight from the track, I'm at your service."

"I'd love to hear all the gossip over a coffe sometime."

"Let me give you my number then and I'll arrange something."

And so a few days later they had a coffee date. The date marked the beginning of a carefully hidden romance. They wanted to keep it a secret from the public eye, not wanting people prying on them, trying to estimate how long they'll last.

Keeping the relationship secret somehow came easy to them. They were seen on the coffee date indeed, however they made sure to have the next dates in private. The fans on both sides were literally clueless to the whole ongoing romance. Y/n had her tour, Lando had his races and it wasn't even a little bit suspicious how a lot concerts aligned with race weekends.

Unfortunately, one day Y/n went live on Instagram with her best friend. Unfortunately, because Y/f/n didn't know how to keep her mouth shut. Unfortunately, because Y/f/n gave away the big secret.

"You know, guys, we're gonna use lives as a way to spend time together," she joked, "I've been feeling a bit abandoned since Y/n has been spending so much time with her boyfriend. Even on tour and with his busy schedule, can you believe this?"

Y/n's eyes widened. "Y/f/n!" She scolded her friend.

"What? It's a joke, no worries, I can see you're finally happy and I'm happy for you!"

"Y/f/n! You weren't supposed to say that!"

But the damage was already done. There was nothing Y/n could say to save the situation. So instead she decided to start dropping subtle hints for the fans to guess. Maybe it was the right time to make the relationship public after five months. They couldn't hide it forever.

Y/n started the hint game when she was on Jimmy Fallon's show.

"Y/n Y/l/n, everybody!" Jimmy announced when the girl walked in and sat down on the armchair. "I haven't seen you in a year and so much happened during this time!"

"I know, I know," Y/n said with a smile. "I'm so glad I could make a quick pit stop here on my way to Montreal."

"I'm happy to have you here. You won an award, you got a boyfriend. How- how did that happen?"

Y/n chuckled at Jimmy's question, realizing it was the perfect opportunity to play the hint game. "Oh, life takes unexpected turns and sometimes you find yourself on a fast track to happiness."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story. "Anything you'd like to share about this mystery man?"

"You know, Jimmy, I've finally found someone who knows how to navigate the twists and turns in life."

The audience laughed and the speculations among fans skyrocketed as they tried to connect the dots from Y/n's playful hints.

The other time, Y/n was on a popular radio show. The host couldn't help but ask about the latest reveal of a big secret.

"You were left hurting really badly after your previous relationship," he spoke, "it's really good to see you finally happy."

"It was a big thing for me. Still is." The girl admitted. "My previous relationship made it hard to open up to a man like that again."

"What made you do it eventually then?"

"I decided life is too short for keeping things in the slow lane," Y/n chuckled, "and when you meet someone that can belt out a Taylor Swift song with the same passion as you, it's hard not to fall for them."

"So your mystery man is a Swiftie too? Any chance we might know him?"

"Oh, I bet many people who are listening right now would know him."

"Now you got us all intrigued, your fans wouldn't forgive me if I didn't ask for more."

Y/n grinned, "Well, he's practically flawless, except for one little detail. He's a scorpio. And let me tell you, when we're playing our silly little racing video games, his competitive scorpio side really comes out. It's all fun and games until his racing pride is at stake."

The host laughed. "I'm sure fans are already trying to guess who this mystery gamer is. And you, are you competitive?"

"Yes, totally. He's more experienced than I am, but it doesn't mean I won't try my hardest to beat him."

"Is there any trait you don't share?"

The girl nodded, "Yes, one thing I'm secretly jealous of. He's quite known for being able to fall asleep in the most uncomfortable conditions. I wish I could do that. I'm all about pillows and comfy blankets, but he can just doze off anywhere, anytime."

A few days later, in the warmth of Lando's bedroom, surrounded by the hum of city life outside the windows, Y/n brought up the topic with a playful glint in her eyes.

"You know, Lando, fans have been buzzing lately. It's quite entertaining."

"Well, you have started this yourself," Lando laughed, laying his head in his girlfriend's lap.

"Not me, it was Y/f/n. I just went with it and turned it into something fun for myself." Y/n defended herself. Her fingers started gently playing with Lando's hair.

"You do seem to be having a great time, leading your fans on and all that," he joked. "Are there chances they'll solve your mystery anytime soon?"

"I've seen a few tweets accusing you of being my secret boyfriend, but most people don't really believe that."

"What?" He sit up dramatically. He continued in a fake-offended voice. "Do they think I'm not good enough?"

Y/n giggled.

Lando's mock offense turned into a playful pout. "I can't believe they're doubting my boyfriend potential. I mean, come on, look at me!" He gestured theatrically at himself.

Y/n burst into laughter, "Maybe we should give them a little more to work with, stir the pot a bit."

Lando leaned in, placing a quick kiss on Y/n's cheek. "You're a master of turning chaos into entertainment, you know that?"

"It's quite a compliment, coming from a Formula One driver."

Lando flashed a grin. "Well, we both have our talents, don't we? Maybe we should drop some subtle hints during a race?"

And so they waited months for the Grand Prix in Vegas, because that was where they could start rumours about getting married. Sure, they could get married spontaneously anywhere, but there was no better place than Las Vegas.

Thankfully they managed to keep the relationship secret all these months, breadcrumbing Y/n's fans. After the Vegas GP, Y/n and Lando where supposed to go for an afterparty, get 'drunk' and then 'married'.

Unfortunately, they plans changed the direction a bit with Lando's crash. Y/n's heart sank as she watched the unfolding drama on the big screens. The thrill of the race was replaced with concern for Lando's well-being. Plans for the afterparty and the playful hints about a fake marriage suddenly didn't matter anymore.

Emergency crews rushed onto the track, the anxious seconds felt like an eternity as they worked to help Lando get out of his racing car. Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, the world around her blurring. The fact that he managed to walk away from the car was a small comfort.

Y/n's phone buzzed moment after Lando disappeared from her sight.

from: Lando

I'm okay, they're taking me to st vincent's hospital. Will update you soon. Love you xx

to: Lando

Be there in a second, see you soon

A shaky exhale escaped Y/n, she felt slightly relief and ran towards the exit. She was sure Lando wasn't okay, not after that crash, but at least he was conscious and walking on his own (although it could be the adrenaline). A moment later, when Y/n got into her own car, her phone buzzed again.

from: Lando

Yknow you could post a pic from the hospital, that would stir the pot

Y/n smiled at the massage. If he could think of that, he might had been better than she thought.

The neon lights of Las Vegas blurred as she drove through the city streets, trying to get to the hospital as quick as possible. Despite the speed, the journey seemed to stretch in time.

Arriving at St. Vincent's hospital, Y/n rushed through the entrance, her heart pounding. The reception area looked like a maze in her anxious state, but she managed to find a nurse.

"I'm here for Lando Norris," the girl said.

The nurse looked her up and down. "Are you his family?"

"I'm his girlfriend."

"Then, unfortunately, I cannot let you see him."

"His family is in Europe, I'm the closest to family you can get here in Vegas."

"The closest, but not family. I'll ask you nicely to wait here for further information."

Y/n nodded with an angry expression on her face. She sat down in the waiting room, pulling out her phone and dialing the number of her manager.

"Hey, Mia," the singer said. "I need you to do something." Urgency and frustration were visible in her voice.

"What's going on, Y/n? Are you okay?" Mia's concerned voice came through the line.

"It's Lando. He's been in a crash during the race in Vegas, and they've taken him to St. Vincent's Hospital. I'm here, but they won't let me in because I'm not 'family.' That's so stupid."

"I'm sorry, Y/n, but I still don't see what you want me to do."

"I want you to make a donation for the hospital from my account. Send them like $100,000. I think it'll be enough to let me in."

"Okay, I'll take care of it."

"Thanks, Mia. I appreciate it more than you know."

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Anxiety lingered in the air. But there was no way they wouldn't let her in after that.

Y/n didn't know how much time had passed. She felt as if all she did was staring at a wall in front of her, ocassionally moving her eyes to the floor or the ceiling. She was fidgeting with her fingers as the same nurse approached her.

"Miss Y/l/n, you're allowed to see Mr Norris in the room 305."

Without a word, Y/n rushed to the room. She found Lando lying in the hospital bed, his gaze turning towards the door as she walked in.

"Lando." Y/n breathed his name, rushing to his side and taking his hand in hers. "I was so worried. And they didn't want to let me in at first."

He managed a dazed smile, his eyes slightly glazed. "Hey, you're real, right? This isn't happening in my head?"

Y/n chuckled. "Yes, I'm real. It's me."

He squinted at her. "You sure? You look like a beautiful hallucination."

"Well, if I'm a hallucination, at least a beautiful one."

"I feel like I'm floating on marshmallow clouds, but you're the most beautiful marshmallow I've ever seen."

Y/n couldn't help but laugh. "I think you might be on some strong painkillers, love."

"Ah, that explains the marshmallows. They're having a party in my head," Lando said with a dreamy expression.

Y/n burst into laughter, the tension of the earlier moments disappearing in the room.

"Did you know," Lando continued, "that racing is like trying to catch a rainbow? And if you're lucky, you might find a pot of gold at the end."

"Is there an Irish leprechaun as well?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe that's who's been guiding me all this time."

"You gotta ask him to make the rainbow less slippery next time then."

He nodded solemnly. "I'll have a serious talk with him. No more slippery rainbows, only smooth, marshmallow clouds."

As they joked around, Y/n couldn't ignore the quiet concern for Lando's well-being. She gently brushed his hair away from his forehead. "You scared me, you know? Seeing you crash like that."

"I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to scare you. I promise I'll be more careful next time. But you have to promise me something too.""

"What is it?"

"You'll visit me in the marshmallow cloud world sometimes. It gets lonely up there."

Y/n laughed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I'll visit anytime you want."

"You know, even in the middle of all this craziness, having you here feels like finding that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

As the night carried on, the hospital room became a cocoon shielding them from everything that layed outside its walls. Y/n found herself falling asleep on an armchai next to Lando's bed.

In the quiet ambiance of the night, Lando's mind wandered through the whimsical landscapes of his medication-induced thoughts. He couldn't help but marvel at the coincidence that brought Y/n into his life.

It all started with handing her an award. It seemed like it happened a whole lifetime ago and now, there they were, in the middle of marshmallow clouds.

Y/n, nestled in the armchair, breathed softly in her sleep, completely unaware of Lando's reflections. Soon enough, Lando allowed himself to succumb to the gentle pull of sleep as well.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris one shot #f1 x y/n #lando norris x y/n

701 notes · View notes

phillydilly · 7 months

Text

Priorities

⊹♡— In which Charles and his long distance girlfriend get into an argument over her priorities

Part 1 , Part 2

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Warnings: arguing, angst

Charles had been counting down the days until his planned trip to London to visit his girlfriend, Y/n. They had been in a long-distance relationship for a while, and every moment together was cherished. Charles had meticulously planned the weekend, envisioning romantic strolls through Hyde Park and candlelit dinners at their favorite restaurants.

As Charles sat in the bustling Nice airport, his excitement was palpable. The engine-like roar of the airplanes outside seemed to echo his racing heartbeats. He checked his watch, anticipating the moment when he would finally board the flight to London.

Meanwhile, Y/n, a dedicated business manager at a prestigious firm in London, had been juggling her hectic work schedule with the anticipation of Charles's visit. She had managed to free up her weekend, or so she thought, ensuring that they would have quality time together.

Just as Charles was about to board the plane, Y/n's name flashed on his phone's screen. He smiled and answered, expecting her warm and excited voice on the other end. But the voice that greeted him was strained and filled with regret.

"Charles," Y/n began, her tone hesitant, "I have some bad news."

His heart sank as he clutched the phone tighter, "What's wrong, amour? Are you okay?"

Y/n sighed, "I've just been told that I have back-to-back meetings scheduled for the entire weekend. I can't believe it, but I won't be able to do any of the fun things you had planned."

Charles's excitement turned to frustration, and he couldn't hide his disappointment. "You knew I was coming, Y/n. We've been looking forward to this for weeks. How can you let work take precedence over us?"

Y/n's voice quivered, "It's not that simple, Charles. I have commitments, and my job is important. You know that."

Frustration simmered in Charles's voice, "I understand your job is important, but so is our relationship, Y/n. I've been looking forward to this weekend for so long, and now you're telling me it's all off?"

Y/n tried to explain, "I tried to rearrange my schedule, but these meetings are critical. I can't just bail on them."

Charles clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "So, what? I just drive back to Monaco and pretend like everything's fine?"

Y/n's voice trembled with guilt, "No, Charles, please. We can still spend time together in the evenings after my meetings. It won't be the weekend we planned, but we can make the most of it."

Charles felt a wave of frustration wash over him. He had been looking forward to this weekend with Y/n, a break from the high-speed world of Formula 1. "I can't believe you're doing this, Y/n. I thought we meant more to each other than this."

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes as she pleaded, "Charles, please try to understand. I never wanted this to happen, but sometimes work just takes over. I love you, and I want to make this work."

Charles, his patience wearing thin, snapped, "Love isn't just words, Y/n. It's actions. And right now, your actions are telling me that work comes before us. I'll talk to you later." With that, he hung up the phone, his anger boiling over.

He walked away from the gate, his luggage in hand, and returned to his car. Charles sat in the driver's seat, tears threatening to stream down his face. The frustration and disappointment he felt were overwhelming. He had been so excited about spending time with Y/n, and now it felt like a dream shattered.

As he drove away from the airport, Charles's mind was a whirlwind of emotions. The engine's roar provided a stark contrast to the turmoil in his heart. He had never expected such a turn of events. Y/n had always been understanding of his career's demands, but now it seemed like she was prioritizing her work over their relationship.

Hours passed, and Charles's tears had given way to a deep sadness. He replayed the argument in his head, wondering if he had been too harsh on Y/n. He loved her deeply, and he didn't want to lose her, but she had really hurt him. He knew he himself wasn’t always available, but they had planned this for weeks, he felt that his frustration was justified.

Back in London, Y/n sat in her office, tears streaming down her face. She had never seen Charles so angry and hurt. She knew she had let him down, but the demands of her job were relentless. She had hoped he would understand, but now she feared she might have pushed him away.

Unable to focus on her work, Y/n picked up her phone and dialed Charles's number. It went straight to voicemail. She left a heartfelt message, "Charles, I'm so sorry for everything. Please, let's talk this through. I love you more than anything."

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #formula 1 #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc story #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x female reader #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 x you #formula 1 smut

746 notes · View notes

austinsastrology8991 · 1 year

Text

Saturn the father you always wanted and always have. Saturn in da houses, and why your life sucks. Im blunt here so don't complain don't read if you can't handle the reality of saturn. Saturn in the first house - okay you don't like to try when you present yourself, you think people should just instantly respect you because youve been through many trials in life... well people usually dont know how to talk to you because you have a stick up your ass. Saturn in the second house - everyones greedy, but when you are, its not cool. Well it isn't because when you are greedy you act like a goblin. be more mature its okay to be greedy but your acting like its a virtue stfu. Saturn in the third house - everyone thinks your dumb af, and you are only because you lack confidence to drive your points home. you just need to learn how to communicate better, your not dumb but you act like a dumbass. Saturn in the fourth house - sad boy/girl now everyone knows you had a rough childhood but would you grow up already, everyone else has but your still stuck being sad about how life has treated you (or your momma/dadda) grow up your not getting any younger you can't change the past stop wallowing. the past has taught you well, use it to your advantage or let it hold you back. Saturn in the fifth house - pretend players who get played everytime. Always gotta pretend like they are fun but whenever you do try to have fun with them they are annoying. yes you could be fun in the bedroom simply because everyone knows your too sensitive to break someones heart... because your heart is the most broken. Saturn in the sixth house - the real try hards always putting in 100%. suck ups to there boss or whoever is above them. but when there authority disrespects them they go rogue and try even harder just to spit in there boss's face. i respect it because i got cap here Saturn in the seventh house - if your a bad person good luck in this life, because your karma is received ten fold by your partners, they always like to complete your karmic cycle because thats just how it works idk. so better act right or your partner will ruin it before you ruin yourself.

Saturn in the eighth house - will do anything to get to the top. no pain is too painful. well it all is, but the ends justify the means. when they put there foot down the whole room shakes. so when your making a move make sure its the right one because your power plays are on display for everyone and itll make or break you more than the other placements. Saturn in the ninth house - lazy asses, always looking for an easy way out. they know what the right thing to do is, but the likelihood of them doing it is never. its because saturn restricts there luck/ mind and they just have woe is me energy and its annoying make better choices, and if you dont stop crying about it. but if they act right saturn blesses them the fuck up. Saturn in the tenth house - okay these people think they are better than everyone and deserve everything, but they never receive the applause they crave. its never enough even if the whole room is looking at them they suddenly don't want it anymore. there karma everyone can see, and if its too good it feels like a curse, and when its bad and reality comes crashing down they just want to hide but they cant. own your life or it will own you. Saturn in the eleventh - there community will give them there karma, always these people dont have a place where they feel safe. because they never make anyone feel safe around them, then cry when no-one gives them that favour. stfu and treat us better and maybe we will do you better. Saturn in the twelfth - okay apparently this is where saturn is in its joy, and i guess its because god/ spirits judge you. and i guess thats a good thing because if anyone should judge you its him. except the pain here is you have ultimate freedom, you rarely get signs on what to do. will you make the right choice or the wrong once? well they are lucky because they always get there karma quickly so they can always recover fast. but these people struggle to empathise because they don't feel the energy of the room. sooooo just grow up you got the best saturn, and your karma resides is in your empathy. disclaimer - saturn wants you to be the best. and no one is.... so i like to think if you want a sense of direction (where are you going wrong) look at the saturn house and if you are successful congrats your doing saturn right. but be careful he always thinks you can do better, and he loves to humble you. so be-careful out there.

#house placements #saturn aspects #astrology observations #astrology notes #astrology houses #astrology placements #astrology blog #astro community #astrology

2K notes · View notes

roosterr · 9 months

Text

white flag ✹ epilogue

note: im kinda sad to say, but this will be the final part of this series! im so so grateful for all the love and support for it, this was honestly so fun to write! i hope everyone enjoys and have a wonderful day/night!!!!<3<3<3

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

no use of y/n

reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: your night in date with simon :)

warnings: domesticity, so much fluff, soap and gaz are wingmen again, tiny bit of light angst

ao3

【prev】

of all the things in this world that could be considered intimidating, flowers were the last thing simon would put on that list; but the brightly coloured flora seemed to have a paralysing effect on him as he stands in the tiny flower shop.

with a quiet, defeated groan to himself, he dials johnny's number and presses his phone to his ear.

"what flowers am i supposed to buy?" he blurts no sooner than soap picks up, not even bothering to greet him in his haste.

"hello to you too?" johnny mumbles, his confusion evident. a moment passes before he registers what simon asked, "oh! wait," he laughs, his voice getting further away as he lowers his phone to call out, "gaz, get out here! lt.'s buyin' sting flowers!"

simon considers hanging up then and there, but he's severely out of his depth and unfortunately, soap and gaz are his only hope.

"oh i see, he needs an expert opinion, does he?" kyle's teasing gets louder as he approaches soap, and he can hear the smile in both the sergeants' voices.

really, simon should've known they wouldn't let him off easy.

"christ alive…" he keeps his voice as low as possible, pinching the bridge of his nose in the corner of the small shop. "just help me, you pillock." the cashier has been staring at him since he walked in, and honestly, he doesn't blame them; a giant man in a mask isn't exactly the regular clientele for a florist.

"uh, probably their favourite?" soap suggests, the sound of gaz's muffled chuckling just about audible in the background.

"they don't have 'em." simon replies, his eyes darting over the vibrant display one last time in the hopes that the answer would somehow appear.

"nah, you want roses, mate." gaz interjects, and he hears soap make an agreeing noise.

simon hums. "aren't they too… cliché?" he asks, stepping over to the large display of rose bouquets. it's the classic choice, he's aware of that much, but whether or not you'd prefer something more unique was weighing on his mind. this was something he never expected to have to worry about.

"no! they're romantic," gaz insists, his amusement still very evident in his voice, "trust me mate, sting'll love them."

simon contemplates his point for a moment, staring at the deep red petals and trying to imagine the look on your face if he gave them to you. you'd been happy with a handful of squashed flowers he'd stolen from the flowerbeds on base, so he doubted you'd turn your nose up at them. it doesn't take him long to make a decision.

"alright, cheers." he mutters, grabbing a lively looking bouquet of a dozen from the display and making his way over to the cashier – who was quickly trying to pretend they hadn't been staring.

"you'll need to give us a debrief–" soap begins, but he's cut off by simon hanging up and shoving his phone back in his pocket. he gets the feeling he won't be hearing the end of this for quite some time.

✹✹✹

it's only when he's standing outside the door to your room that the nerves finally start to set in. he can't help but feel like an idiot, fidgeting on the spot about to knock on your door like a lovestruck teenager, almost crushing the stems of the roses with his iron grip.

he knocks twice, before he has the chance to change his mind and back out. not even a second later, you're pulling the door open and regarding him with that warm look that has his palms sweating.

you're wearing casual clothes, and so is he, as per the agreement you made to keep this 'date' simple. it doesn't matter what you're wearing though; he's seen you covered head to toe in blood, sweat, mud, and whatever else, and you still manage to be utterly breathtaking in every way.

with a nervous cough, simon holds out the rose bouquet to you, hoping you don't notice the way his hands are shaking.

"wha…" you blink in surprise at the flowers, taking them from him and admiring them with a tiny smile. "you bought these, right? didn't just rip 'em out of someone's garden?" you raise a teasing eyebrow at him, your smile turning more playful.

"yes, i bought them." he grumbles lightheartedly, a smile of his own forming under his balaclava. the way you effortlessly diffuse the tension has his anxieties melting away.

"thank you." you breathe, softly caressing the vermillion petals. "they're lovely, i love them."

simon let's out a quiet sigh of relief at your affirmation. "good; cost me a tenner, they did."

the laugh you let out is like music to his ears. "well, i'm sorry to bankrupt you." you grin, turning back into your room and carefully putting the bouquet in the vase on the mantle. after making sure the arrangement looks nice, you come to stand in front of him again.

simon's not sure how to continue, the nerves from earlier resurfacing as the conversation fades. the way you're watching him expectantly, he feels the urge to take you by the hand – and as if you read his his mind, you hold it out for him. he places his hand in yours, squeezing gently and leading you the short distance to the kitchen.

he'd set the table earlier, having found an only slightly discoloured tablecloth buried in the back of the cupboards. it's a little sad, but it was the best he could come up with.

"wow," you tease, the same playful smile as before on your lips as you meet his eyes, "so fancy."

he snorts, ushering you over to your chair and pulling out for you. "only the best for your majesty." he preens at your happiness when you laugh again, glad for the mask covering what he's sure is an obvious blush.

he occupies himself by grabbing the two plates he'd finished preparing a minute ago, just before he'd met you at your door.

"i made spag bol." simon mutters as he sets them down on the table. he keeps an eye on your expression as he takes his seat opposite you, anticipation of whatever response you may have.

"fine by me," you say, an easy smile lifting your features. "it's almost the perfect candlelit dinner, all we're missing is the candle."

simon blinks. "you don't like candles." he replies, a hint of confusion in his gaze when he meets your eye.

"no," you smile fondly, looking down at your plate. "i don't."

a comfortable silence falls over the room as you both start to eat. the warmth and normality of it all makes simon’s heart swell with affection. he's happy, content, being here with you, even doing something as monotonous as eating dinner. you make it worth enjoying.

"how is it?" he asks once you've both finished, once again waiting apprehensively for your reaction.

"it's great," you give him a lopsided smile, resting your chin on your hand as you look at him. "thanks for cooking."

simon quirks an eyebrow at you. "you don't have to lie." he mutters, feeling the tips of his ears burn under your intense gaze.

"okay, well, don't quit your day job." you chuckle, standing up and making your way over to the sink with your plate in your hands.

he huffs a small laugh, and joins you at the sink with his own plate. "you're crushin' my dreams here."

"sorry, chef." you grin and gesture to the washing up in the sink. "you wash, i'll dry?"

"if your majesty insists."

you turn on the radio for some quiet background noise, and the two of you start cleaning up in tandem. it's nice, how you can work together so seamlessly with no need for words. he's struck again by the thought that if he were alone this would be a chore, but with you beside him, he finds such a tedious job surprisingly pleasant.

simon hands the last dish to you, and as you take it your fingers brush against his hand. the way he flinches away from your touch is unconscious, and when he looks over to you he expects you to pity him, or be offended by his action – but your face holds neither of those things.

you're just drying the dish he handed you, the same content expression on your face that had been there all night, as if you didn't even notice.

"sorry." he mumbles, his gaze falling from your face to your hands as you work.

simon loves you. he shouldn't be afraid of your touch. he wants to touch you, and for you to touch him. he doesn't know why he reacted like that.

"don't be." you utter, soft and compassionate, and his heart feels like it's about to burst out of his chest. for the third time that night, he's hit full force with how wonderful you are.

there's no judgement, no probing questions, nothing. you understood him, even though you had no idea why he acts this way.

you turn away, your back to him as you store the dishes in the cabinets. you hadn't been looking at him before, but now he was sure you couldn't see him, he feels his throat constrict with the overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

simon takes your free hand and you pause, still facing away as you wait for his next move.

he takes a small step closer, minimising the space between you, and rests his forehead against the back of your head. with his eyes screwed shut, he takes a deep breath and inhales the familiar scent of you. his grip on your hand tightens slightly.

you lean back into him, a quiet sigh escaping you as you squeeze his hand in return. neither of you say a word, but you don't have to. he feels how you love him in the way you never expect more from him than he can give.

it's the most peace he's felt in years.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness ,

@madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @ameliaamareeee , @batmanunicorns523 , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @ryze1113 , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm , @tzutology

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #roosterr writes

913 notes · View notes

nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 2 months

Note

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMMAb4KUo/

Smut w biker Ethan Landry ?!

Hi💕 I hope you like it! I got out of the hang of writing over the last few days so I might go back and make a few changes once i re-read over this at some point lmao

Roll Up - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This Contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: Your boyfriend's new hobby scares you, but he shows you it isn't that bad.

Contains: Oral(f receiving), p in v, rough-ish sex.

A/N: We're going to pretend that this isn't based off of the photoshopped pics of Jack lmao. If this sucks, don't let me know. I'm sensitive👉👈

When your boyfriend mentioned getting his motorcycle license, you thought he was crazy. You even created a power point presentation, showing him how dumb of an idea it was. He just rolled his eyes every time you made a good point, because he knew it was what he was going to do regardless.

“You aren’t going to break up with me if I get a bike, are you?” he asked, putting on his shoes as he got ready to go take the driving test. “I think it’d be a lot of fun to have one.”

“It’d take a lot more for me to break up with you…but what if something happens to you? I’d just be worried the whole time you were out,” you sighed, getting a little anxious.

You heard a knock on the door, as Ethan walked away from you to answer it. You took a deep breath when Chad walked in, carrying his extra helmet for Ethan.

“Why’d you have to corrupt my sweet boyfriend?” you asked, as Chad smiled at you.

“I think you’ll like it…Tara does,” he said, smirking at Ethan as he handed him the helmet.

“Yeah, what if I get one and you can’t keep your hands off me?” Ethan asked, cocking his eyebrow as he looked at you. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, and I’d not like to hear the sound of your eulogy being spoken,” you said, as Ethan scoffed.

“You’re so overdramatic,” he said, walking over to kiss you. He placed a kiss to the tip of your nose, your lips, and your forehead before he pulled away. “I love you, baby. Wish me luck.”

“I love you, too,” you said, as both boys walked to the door. Ethan stood in the doorway for a minute, waiting for you to hear the other thing he needed you to say. “Fuck it, fine. Good luck. Please, just be careful.”

“I will, babe,” he said, chuckling as he walked out.

One thing about Ethan was that the second he got an idea in his head, you knew he was going to stop at nothing to get what he wanted. This was by far the scariest thing he’d ever wanted to do, and you’d done nothing but panic whenever you thought about it.

It all started when Chad brought Ethan to his friend’s garage, and they were talking about Chad getting his license. At first you laughed it off, thinking it was about Ethan wanting to have more in common with his best friend, but once you saw him browsing for bikes online, you realized how serious he was about it.

Once he got his learners, he started to spend more time with Chad and his friend. He’d lay in bed with you until you fell asleep, then sneak out of the bed once he’d get the text from Chad that he was outside. You hated it when you’d roll over and he wasn’t beside you, but you wanted him to practice when there were a lot less cars on the road.

He was always in the best mood when he’d come back home, still feeling the adrenaline. He tried to be quiet when he snuck back in, but you always woke up. You’d jump out of bed once you heard the shower cut on, strip off your clothes, and join him in the steamy bathroom. He’d tell you all the things he did and new stuff he learned as you sleepily listened, but it always ended in the hottest shower sex you’d ever had.

You kept checking the time on your phone, wondering what was taking Ethan so long to get back home. It’d been a few hours, and you were trying to prepare yourself. As worried as you were for him to get his license, you knew you’d be excited for him. But the possibility of him not getting it worried you more than if he did. You knew how much he wanted it, and you knew he’d be upset if he didn’t get it.

Once you saw Ethan’s name and picture flash across your phone screen, you quickly answered the call.

“Hey, babe,” you said, “How’d it go?”

You heard traffic passing him and sirens off in the distance.

“Come outside, I want to show you something.” You could hear the happiness in his voice, and you kind of had a hunch about what your boyfriend had done. Once you made your way down the stairs of your apartment complex and saw him standing there, a helmet under his arm and the matte black bike behind him, you didn’t know how to feel.

“I guess you passed,” you said, your eyes squinting as the early afternoon sunlight hit them just right. “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“I can still tell you’re mad,” he teased, as he leaned down to kiss you. “but thank you.”

“This is yours, isn’t it?” you asked, as he tried to fight off the excited smile.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t hate me because I didn’t talk to you about it first,” he said, reaching around and grabbing the extra helmet off the bike seat. “I want you to go on a ride with me.”

“Absolutely not,” you said, his smile dropping at your words. “Not right now, can we go out later tonight? I’m a little scared and I’d feel better if I didn’t feel like we were going to get hit.”

“Of course,” he said, his smile appearing on his lips again. “I think you’ll love it.”

“Whatever you say,” you said, as he grabbed your hand and led you inside.

As it got darker outside, Ethan got more excited. He knew how close he was to taking you out to see what made him almost as happy as you do. As much as you were freaking out, you knew he’d never put you in danger, and you really wanted to know what the big deal was.

“Okay,” Ethan said, as you slipped your hoodie over your head. “Just a few quick things…I know it’s a little scary, but you need to lean into any turns we take. Don’t ever let go of me and sit as close to me as you can.”

“If we lean, won’t you lose control?” you questioned, as he shook his head.

“We’re not doing anything crazy so don’t think I’m going to take you on any super curvy roads…but if you stay upright when we need to lean, that could cause me to lose control.”

“Okay,” you sighed, as he handed you the helmet.

He looked you over to make sure nothing on you was loose fitting and made sure your helmet was good before he slung his leg over the bike.

“You coming?” he asked, his hand reaching out to help you on.

“There’s not a lot of room back here,” you said, as he slid his helmet over his head.

“I already told you, just hold on to me, and stay as close as you can. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, his words a little muffled. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you said, as he started the bike. Your arms tightly wrapped around him, his hand rubbing against your thigh to let you know he had you before he pulled off.

He took you on a few of the streets he first learned how to drive on, not wanting to freak you out too much. Once you came to a stop light, he started to yell over the hum of the bike.

“You okay?” he asked, his hand moving to rub against your thigh again.

“Yeah, you aren’t going very fast, though,” you yelled back, as he started to laugh to himself.

“You want me to go faster?” he asked, “I just didn’t want to scare you.”

“You can go faster, just don’t kill us,” you said, as the light turned green.

He revved the engine before he sped off, going significantly faster than he did before. You didn’t feel scared though, you were…turned on? You weren’t sure if it was the vibrations coming from the bike, or how hot your boyfriend was at that moment, but you knew you were going to jump him as soon as the two of you got back home.

He started to drive out of the city, taking you to one of the back roads he’d always pull off at with his friends. He stopped in the gravel area and helped you off the bike before he got off.

“Was that too much?” he asked, pulling the helmet off of his head. You quickly pulled yours off, mumbling a “No” as you stood on your tippy toes to kiss him. Your hands went up to his curls as his tongue brushed against your bottom lip to deepen the kiss. You stood there making out, the only light coming from the full moon and the glow of the headlights.

“We need to go home soon,” you said against his lips, “I understand why you always want sex after your late-night rides.”

“We’ll head home soon babe,” he said, his hand reaching down to squeeze your ass as he pulled you closer. “Or…we could do it right here.”

“I know this is a back road, but someone could still see us,” you said, glancing at the road for any other cars off in the distance.

“So what?” he asked, as his lips moved to your neck.

He pulled away once he heard the familiar loud hum heading up the road, slowing down a little once it got closer to where you and Ethan were.

“Is that Chad?” you asked, as Ethan nodded.

“Tara’s with him,” he said, noticing her tiny frame tightly clinging to him. “Good think I didn’t get you naked yet,” he laughed a little, thinking about how awkward that would’ve been.

“You know how I am when I want sex and I don’t get it,” you said, giving him a warning look. “Please don’t get caught up in talking for too long.”

“I won’t, babe,” he said, as Chad pulled in and took his helmet off.

“She didn’t kill you!” Chad yelled, as you rolled your eyes.

Ethan walked up to him as you walked over to Tara. She had the biggest smile on her face when she saw you standing there.

“Ahh! We can go on late night rides together, now!” she said, pulling you into a hug. “Isn’t this fun?”

“Yeah, I thought it was going to be scary,” you said, glancing over to Ethan to see him smiling at you. “Now I just have to convince him to take me home soon.”

“I get it, I feel the same way,” she said, picking up on your suggestiveness.

When Ethan walked around to you, he looked a little nervous as Chad motioned for Tara to get back on the bike.

“I hope you don’t mind, but Chad wants to ride around for a little bit. There’s this straight, flat road near here that we like to go way faster than we should, but if you’d rather go home, we can.”

“As long as we go home soon, I’m fine with it,” you said, as Ethan started to smile.

“Put your helmet back on,” he said, walking you back over to his bike.

He slid his over his head and helped you get on the back before he started it again and took off. You got a little confused once you hit a certain point in the road. Chad and Ethan both came to a stop on opposite sides, as you felt his hand grip your thigh.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, the question making you nervous as Chad gave him a thumbs up.

“Yeah,” you yelled, as he said, “Hold on tight.”

He revved the engine again before taking off, going way faster than he’d gone before, at least while you were on the back. The way you were rested against Ethan made it easy for you to see that Chad was keeping pace with him before he dropped a gear and flew past Ethan. Ethan did the same, your grip on him getting even tighter as you felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins. He quickly caught back up to Chad and passed him before he started to slow down a little.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, once he came to a stop and your grip on him relaxed.

“If you don’t take me home and fuck me, I’m not going to be okay,” you said, as Chad pulled up beside you and pulled his helmet off.

“Fuck, that thing’s fast,” he said, as Ethan pulled his helmet off.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect it. We were going over a hundred,” Ethan said, your eyes going wide as you listened to him speak. “I’m going to take her home.”

“You coming back out later?” Chad asked, as Ethan shook his head.

“No, I have other plans,” he said, as Chad nodded.

“You guys have fun. Don’t be an idiot,” Chad said, putting his helmet back on before speeding off.

“Over a hundred?!” you yelled, as Ethan started to laugh.

“Yeah, and I wasn’t going as fast as I could’ve,” he said, putting his helmet back on. “Let’s get you home.”

As soon as he got you home, you both were so needy. Various clothing items were scattered across your apartment, from the front door to the bedroom you shared with Ethan. He wasted no time, burying his head in between your thighs as soon as he pushed you back on your bed. Your fingers ran through his curls as soft moans slipped past your lips. His hands were kneading at your thighs as his tongue swirled around your sensitive clit.

“Use your fingers, babe,” you gasped out, as he suckled on your clit. He did what you said, sliding two of his fingers into your soaked, dripping pussy with ease. “Fuck, just like that.”

“Did being on the back of my bike turn you on that much?” he asked, his eyes boring into yours as he curved his fingers to brush against that spongy spot inside of you. “Yes,” you said, letting out a low moan. “You were just so fucking hot.”

His mouth went back to your clit as you tugged at his curls, the sounds of him fucking you with his fingers and your moans filling the room. His free hand was roaming your body, from your thighs up to your breasts. Once he started to pinch one of your nipples, you felt that familiar feeling starting to build inside of you.

Ethan knew you were close. Your legs were starting to shake as his fingers moved against your g-spot faster. He sucked your clit into his mouth, hard. Your back arched up off the bed as you pulled his hair so hard that it hurt. He didn’t let up though.

You let out a whimper as the feeling washed over you, your pussy fluttering around his fingers. He gently lapped at your clit until you started to come down from your high.

The grip you had on his hair relaxed as he sat up to look at you, his mouth coated in your arousal.

“Do I still have hair?” he asked, running his fingers through his curls. His scalp was so sensitive that he winced when he touched it.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you mumbled, as your breathing started to get a little more regular.

“It’s worth it if I made you cum that hard,” he said, smiling at you. “I loved having you on the back of my bike. It’s like you weren’t scared at all.”

“I wasn’t. I trust you.”

As much as Ethan loved watching your face when he fucked you, he wanted to be as deep as he could inside your warm, wet pussy. He positioned you so your ass was sticking up in the air for him as the side of your face rested against the cool comforter.

“So fucking perfect,” he said, rubbing the tip of his cock over your wet folds. “You ready, baby?”

“Yes,” you said, as he started to inch himself inside of you. The slight burning feeling as he stretched you out made you gasp, his hand roaming over your lower back as his hip bones met the curve of your ass.

He started out with slow thrusts, still giving you time to adjust. Once you whined out to let him know you wanted more, he moved faster. You heard the soft slapping of his skin against yours as the head of his cock hit that special spot inside of you. You glanced back to see him watching his cock disappear inside your pussy, slide himself out, head and all, before he started to pound into you.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your eyes still on him as your hands grabbed at the sheets.

He looked up to watch your body as you started to roll your hips back, meeting his thrusts. His cheeks were red as his mouth hung open, a few of his curls sticking to his forehead. One of his hands tightly held your hip as his other hand reached around brushing against your lower stomach. You soon felt two of his fingers strumming against your clit, your moans getting louder by the second.

“Harder,” you whimpered, a smirk playing on his lips as he started to mercilessly pound into your pussy.

“That’s it, baby. You take it so fucking well,” he said, some of his words getting broken by the random grunts slipping past his lips.

Once he put the right amount of pressure on your clit and started to roll his fingers in circles, you felt your body start to tense up, your orgasm sneaking up on you. You were a whimpering mess as the slapping sounds got louder, echoing off the walls. He was getting close, but he was trying so hard to fight it.

He watched your fists ball up in the fitted sheet, pulling it lose as you cried out. Your pussy was squeezing him so tight that his thrusts started to falter.

“Where do you want it?” he rushed out, but you couldn’t form words, completely fucked out.

He slid out of you, releasing his hot cum all over your ass and lower back. His hand ran through his sweaty hair before he flopped down on the bed beside you. Your hips started to relax as you eased the lower half of your body to lay flat across the bed.

“Jesus,” he sighed, catching his breath. “That was amazing.”

“Was it as good as the shower sex?” you asked, smiling as you turned your head to face him.

“Well, we do still need to shower…”

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream smut #ethan landry smut #smut

298 notes · View notes

luveline · 10 months

Note

I would love to see shy/easily embarrassed!reader x steve where he makes a dirty joke in front of their friends and r is just super flustered, blushing very obviously and smacking his arm (silent way of telling him to stop embarrassing her!)

thank you for your request lovely!! fem!reader

Robin drops a can of soda in your lap and winces when it misses your leg and hits the asphalt. "Shit. Don't open that for a while."

"Thank you," you say.

"Don't say thanks, she made your life harder," Steve chides, his arm over your shoulder. He gives you a loving shake. "You gonna say thanks when it explodes, too?"

He loves giving you and Robin a hard time for fun, but it's never serious. You send him a fake glare and take the cold soda can into your hand, tentative, worried it might explode.

"She says thanks all the time because she's nice," Jonathan says, peeling open a bag of hard pretzels.

Steve perks up like a bloodhound, his love for pretzels almost outranking his 'stir every pot' prerogative. "She's super nice," he agrees, "aren't you, sweetheart?"

"I feel like I'm being targeted unfairly," you murmur, pretending your cheeks aren't aflame to the best of your ability.

If he notices your flustered heat, you can blame the summer sun that's only just dropped down behind the treeline, throwing the road outside of the convenience store into shadow. It's a blessed reprieve from sweating, and all you need now is an ice cold drink.

You offer it to Steve. "Will you do it, please? I'm scared if I touch it anymore it'll explode."

"I know how it feels," Steve says.

Jonathan laughs in disgust, and Nancy laughs at his quick wit (and maybe also disgust). You slap Steve's arm where it rests over your shoulder, his hand shy of your chest suddenly in an unacceptable position, what with his implication. He laughs and pulls his hand to your shoulder to stop you from hitting him, kissing your temple.

"Sorry! I totally meant my heart," he says, giving you a little pat.

"Yeah, sure," Robin says. "I thought you were a feminist?"

"I love women," Steve says, giving you another kiss before leaping onto his feet and taking a couple of steps away, "that's why I'm going to open my babe's soda, even though it's one hundred percent a bomb."

You can't meet Robin's eyes when she smiles at you as if to say, He deserves this.

Steve digs his fingertip under the tab and pulls. Like everyone expected, fizz and foam explodes, hitting his chest and his neck before spattering down his fingers and dripping onto the ground. He blinks dazedly.

Your friends clap. You join in after a moment, in love with him even when he makes jokes that have you wishing the ground would swallow you whole, trying not to stare at the shining bead of soda as it slides down over his Adam's apple.

He sits down heavily beside you on the curb and hands you your soda, dried off with the end of his shirt. "Was that too far?" he asks, quieter, genuinely concerned.

You laugh softly, placing the soda by your shoes. "No, it was funny. Funnier if it wasn't, you know, in front of all our friends."

Steve drops his arm on top of yours to clasp your hand.

"My comedian," you mutter.

"Ah, so you are mad."

You drop your head against his shoulder, your furnace of a cheek flat to the stitching on his sleeve. You're not mad, and you prove it with a gentle thumb rubbing the back of his hand.

"You know, exploding isn't the only thing me and that soda have in common–"

"Steve, no," you say, closing your eyes.

Your friends chuckle. Steve rests his head atop yours. "I'll tell you after," he promises.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

2K notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

akalover19

edschee

af-answers

Ask Artemis Fowl and Co.

nubian-hippie

Blog Hipisa

dissentersbedamned

Life's been so good to me, has it been good to you?