#deviser cast

[anddrewdoesthings]

the amount of stress that line gave me when i was working lmao

[suckinitup]

i dont think that dakota would get into fiber arts on his own but i DO think that knitting could fix him

[boydykedevo]

actually lemme uhh. okay so my most developed conworld that I've had for like. five years is called Rohitan, I've mentioned it before once or twice i think. There's two main cultures: Zjifel, twelve peer polities in a river valley, and the Lagae, a group of hundreds of small clans to the south. And my favorite piece of worldbuilding is the Lagae religion so. Lemme explain it real quick (lie (it will not be quick (this is going under the cut for a reason)))

first thing: not all the Lagae consider themselves Lagae (i use it for all of them for simplicity) and that's for a very important historical reason: decades ago, when Zjifel was just starting to gain power, they decided to invade the group of warring clans on the south of the continent (there was a reason, I won't get into it).

Before that point, the group had no collective identity. They shared a culture and religion and sometimes allied with each other, but they belonged to their own clans first and foremost. But when the northernmost clans started getting attacked and sought the help of southern allies, the leaders of their allied clans had trouble getting their warriors to come to their aid. There were numerous political benefits to helping, as well as the practical one of "if they take them out, we're next", but it was far from home and facing invaders who were intimidating and most citizens didn't care about the political alliances of their leaders.

So, to help rally soldiers to the cause, the ruling class developed propaganda based around their shared religion. The basic concept was that there were three gods (Mulae, Lali, Lishke) and they each represent a stage in an endless cycle of creation, maintenance, and decay (respectively). And the important part is that none of them are good, and none of them are bad. There are times you want each, and times you want to prevent each, and what's important is accepting the cycle and understanding when each is needed.

For their propaganda, the ruling class associated the invaders with Lishke to drive home that they would destroy their people's home, and they associated the clans with Lali, fighting to maintain their status quo. They called the group Lagae, gae meaning people and la from Lali (the invaders, in turn, being Lishgae).

Eventually, they managed to fight them off, and Zjifel gave up and wrote their neighbors off as too violent to invade. The propaganda stuck around, though, and the clans continued using the collective identity of Lagae. The land they lived on began to be called Kide, a term previously used for one's home village. They were one collective split into clans, rather than clans who happened to be near one another. And over time, the association of the group with Lali and threats with Lishke turned Lali into the god of good and Lishke into the god of evil. (Mulae kept her role as creator and became heavily associated with nature, acting as a sort of neutral party between good and evil) The concept of the cycle no longer fit with the gods, and was therefore mostly dropped as a philosophy, becoming more of a metaphor or way of sorting things.

But I said not all the clans consider themselves Lagae. That's because the southernmost clans were too far away to be affected by either the war or the propaganda. They were already somewhat culturally distinct from the northern clans, focusing more on herding than farming, since their colder climate made much of the land infertile. Now, their religion and philosophy had diverged as well. The other clans saw them as Lagae too, but they still considered themselves completely separate clans.

The southerners increasingly found the northern religion confusing, too; if they ever fought with a northern clan, they'd notice engravings and patterns in their clothing intended to ward off Lishke. Typically, when one's the aggressor in a battle, Lishke is vital to keep on your side; you're attempting to destroy, which you couldn't do without him. On the other hand, they'd invite Lali to their battles, which is also stupid; if you intend to change anything by winning, the god who maintains the status quo is the last thing you want around. And they wouldn't notice this from battle, but in trade and diplomacy, they saw a strange lack of any veneration of Mulae. Occasionally the northerners would nod to her, but to the southerners, she's essential for forming new bonds, and that's not nearly enough.

They conclude the northerners simply don't understand the cycle, and they must be too immature to accept it.

Okay that's enough for now, might add to this in the morning but. yeah.

[parf-fan]

Things I learned from the final day of PARF's new Dickens Fair (which they don't call a Dickens Fair for some reason): it is, in fact, possible to perform a shitpost live on stage.

[writtenfangirl]

Hungry For You

Another TikTok trend has sparked an idea in me.

Another (short) Charles Leclerc Fanfic

Y/N spooned the food carefully on to the two plates, casting the hidden camera a wide grin as she did so. While the plates were similar in size, one had a significantly larger portion. The grilled chicken on one of the plates was practically the size of her palm, the pesto pasta still steaming as she dumped it on the plate. On her own plate, she placed barely a handful of food, the chicken cut into three small strips and the pasta’s serving size so tiny, not even a small cat would feel full.

“Babe, it’s time to eat!” Y/N called out as she shot her phone another wink. She’s placed the devise inside one of the cups of utensils, hidden away from Charles’ keen eyes. The camera had a full view of the kitchen island, where she and Charles frequently ate their meals when they were alone.

She heard his footsteps bounding towards the kitchen, the door to his gaming room slamming shut behind him.

“I am starving and it smells delicious.” He practically beamed at her as he took his place on the kitchen isle, oblivious to the camera that was filming his every move. “I don’t know how you manage to impress me with your cooking every time, cherie.”

“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

“It’s pesto. I already know I’ll love it.”

Pesto pasta was one of his favorite dishes and with the aromatic smells of the basil and garlic hanging in the air, Y/N had no doubts about his statement.

She circled around the isle taking her seat next to Charles, placing the plate with the larger portions in front of him and the smaller sized portion in front of her. But Charles paid the food no heed.

He grinned up at her, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for cooking for us, cherie.”

He did this every time she cooked. Thanked her for her efforts and grinned up at her like she hung the moon and starts. And every single time, without fail, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of that smile.

She handed him his utensils, his food finally snagging his attention before his eyes wandered to her plate. He frowned at the sight of it. “Why is your food so little?”

“What do you mean?” She asked innocently as she took the pitcher of water she had set and carefully filling their glass.

“Your food, it is so little.”

“Yeah, this was all we had,” she shrugged. “I forgot to stop by the grocery store this week and this was the last of the chicken and the pasta.” She took her utensils, getting ready to dig in when all of a sudden her plate disappeared. 

“Charles? What are you doing?” Bewildered she watched as her boyfriend dumped the contents of her plate on to his already full one.

“Eat,” he said as he pushed the fully loaded plate in front of her. There was no annoyance in his eyes, no hint of his previous hunger as he looked at her in earnest, waiting for her to dig in.

“Babe, I’m not even really that hungry,” she protested. “Come on, you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry either,” he shrugged.

Liar. He’d been complaining the whole time she was cooking about how hungry and excited he was to eat. He always got that way after a training session and he’d been training since 9AM. Whatever lunch Charles ate during a training day was usually only enough to get him going and by the time he found his way home, he was always positively starving. And Y/N knew today was no exception.

“Just five minutes ago you said you were starving,” she deadpanned.

“You spent two hours on your feet, cooking. I know how tiring that is. I really am not hungry.”

She rolled her eyes, even as love bloomed at her chest. “You came from training.”

He waved off her concerns. “I promise, I am not hungry. And tomorrow, I will go to the grocery, buy our stuff and cook you a meal.”

It was a true miracle that Y/N didn’t grab her boyfriend right then and there and drag him to the bedroom. How she managed to snag a boyfriend so thoughtful and so selfless was beyond her. “You’re sure you’re not hungry?”

He grinned at her, his voice going deep and husky as his eyes darkened. “I’m hungry for you.” He gave her what he probably thought was sultry wink but that only served to have Y/N howling in laughter.

There was no denying how in love she was with her boyfriend but she had always been immune to his attempts at flirting. His charms would no doubt have worked on other girls but Y/N only found them cute. 

She was shaking her head as she took the other plate and dumped half of the food onto it. She ignored his protesting as she pushed the other plate towards him. She had given him the bigger chunk of chicken and the bigger half of the pasta but the piles of food were still more or less equal to each other. She doubted he even noticed the slight difference, especially since she pushed the other plate far away from him. “If we’re still hungry at the end of the meal, we can go to the cafe down the street.” 

He raised a brow at her, a smirk pulling at his lips. His face was barely an inch away from her, his green eyes practically glittering as he spoke. “Is that your move, cherie? Starving a man so you can take him out on a coffee date?”

She didn’t even try to stop her laughter, not as Charles pulled her chair closer to his own until she was pressed flushed against him. His arm automatically pulled her to him, his own lips pulled into a smile before he lowered himself on to her mouth. Their kiss was sweet, as sweet as this moment was. A moment that Y/N was sure she would never forget.

[kira-dofc]

Mafia boss! Sukuna x Male reader

Notes- This was supposed to be a Gojo fic but Sukuna fitted this shit better its too dark for Gojo :(

Wc- 3055

Warnings: SMUT! NSFW, unprotected sex, dub-con, breeding, omegaverse, top/bottom, sub/dom, bottom male reader, overstimulation

Flashes of orange and yellow flames streaked past you, casting a fierce glow that punctuated the night with a hellish light. The deafening crack of gunshots shattered the eerie silence, bullets whizzing through the air like deadly fireflies. It was 10:00 p.m., and the city that never slept was now cloaked in an ominous stillness, save for the chaos erupting around you. Frantically, you ran, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, fleeing from the world's most notorious mafia. For years, they had hunted down omegas with unrelenting ferocity, and tonight, you had become their latest target. As the last of your kind, you had been hiding from them for a long time. Unluckily, tonight marked the end of your concealment. You were unique, hailing from a wealthy lineage.

Your family had perished before your eyes, leaving you to carry on the bloodline. It was them. It had always been them. They murdered your family, your only family. And you had been too naive to do anything but hide, bearing all the responsibilities alone. But that was six years ago. Now, you needed to devise a way to throw them off your trail.

Bloodstains smeared almost your entire body. Your legs were limp, and one of your bones was broken. You fled toward the heart of the city, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sprinted away from the terrifying sounds of pursuit. The once-bustling metropolis had turned into a ghost town, its inhabitants cowering indoors, unwilling to risk becoming the mafia's next victim. The streets were deserted, the silence broken only by your ragged breathing and the distant echoes of violence.

Each step felt like an eternity as adrenaline surged through your veins. You could almost sense their presence behind you, a shadow of death closing in. It seemed they were tracking you by your scent. The sweet, floral fragrance that emanated from your body had made this escape even more challenging. Your sweet blood flowed through your veins, each drop hitting the ground and leaving a trail. You pressed your hands against your wounds, trying to stop the bleeding and prevent them from following your scent. Your mind raced, replaying the events that led to this desperate escape. It had begun with whispers, rumors of the mafia targeting omegas, and then the brutal reality struck as friends and acquaintances began to disappear, leaving only bloodstains and unanswered questions. Their actions were inexplicable: Why would they target people like you? You had witnessed countless deaths at their hands, many shot, others thrown into pits of fire. They burned all the bodies of their victims.

The neon lights of the city, once symbols of vibrancy and life, now cast eerie, elongated shadows that seemed to grasp at you. You rounded a corner, your feet slipping on the rain-slicked pavement. The distant wail of sirens was a cruel reminder that help would not come in time. You had to rely on your instincts and sheer will to survive.

Suddenly, a narrow alleyway caught your eye. Without thinking, you darted into it, hoping to lose your pursuers in the labyrinth of backstreets. But as you ran deeper, the walls seemed to close in, and the alley twisted into a nightmarish maze. The sound of footsteps grew louder, echoing off the brick walls, a relentless reminder that they were drawing closer.

Your frantic flight led you to a dead end, a towering brick wall blocking your path. Panic surged through you as you desperately tried to find a way over it, your fingers scrabbling at the rough surface. The wall loomed high above you, an insurmountable barrier that seemed to mock your desperation. You could hear their voices now, low and menacing, carried on the wind.

You turned to face them, your breath coming in short, terrified gasps. Shadows danced at the entrance of the alley, and then they emerged, dark silhouettes against the dim light. There was no escape. Your eyes darted around, seeking any possible way out, but there was none. The realization hit you like a tidal wave – you were trapped.

One of the men stepped forward, his face obscured by shadows, but the cold glint in his eyes was unmistakable. He raised his weapon, and in that split second, time seemed to slow. You braced yourself for the impact, expecting the searing pain of a bullet. Instead, there was a sharp sting, more like a needle prick than a gunshot.

Confusion mingled with the adrenaline, and a wave of dizziness washed over you. Your vision blurred, and your legs wobbled beneath you. You staggered, trying to stay upright, but your strength was failing. The world around you began to spin, the alleyway becoming a distorted swirl of colors and shadows.

With a final, desperate effort, you reached out to the wall, hoping to steady yourself, but it was too late. Your fingers brushed against the cold bricks before your legs gave way completely. You collapsed to the ground, the impact jarring but distant, as if it were happening to someone else. The cold, unforgiving pavement pressed against your cheek, and darkness crept in at the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was the triumphant, merciless faces of your captors as they closed in around you. Their voices were muffled, distorted by the haze of unconsciousness, but the satisfaction in their tones was unmistakable. As the world faded away, one thought lingered in your mind – this was only the beginning of a nightmare that had no end in sight.

As the cold seeped into your bones, memories of happier times flickered in your mind like a fading film reel. You remembered your family's laughter, the warmth of your mother's embrace, and the security you felt in your father's presence. Those moments seemed like a lifetime ago, swallowed by the darkness of the present. The mafia had taken everything from you, and now they were about to take your freedom, perhaps even your life.

The darkness enveloped you completely, a void that swallowed all light and sound. Time lost its meaning as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your mind a whirlpool of fear and despair. When you finally awoke, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the smell of damp and decay. Your hands were bound, the rough ropes cutting into your wrists, and your body ached from the rough handling and the injuries sustained during your escape.

-

A single, flickering light bulb cast eerie shadows on the walls, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the background. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something metallic—probably blood. You struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain that shot through your limbs with every small movement. Your captors had taken no chances, securing you tightly to a chair with heavy, rusted chains. The room was bare, save for a small table covered in ominous stains and a single door, which you guessed led to more horrors beyond.

The door creaked open, its sound amplified in the silence, and a figure stepped inside. It was the man who had shot you, his cold eyes glinting with cruel amusement. He approached slowly, savoring your fear, and knelt down to meet your gaze. His smile was a twisted parody of kindness, and his voice was soft, almost gentle, as he spoke.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he said, his tone mocking. "You gave us quite the chase, but it seems the game is over now."

You glared at him, refusing to let him see the terror that gripped your heart. "What do you want from me?" you demanded, your voice hoarse from disuse and dry from lack of water.

The man chuckled, a low, chilling sound that echoed in the small room. "Oh, it's not me who wants something from you," he replied. He turned his head slightly towards the door, and with a simple, "Boss," he summoned another figure into the room.

A tall, hooded figure stepped in front of you. His eyes were as red as fire, and his hair was a lush cascade of pink, shimmering even in the dim light. His eyes furrowed as he looked down upon you, scrutinizing your scarred figure. His face etched into a grin that sent shivers down your spine. This was Sukuna, the infamous leader of the most feared mafia syndicate in the world.

Sukuna bowed down to your height, his intense gaze never leaving yours. He tilted his head slightly, scanning you as if you were a specimen in a lab. "Let me clear things up for you," he chuckled as he stood back up. "It's not about what we want. It's about what we need. You see, you are the last of your kind, and that makes you very valuable to us. And very valuable to me. Your blood, your lineage, your body."

You squinted your eyes, trying to understand what he was saying. It was hard to focus through the haze of pain and fear, but his words were starting to piece together a horrifying picture. They didn't just want to torture you; they wanted to exploit you, to use you for some nefarious purpose. The thought filled you with a renewed sense of defiance, and you vowed to fight them with every ounce of strength you had left.

Sukuna's voice dropped to a soft, almost affectionate tone. "I want you to be my mate," he said, his words causing a cold shiver to run down your spine. "Consider it a sacrifice; you'll be saving your race, your population. You can save them."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You struggled against your restraints, your mind racing. "Then why did you kill all of them?" you spat out, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow. "Why? Why do it if you just wanted someone? You could have just taken one and left the rest of us be."

Sukuna's grin widened, and there was a maddening glint in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" you demanded, your voice breaking.

He leaned in close, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. "Oh, I only did this so I could finally get you," he said with a chilling calmness. "I wanted you, and you only. You managed to get away when we slaughtered your whole family. I only did this so I could be with you, my prince."

His words were a twisted declaration, and you could feel the bile rising in your throat. He chuckled as he whispered those words close to your ears, his breath hot and foul. He grazed his hand along your chin, lifting it to force you to look into his eyes.

"Clean him up, then bring him to my room," he ordered the man who had shot you. "I want him clean when I see him again." With a final smirk, Sukuna turned away from you and walked out of the room, leaving you with the chilling promise of what was to come.

The man who had shot you moved to obey Sukuna's orders. He released the chains that held you to the chair, though he left your hands bound behind your back. You were too weak to resist, too weak to do anything but stumble as he dragged you out of the room and down a long, dimly lit corridor.

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, each step echoing off the cold, stone walls. The faint sound of dripping water followed you, a constant reminder of the dank, underground prison you found yourself in. You were led into another room, this one slightly less decrepit than the last. It had a small basin of water, a towel, and a change of clothes laid out on a table.

The man pushed you towards the basin. "Clean yourself up," he said gruffly. You stared at the water, the reflection of your battered face staring back at you. Every movement was painful, but you forced yourself to comply, knowing that any defiance now would only result in more pain.

You washed as best as you could with your hands still bound, the cold water stinging your wounds. When you were done, the man handed you the change of clothes—a simple, clean shirt and pants. He watched you closely as you struggled to dress yourself, his eyes never leaving you.

Once you were dressed, he grabbed your arm and led you out of the room again. You were taken to yet another corridor, this one even darker and more foreboding than the last. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional distant echo of voices.

Finally, you were brought to a large, imposing door. The man knocked once, then pushed it open, revealing a lavishly decorated room. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and expensive-looking furniture filled the space. It was a stark contrast to the squalor of the rest of the compound.

Sukuna was waiting for you inside, seated in an ornate chair. He looked up as you entered, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Ah, there you are," he said, his voice dripping with mock warmth. "You look much better now."

You stood there, your body tense and your mind racing. What was he planning? What did he want from you? The uncertainty was almost worse than the pain. Sukuna rose from his chair and approached you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Come, sit with me," he said, gesturing to a chair opposite his. "We have much to discuss."

You hesitated, but the man behind you gave you a sharp shove, forcing you to comply. You sat down, your hands still bound, and glared at Sukuna. "What do you want from me?" you repeated, your voice filled with defiance.

Sukuna's smile widened. "I told you, didn't I? I want you to be my mate. Together, we can rebuild your race, your people. You are the key to everything."

His words were like a knife to your heart. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Why would I ever agree to that?" you demanded.

"Because you have no choice," Sukuna said simply. "Either you cooperate, or you watch as I destroy everything you hold dear. The choice is yours."

His words hung in the air, a chilling ultimatum that left you feeling more trapped than ever. You knew you had to find a way out, to escape this nightmare. But for now, all you could do was sit and listen, and wait for the right moment to strike.

-

"Leave," He ordered, "I want some privacy." The men in front of the door nodded and leaved in order. 

Sukuna walked around the table, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "I can see the defiance in your eyes," he murmured. "It's...exciting."

You turned your head away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But Sukuna grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His grip was strong, almost painfully so. "Don't look away from me," he said softly. 

He pressed his lips to yours, the kiss rough and demanding. You tried to pull away, but his hand on your chin held you in place. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt—he was in control.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling inside you. Sukuna's eyes glittered with satisfaction. "See? That wasn't so hard," he said, his voice mocking.

He reached down and began to unbutton your shirt, his fingers moving with a practiced ease. You tensed, every muscle in your body screaming at you to fight, to resist. But the man behind you had a firm grip on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Sukuna's hands roamed over your chest, his touch both gentle and possessive. "You're beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "So perfect."

You shuddered, a mixture of fear and unwanted arousal coursing through you. Sukuna's hands moved lower, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. He knelt in front of you, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," he said softly, his breath hot against your skin.

A sudden tug was felt on your shirt, Sukuna lifted you up. Everything went by so fast, your were now on his bed. Your shirt and your pants was tossed to the ends of the bed leaving you bare with your underwear wet as your cock begging to spring out. Your face was flushed between your hands as Sukuna chuckled "You're too cute to handle, boy" He soon unbuttoned his polo, leaving his body bare for you to see. 

His body was toned, veins aching from every muscle. His jawline defined, his hands were scarred, veins and bones revealing themselves under the skin of his hands. He moved down to you as he whispered to your ears, "You're mine." 

Sukuna groaned as he held your hips with harsh and fast thrusts. Every thrust he makes make you squeal and let out moans. Your body now aching with love bites and hickeys as you left scratches on Sukuna's back. His fast thrusts soon slowed as he leaned on you, "Take all of my pups for me, yeah?" He groaned as he came, knotting your insides as you came on his stomach. Your moans shifted into breathless sighs.

One round turned into 20. Its been 1 hour and a half before his dick throbbed your insides. His shape now taking form of your hole, "Ugh...! N-no Ah..., more....." You moaned as you whispered in his ears. "You don't get to order me," He groaned as he whispered back to you, "Just one more darling. Raise all my pups inside you..." He leaned closer to your face as he planted a kiss on your forehead as he thrusts in and out of you. You hugged him tightly as you felt your climax. One final thrust, his cock spurted out his pups in you for the twentieth time. 

You breathed heavily, as your rested your head on the mattress. His hands trailed to your neck to your jaw, moving your head to face him. "I'm not done with you," He says as he kissed you on your neck, through your chin and on your lips. He groaned as he laid next to you. Your head facing his chest as his hands covered your waist. 

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, cunningulus, f!reader, squirting, fingering, alcohol use, voyeurism Synopsis: after the war, you and Shigaraki spend time together while the rest of the League prepares for the final mission. Excessive drinking leads to a moment of intimacy between you and Shigaraki, with him tasting your cunt for the first time. Unbeknownst to you, your boyfriend Touya unexpectedly returns early and witnesses the scene A/N: this piece was commissioned on my Ko-fi page by my beloved @shonen-brainrot - I'm sharing this fic with her consent. Thank you for commissioning me, baby! I hope you enjoy it! Friendly reminder to everyone else: my writing commissions are open :)

MASTERLIST KO-FI COMISSIONS: OPEN

You spent a mere three months as a member of the League of Villains, yet during that brief period, you actively contributed to planning the Paranormal Liberation War. Despite the apparent "loss," you understood that, among other things, you achieved a strategic victory. After exiting the stage with Tomura and his other allies, you needed to keep a low profile, and so you did. Leveraging your quirk, Speed Recovery, you became a highly valuable asset to Shigaraki, aiding in the recovery of his injured allies.

Amid this intense three months period, you cultivated an unexpected understanding with the most enigmatic figure in the organization — Dabi. Astonishingly, he turned out to be the long-lost son of the Number One hero, Endeavor. Before you fully grasped it, you found yourself low-key "dating" - an understated term for the intensity of the connection. It encompassed spending endless hours together, engaging in profound conversations, and gradually closing the physical distance between you two.

Yet, an undercurrent of unease lingered as you sensed Tomura's discontent. Was he possibly envious of someone as seemingly ordinary as yourself? The uncertainty hung in the air, casting a shadow over the dynamics within the group.

You devoted considerable time meticulously plotting the retribution, even as you witnessed Tomura's growing anger and frustration. Reassuring him, you affirmed the intricacy of his plans, confidently asserting that soon you would unveil a lesson for the heroes, showing them their rightful place.

After the devastating War, Tomura visibly bore the weight of stress, engrossed in devising his next set of plans.

One evening, while the others were away preparing for the final mission, you and Tomura remained at the hideout, sipping from a shared bottle of vodka. The conversation delved into the details of the plan and the sacrifices it would inevitably demand.

Tomura took a sip, his crimson eyes fixed on you. "This mission will change everything. Sacrifices are inevitable."

You nodded, the weight of the responsibility settling in. "Yeah, but it's necessary. For a better future."

He smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "A better future, huh? How optimistic."

You chuckled, recognizing his penchant for cynicism. "Well, not everyone can be as optimistic as you, Tomura."

He leaned back, fingers tapping against the bottle. "Optimism won't save us. Practicality will."

You smirked, appreciating the contrast in your perspectives. "Practicality and a bit of optimism won't hurt."

Tomura scoffed, taking another sip. "You're incorrigible."

You raised an eyebrow. "Coming from you, that's a compliment."

He chuckled, the corners of his lips curling into a rare smile. "Maybe. But let's not get too sentimental. We have work to do."

As the night wore on, the shared bottle of vodka dwindled, leaving both you and Tomura with a growing sense of intoxication.

"Thanks for the refill," you slurred appreciatively, the alcohol already making its presence felt.

Tomura, seemingly affected by the spirits as well, mused, "Can't believe Dabi didn't teach you how to drink."

You chuckled, the room swaying slightly. "Guess he missed that lesson."

With a nonchalant shrug, Tomura rose, tossing the empty bottle effortlessly into the trash bin. He went to a nearby cabinet, retrieving another bottle of alcohol and two fresh glasses.

You protested, waving your hands, but he poured you another drink, raising an eyebrow. "How are things between you and our lovely Todoroki, by the way?"

The question struck a chord, and you frowned, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the sudden turn into personal territory. "Well, you know, complicated," you replied evasively, taking a sip to buy some time.

Tomura leaned back, swirling his drink, his gaze fixed on you. "Complicated, huh? Must be quite a story."

You sighed, the alcohol loosening your tongue. "Yeah, it is. But we manage."

He nodded, taking a thoughtful sip. "Managing is something, I guess."

You attempted to shift the conversation away from your relationship with Dabi, bringing up other topics, but Tomura proved relentless. With a cocky grin, he circled back to Dabi, probing for more details.

"Come on, spill it. I want to hear the juicy bits," he taunted, swirling his drink with an unsettling confidence.

Sighing, you relented a little. "It's not that interesting, Tomura. Just the usual ups and downs. Nothing to discuss."

He leaned in, a dark glint in his eyes. "Ups and downs, huh? Sounds like there's more to it."

You rolled your eyes, realizing that steering the conversation away from Dabi was an uphill battle. "Can we talk about something else, Tomura? There's a whole world out there."

He chuckled, his laughter carrying a sinister undertone. "The world can wait."

As the night wore on, Tomura's questions became more probing, his tone growing darker and more insistent. He seemed to revel in the discomfort he caused, savoring every tidbit you reluctantly shared about your tumultuous relationship. Tomura got up, the creaking floorboards announcing his movement as he paced around the room. He cast a sly glance in your direction, the dim light highlighting the eerie grin on his face. "You know," he began, still walking, "I always suspected there was more to Dabi. But Endeavor's son? Now, that's interesting."

You shifted uncomfortably, eyeing him as he continued to circle the room. "Yeah, surprising, right?"

He chuckled, a sinister edge to his voice. "Perfect, actually. Vengeance is a powerful motivator. It'll make him even more useful for our cause."

Tomura took a place beside you on a worn-out couch, his arm casually wrapping around your shoulders. He poured another drink, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

You gave a weak smile, feeling a little uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze. The tension heightened as his arm tightened around your shoulders, and he handed you the freshly poured drink.

"To unexpected alliances," he proposed, raising his glass.

You clinked yours against his, the liquid burning down your throat, the room spinning with a mix of alcohol and Tomura's ominous presence.

As Tomura poured another round, he seemed undeterred by the growing level of intoxication. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol.

In the midst of another casual conversation, Tomura, with an unsettling nonchalance, steered the dialogue back to Dabi. "Did he fuck you already?" he inquired abruptly, his tone cutting through the drunken haze that surrounded you.

Your cheeks flushed, and you visibly squirmed in discomfort at the unexpected and personal nature of the question. "It's none… None of your… Bussiness, Tomura," you hiccuped.

"Come on now, spill it. Did he or didn't he?" he pressed, a mocking grin playing on his lips.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the question. "Tomura, that's really none of your business…"

Tomura's grin widened, and he leaned back, seemingly pleased with your discomfort. "Sounds like a yes to me. Dabi's got taste, I'll give him that. Was he a gentleman, delicately tending to your needs, or more like a dog in heat, just claiming what's his?"

Your face burned hotter as you bit your lower lip, desperately downing the glass of vodka, and quickly covering your mouth after. "Something in between," you mumbled, your words slightly slurred.

Shigaraki chuckled darkly, throwing his head back. "Mmmm, I see. What a pity then. You deserve to be taken care of, baby. Such a little, pretty villain," he reached his gloved hand out and touched your cheek. The gloved touch sent shivers down your spine. "Did he eat your pussy?"

The nausea welled up inside you, and all you wanted was to escape to your tiny room and lie down. You nodded, managing a weak, "Yes," hoping it would satisfy Shigaraki and put an end to the uncomfortably intimate interrogation.

Tomura grinned, placing his glass on a tiny coffee table. He simply leaned in, crushing his lips onto yours without seeking your consent.

In your intoxicated state, attempts to push him away were feeble. His lips bore the flavor of vodka, but strangely, you found yourself not entirely opposed to the unexpected kiss. A part of you didn't mind what was happening at all, so you casually moved your lips against his in a dance influenced by the haze of alcohol.

Before you could fully comprehend the situation, his gloved hand, adorned with only two fingers covered by a black leather, slipped between your thighs and beneath the plain skirt you wore. His touch started at your thigh, skillfully massaging the soft flesh, while slowly ascending.

A gasp escaped your lips as a strange warmth began to build within your abdomen. You cursed yourself for reacting this way to your boss. You shouldn't be feeling like this; after all, you had a boyfriend. What would he think if he knew how Shigaraki's touch was affecting you? You blamed the intoxication for clouding your mind, and even if you desired to push Shigaraki away, you felt powerless; your hands seemed to weigh a ton.

Gloved fingers teased you through your panties, eliciting a gasp that escaped past your parted lips. You bit down on your lower lip, the sensations proving intoxicating, clouding the last remaining rationally-thinking parts of your brain.

As your head lolled back, resting against the back of the couch, Shigaraki licked the column of your neck. "Shhh, shhhh, it's okay. Ain't gonna hurt ya, sweetie. I just wanna make you feel good, like Dabi never did, I bet."

Shigaraki pushed the fabric of your panties aside, his touch careful as he rubbed against your folds, discovering they were already slick with your excitement. He grinned, licking his lips. "Look at you," he chuckled, hiccuping a little. "Mmm, already so wet for your boss. That's the attitude I like."

Shigaraki rose from the couch, a hiss escaping him as his pants grew uncomfortable, his dick tenting the fabric. He knelt down, parting your thighs, and took hold of the sides of your panties, skillfully tugging them down your legs until they were off completely. Bringing the garment to his nose, he sniffed it like a wild animal, licking the damp spot on the material and growling in anticipation. "Fuck," he muttered, his other hand palming himself through the fabric of his pants.

As the man licked a stripe along your slick folds, a loud whine escaped your lips, and you leaned back fully against the couch. Slowly, you brought your hand to your mouth, covering it as if to prevent all the moans from escaping. It felt so wrong, yet oh so right at the same time.

Shigaraki closed his lips around your clitoris, fervently sucking the swollen bud into his mouth. This left you writhing beneath him, moaning like a cheap whore you apparently were at that moment. His bare fingers, devoid of glove, expertly rubbed your entrance as Shigaraki continued to lap at your slick folds. The obscene noises he made filled the air, his head shaking left to right to increase the friction you sought with every roll of your hips, each movement trying to push your cunny further into his face.

"O-Oh, God…" you whimpered.

Shigaraki chuckled slightly before slipping his tongue into your entrance. It was the moment you arched your back, sliding one of your hands into his white hair, tugging it to bring his face and mouth closer to your heated core.

He skillfully fucked you with his tongue, his gloved fingers simultaneously massaging your clitoris, causing your wetness to spill all over his eager tongue. "Mhmmm," he grunted, still palming himself through his pants.

Lost in the throes of passion, neither of you heard the door opening. Little did you know that the rest of the League had returned to the hideout.

Dabi stood in the doorway leading to Shigaraki's office, his turquoise eyes wide open as he witnessed the scene unfolding before him — his boss, someone he had once considered a friend at some point, and his girl, getting laid.

Meanwhile, Shigaraki resumed lapping at your entrance, growling like an animal at your scent and taste. In contrast, you were already a moaning mess.

"I fucking love your little cunt," Shigaraki declared, kissing your swollen clitoris before returning to licking your dripping hole.

Dabi felt anger and jealousy building up within him, but he also sensed some primal desire. Casually closing the door, he walked over to the two of you, nonchalantly dipping down next to you on the couch. "Well, well, I see you two are having some fun, huh?" he growled.

It was then that you snapped your eyes open, instantly attempting to push Shigaraki off your pussy.

However, your boss simply looked at Dabi lazily, and after kissing your cunt, he straightened up, wiping his lips from your juices glistening there with the top of his palm. "Todoroki, you're back already."

Dabi scoffed. "What do you fucking think you're doing, Tomura?" Dabi growled, igniting a little blue flame on his left palm while his right one rested possessively on your knee.

"And what does it look like? I'm eating her cunny out," Shigaraki replied, a wry grin on his lips.

"She's fucking mine, and you're fucking aware of that," Dabi reminded.

Shigaraki chuckled darkly, waving his hand. "Oh, don't be such a dog in the manger. I didn't fuck her, yeah? Just licked her tiny cunt. That's not a fucking crime, is it?"

Dabi breathed angrily through his nose. "I can see you got fucking turned on just by her taste," he scoffed, glancing at the tent in Tomura's pants.

Shigaraki unselfconsciously palmed his dick, tilting his head to the side. "Can you blame me? Look at her, such a little naughty villainess we have here. And her taste is intoxicating."

Dabi scoffed again. "Imagine that I know, as I've fucked her many times already."

Tomura ran his bare fingers up and down your cunt. "Don't be angry at her, it's my fault. We got a little too wasted, and I kind of couldn't stop myself when I smelled her wetness," Shigaraki explained, pointing his chin at the coffee table and the empty bottle of alcohol and glasses.

Dabi shook his head in disapproval and reached his hand out, catching your chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting it so you faced him. "You're such a naughty whore, getting wet for him? Pathetic."

Your cheeks were still flushed. "S-sorry, Touya…" you whined pathetically.

Dabi looked into your half-opened eyes. He couldn't deny the twitch in his pants as he saw you so vulnerable and exposed. The idea of letting some other guy fuck you while he watched had always lingered in the dark corners of his twisted mind. Now, the opportunity presented itself. "You liked him licking your cunt, hmm?"

You bit at your knuckle, slowly nodding your head for yes.

Dabi sighed. "Fine. Make my girl cum," the scarred man ordered, looking at Shigaraki. "But don't you fucking dare to put your fucking, pathetic cock into her. That's exclusively mine privilege."

Shigaraki cocked his eyebrows, "Who do you think you are to boss me around, Dabi?"

Touya grinned nastily. "Seriously? Your cock already makes a damp spot in your pants, man. I know you want her. So give her what she wants. Make her fucking cum. Let her decide which one of us eats her pussy better. I'm sure she's gonna choose me."

"T-Touya, I.." you started, but your boyfriend placed his fingers on your lips, sealing them.

"Shut up and spread your legs wider like the good whore you are," he instructed.

You nodded hesitantly, following his words.

Shigaraki grunted, seeing your pussy spreading open just for him. He instantly dived between your legs, lapping at your folds again, making slurping noises and eating your cunt so intensely that the base of his nose nudged your swollen clitoris, making you whine.

Dabi watched the scene with a stoic expression attached to his scarred face. He reached one of his hands around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him so you rested your side against his chest. His other hand grabbed the hem of your skirt, hoisting it up your hips to provide himself with a better view of your drenched cunt and Shigaraki diving between your legs.

"You're such a needy whore," Dabi whispered into your ear, moving the arm he had wrapped around your shoulders to unbutton your shirt and fish out one of your breasts from the cup of your bra, fondling it gently. "So fucking wet. Look at the mess you made on this bastard's face."

You were whining, resting one elbow on Dabi's lap, moaning even louder as you felt his hardened cock making a bulge in his jeans.

Shigaraki slipped his gloved fingers into your cunt, massaging your inner walls.

Dabi grasped your chin and tilted your head, sloppily kissing your lips. Your tongues danced together.

Shigaraki spat down on your pussy, spreading his saliva all over your folds with his thumb. After that, he returned to sucking your clitoris while finger-fucking you.

You moaned in Dabi's mouth, breaking the kiss to bite your knuckle again as your thighs trembled after Tomura hit that super-sensitive, spongy spot deep within you. "Fuck…" you whispered, your eyes watering. "Holy shit."

Dabi chuckled darkly. "That's it, doll, let it go. Cum. I know you want to cum."

"Yes, d-daddy," you moaned and reached both hands to slip them in Tomura's messy hair, bringing his face closer to your dripping cunt to ride your orgasm all over his tongue and lips.

"Don't you fucking dare to stop licking her cunt. Stick your ugly tonuge out," Dabi instructed, and to his surprise, Shigaraki obeyed.

You grinded your pussy against you boss' flexed tongue, moaning louder and louder until your pussy clenched around his fingers, leaving you trembling all over your body, moaning and panting.

Of course, Dabi decided it was not enough, so he reached his hand down your body to gently rub your clitoris, only to spank it with his heated up fingers a few times.

You bucked your hips more until you squirted all over Shigaraki's face, moaning both their names as if it was the last prayer of your life; your runny juices covered your boss' chin, nose and lips, dripping down his cheek to his chest.

Shigaraki also panted and groaned, the damp stain on his crotch expanding, signaling he just came, too.

Dabi kissed your cheek, glancing down at Shigaraki. "Look at you, boss, getting so turned on by a mere woman. That's surprising," he rose from the couch, adjusting his hardened dick in his pants. "Now excuse me, I'm taking my girlfriend to my room so I can fuck her the way she likes the most," Todoroki easily scooped you up in his arms. "Oh, and thanks for preparing her for me. I appreciate that a lot."

[banepenis]

tumblr witch who formed her entire identity around a love live or some other such thing attempted to cast a speel on me to make some ucked up substance fill my lungs but little does she knows 1) my womb is barren, which provides the rest of my body with significantly increased power and resilience (think having better hearing if your eyes don't work) and 2) i studied for 4 years with two guys who live in a place called Lower Swell in gloucestershire to perfect a skill called the Unlimited Unreal Nowhere Nobody Tempest which sounds awesome but its really just a breathing technique they had to devise because pollen in glucoseshire or whatever is actually just straight up carcinogens due to the privatization of everything. sure go ahead b*tch block my esophagus im breathing out of every hole

[shybunnie20]

Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

strangers to friends to lovers

★Teasers ★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie embarks on a new chapter after finally graduating. He expects to face a variety of hurdles that come with a change of scenery, but what he doesn't anticipate is falling head over heels for you.

Author's Note: Holy shit, I can't believe this is finally finished after 11 months. It’s the first time I've written smut in well over a year and I'm pleased with how it turned out (I couldn't have done it without the support of my beloved @eddiethefreakkmunson)

Location photos are linked above and in the fic at their first mentions. AU with no Upside Down, no use of Y/N, focuses on Eddie's POV, fluff and mild angst with a happy ending *wink wink*

Word count: 17.3k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! alcohol consumption/drunken behavior, subtly pervy moments, masturbation, fondling, dry humping, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), a little bit of praise & possessiveness, includes swearing.

Eddie was determined to leave Hawkins for good as soon as he tossed his graduation cap to the sky. He didn’t expect how expensive a venture like that would be, so he devised a plan. For a couple of months, he would stick around to save up a financial cushion.

To pocket every penny possible, Eddie took up odd jobs around town like mowing lawns and painting fences. With every task completed, he army crawled his way toward living life on his terms. He didn’t expect it to take him well over a year to save up enough cash.

On this sweltering afternoon, the atmosphere is charged with the promise of new beginnings. The summer sun peeks out from behind the dense clouds and casts irregular shadows on the dirt road of Forest Hills.

His van is packed to the brim with boxes of his belongings. After mentally checking everything twice over, uncertainty twists Eddie’s stomach into knots. What if I have car trouble? What if I get lost? What if it’s not everything I hoped it would be?

Wayne descends the concrete steps and joins Eddie. He lets out a belly-deep sigh that speaks volumes. You’ll figure it out. You’re gonna find your way. Your best days are ahead of you.

There’s a hint of sadness in seeing his boy take this significant step toward independence. But beneath that sorrow, profound pride prevails within Wayne. Eddie’s dreams reach far beyond the boundaries of Hawkins. Sticking around here won’t do him any good.

Eddie looks at the man who’s been his rock; the one who used to rise before dawn to plate crispy bacon and fluffy pancakes, meeting Eddie’s needs before his own. The memories are vivid as he reflects on the milestones his uncle guided him through. Without a doubt, Eddie wouldn’t be half the man he is today if it weren’t for Wayne.

His beloved van sits atop the very spot where he once wiped out while learning to ride a bike without training wheels. “It’s time to be a big boy,” Wayne said, urging Eddie to muster some faith in himself.

Reluctantly, Eddie mounted his small bicycle and clutched the rubber handles. With a push to set him off, he experienced the fleeting thrill of accomplishment as he pedaled forward. He only made it a few feet before his balance wavered.

The bike wobbled, sending Eddie tumbling to the gravel. His knees and palms bore the brunt of the fall, and the sharp pebbles embedded themselves into his scraped skin.

Wayne isn’t exactly a ‘rub some dirt on it’ kind of guy, but he isn’t the coddling type either. He cleaned Eddie’s wounds, slapped on some bandages, and told him to give it another shot. Faced with his nephew’s tearful protests, Wayne emphasized that just because failure stings, it shouldn't deter him from trying again.

“I guess this is it then.” Eddie wipes beads of sweat from his brow using the back of his hand.

“Yep, looks that way. It sure will be quiet without y’here. I got so used to living with all that racket of yours.”

“It’s called good music. You should take it for a spin sometime, it’s way better than that honky-tonk shit you made me listen to growing up.”

“I like my honky-tonk shit just fine, thank you,” They share a laugh.

Wayne will undoubtedly miss their banter, but it’s their Sundays together that weighs the most on his heart. Occasionally, the summer graces them with a few perfect days—pleasantly sunny with a stirring breeze. That weather maintained an unspoken tradition.

When little Eddie moved in, he was struggling to find his footing and hadn’t spoken much. Wayne took him to a serene lakeside spot where the water gently lapped against the shore.

He cast his line into the water in pursuit of a crappie dinner, and six-year-old Eddie gleefully played with the live bait. Over the years, their dynamic remained largely unchanged. Wayne watched his bobber from the swaying dock while Eddie kicked back in a folding lawn chair. It was simple father-son time that didn’t cost more than an afternoon or two. As of now, those days are over.

“You sure you’re gonna be alright without me, old man?”

Wayne shrugs and shoves his hands into his front pockets. “I suppose I’ll manage one way or another.” 

“Take care of yourself,” Eddie says firmly.

“Will do. Oof-” Wayne chuckles when he’s abruptly hugged. He smooths over the back of Eddie’s head with his calloused palm.

The men hold onto one another, their unspoken sentiments conveyed in the silent embrace. They exchange a pat on the back before parting.

Wayne’s eyes follow his nephew as he closes the rear doors and makes his way toward the front of the van. “Eddie, one last thing. Remember to take your chances while ya got 'em and strike while the iron’s hot. Don’t let nothin’ pass ya by.”

Offering a firm salute, Eddie hops up and settles into the driver’s seat.

With Hawkins in the rearview mirror, Eddie sets off. Chicago may not be the sprawling metropolises of New York or Los Angeles, but it’s a world apart from his hometown.

It’s far enough away to provide a much-needed change of scenery, yet close enough that he can move back home if things go to shit.

The drive goes smoothly overall with a couple of instances of getting turned around. By the time Eddie is finished with the long hours on the road, he’s bone-weary.

His new place may not be the epitome of luxury, but it’s a roof over his head and that’s all that matters. After lugging his things to the fourth floor, Eddie can finally consider himself moved in. His apartment lacks furniture and decor, but it’s a space he can call his own.

The throbbing of an unbearable intensity plagues his thighs, a fiery reminder of the multiple flights of stairs conquered. He collapses onto his twin mattress and emits a low groan. The sound bounces off the bare walls and echoes through the studio apartment.

Eddie starts noticing the difference in sounds around him. Gone are the barking dogs and tires rolling over gravel. His fridge hums like the one in the trailer, which is nice, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out the argument happening in the unit above his.

When the noise finally subsides, he hopes to catch up on some much-needed sleep. But just a few minutes later, the ruckus rekindles. In a bid for tranquility, Eddie clutches his pillow to his ears to block out the animalistic makeup sex seeping through his ceiling.  He’s praying that the man is a two-pump chump because this is a lot for a first night. Hell, it’s too much for any night.

In a matter of days, Eddie has already encountered a series of issues. Whenever he tries to use hot water, his shower head screeches like a banshee. And the upstairs neighbors? They wear bricks for shoes and have a hoedown at 2 a.m. on a nightly basis; that is, if they’re not at each other’s throats.

Job hunting has been fruitless. The gas stations, car washes, and tobacco shops turned him down for the same reason: no documented experience. This means that he’s going to be stuck with the makeshift bed frame he came with for a while, which is just wooden planks zip-tied together. He’s not sure how long it’ll be able to withstand his tossing and turning.

There’s good news, though. Eddie refused to succumb to defeat. Today, he strolled past a tattoo parlor and impulsively checked it out. When he approached the counter, Eddie was met by an imposing man with a rather unwelcoming demeanor. In spite of feeling a bit intimidated, he greeted the man warmly.

As expected, the shop owner Cliff, did not reciprocate. When Eddie inquired about job openings, Cliff promptly replied with a curt “no.” Eddie’s tone grew desperate and he nearly pleaded. Cliff became irritated and offered a non-existent custodial position just to get Eddie to shut up and leave.

Currently sprawled on the rickety mattress, Eddie holds Mr. Pickles in the air and looks up at him. His trusty plushie is a bit worse for wear, having had his seams sutured with crimson battle vest thread.

“We’re doing it, buddy. We’re finally doing it.”

Shortly after moving in with his uncle, he had trouble falling asleep in the unfamiliar trailer. Wayne, hoping to provide comfort, gifted Eddie the stuffed bunny. It swiftly became a treasured part of his life, symbolizing safety and support—two things he hadn’t received much of up to that point.

The floppy-eared companion got its name from Wayne’s favorite snack. Whenever his uncle would pop the lid on a fresh jar of pickles, young Eddie would erupt into a fit of laughter. He insisted that Wayne was going to transform into a pickle due to how fast he blows through a jar.

In his twenties now, Eddie still cuddles with Mr. Pickles every night. If his pal could talk, he’d tell him how proud he is. Eddie rolls onto his side and nuzzles the bunny’s worn fur. That smile lingers on his face while he drifts off to sleep, now with a sense of hope for the days ahead.

The time has come. Eddie has worn through his entire wardrobe and needs to make a trip to the laundromat. Having a washer in the trailer was something he didn’t fully appreciate until now.

Taking a quick look around his apartment, Eddie spots a cardboard box that’ll suffice in lieu of a laundry basket. He fills the box with the scattered clothes from the floor, slips on his sneakers, and makes his way out onto the street.

Nestled in the heart of his neighborhood, Eddie arrives at his destination. The air carries an overwhelming fresh scent of detergent. It’s not bustling by any means; there are only a handful of people here.

Compared to those who are well-versed in their routine, Eddie feels out of place. He chooses an available machine and plops his box of dirty clothes on the counter behind him. He inspects the front-loading washer, not versed in its functions and operation. Eddie goes to open the machine’s door but it refuses to yield.

His patience wanes with each futile tug. Just as frustration peaks, a sudden realization dawns on him, prompting a blush to sweep across his cheeks. There’s a lock hidden on the flip side of the handle.

With the press of his thumb, the lock disengages and the door screeches open. Hot under the collar, Eddie hastily scoops up his clothes and stuffs them into the damp drum. He slams the door shut with a mechanical click, the sound signaling the lock relatching. 

This place lacks helpful signage, to say the least. The only one here displays the cost of running a cycle, but there’s nothing to guide newcomers through the process.

Eddie pulls out his wallet to retrieve a few quarters. After inserting them, he figures out the detergent tray without much trouble. But as Eddie presses the START button repeatedly, increasing his force with each press, the machine stubbornly refuses to respond.

“You have to choose a setting.”

Eddie jumps at the sound of your voice, his brows arched and mouth hanging open. “Huh?”

You walk over from the adjacent wall of driers a few feet away. “It won’t start unless you select a wash setting first.”

He looks at you like a deer-in-the-headlights, so you step in and set the machine to delicate for him. The washer springs to life and water begins to fill the drum.

“Ah, that makes sense,” Eddie says while rubbing the back of his neck. “These are so different from the one I had back home.”

“Where’s home?” You ask, resuming your task of folding your clean laundry on the nearby counter.

Eddie is visibly taken aback by your continued engagement. “A town in Indiana that you’ve definitely never heard of,” He starts to fidget with the detergent jug’s cap, though it’s already sealed.

Suddenly, Eddie feels self-conscious about his appearance. Talking to a cute girl wasn’t on the agenda today, he didn’t dress for this. He regrets choosing function over fashion; his denim shorts are an old pair of Wayne’s jeans that he cropped to wear while mowing lawns. The raw hems are messily frayed and the light blue is darkened with grass stains.

“Indiana, huh? You’re a ways from home then. What brings you to The Windy City?”

Eddie’s attention lands on your pile of clothes, subtly assessing your wardrobe choices. “Uh- just needed a change of pace, I guess.”

“Chasing the dream, right? Figured Chicago had more to offer?” You peek at him, catching his stare fixed on a pair of underwear at the top of the pile—a standard white cotton panty, nothing worth ogling.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, his posture stiffening when you make eye contact. He swallows hard, averts his gaze, and shifts his weight between the balls of his feet. “Something like that.”

“Did you bring your band with you?” You take the undergarment in question and fold it, seemingly unfazed.

As you move the folded pile into your laundry basket, his clothes start thumping inside the machine, causing suds to splash against the glass window. 

Eddie’s brows knit together. “How’d you know I have a band?”

“You’ve got the look,” You remark as your eyes travel over him.

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “Is that so? Do enlighten me, what’s the dead giveaway?”

“Your hair,” You suggest charmingly.

Eddie swishes his brunette curls like a lady in a shampoo commercial. “Too predictable?” 

“I’d say it’s on brand. Let me guess, Slayer? Maybe a little Dio or Megadeth?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at you before looking down at his shoes. “Jesus Christ, you’re reading me like a goddamn book.”

You cock your head to the side, playfulness tugging at your lips. “And if I were to look for this book in a store, what name might I find it under?”

“Eddie,” He lets his arms fall to his sides. When you tell him your name, it bounces around in his head. How pretty, he thinks.

After lifting your full laundry basket, you step away from the counter. “Good luck with the dryers. Oh, and just a heads up, those doors lock too. Don’t go yankin’ the handle off unless you’re looking to take home a souvenir,” You giggle to yourself as you walk out of the laundromat.

Eddie’s mouth hangs open while he watches you leave. Once you’re gone, his attention drifts to the nearby bulletin board. Among the various flyers, one advertises an open mic night. He decides that he’ll check it out sometime this week.

At Double Barrel Bar, Eddie is swallowed by a sea of mainstream nonconformity. The bar-goers are dressed similarly to him, and while the crowd is mostly younger people, they’re still a touch older than him. 

A symphony of clinking glasses and animated chatter collides with the thunderous live metal music. The dense haze of tobacco smoke and the distant clatter of pool balls only enrich the ambiance. The walls are adorned with framed music memorabilia and band posters, a mix of global icons and local talents.

Eddie is enveloped with nostalgia. This place reminds him of the gigs he used to play with Corroded Coffin, although they never played for an audience this size. Staring at the stage, he questions whether he could engage such a crowd and persuade them that he’s worth listening to.

Between two other men at the bar, Eddie takes a seat.

Lee, the bartender, greets him. “What can I get ya?”

Eddie shrugs and hooks his sneakers beneath the rung of the stool. “I'll take a cold one, whatever's cheapest.”

“You got it. Bottle or tap?” Lee wipes his hands on the white rag draped over his shoulder.

“Bottle is fine.”

Lee retrieves a bottle of beer and deftly pops the cap before sliding it over to Eddie.

His fingers curl around the icy glass, the condensation cool to the touch. Eddie’s plump lips wrap around the bottle’s rim and he takes his first sip. The crisp liquid trickles down his throat, offering a short-lived remedy for the stuffiness of the room. 

As Lee tends to another patron, Eddie fidgets in his seat, causing the flier in his back pocket to crinkle. “So, you host an open mic?”

“Yeah, Thursday through Sunday. Are you any good?” Lee asks.

Eddie flips his guitar pick necklace between his fingers. “I like to think so. I guess you’d have to ask the ants in my kitchen, they’re the closest thing I've had to an audience lately.”

Lee snorts. “I've got a good feeling about you, I’m gonna reserve a spot.”

“Oh, uh- you don't have to do that.”

Lee waves his hand in dismissal and gathers the abandoned glassware from the now-empty seat beside Eddie. “No pressure, just swing by on Thursday if you’re interested.”

The opportunity intrigues Eddie, but performing alone is uncharted territory. Contemplating the offer, Eddie grapples with a cloud of self-doubt looming over his decision.

It’s been two months, and his routine is now established. Each day brings progress and a sense of reward, even though there have been occasional hiccups along the way.

Surviving the sweltering summer with a broken AC was sheer hell. He found himself spending ample time nude in his apartment or standing in front of the open freezer compartment of the refrigerator; sometimes simultaneously. Fortunately, September has arrived, and the temperature has begun to wind down.

Managing expenses requires a frugal approach, given the modest pay from his custodial job. Eddie resorts to taking power showers and using candles to keep his utility bill low.

Sometimes he forgoes meals to keep an extra couple of bucks on hand. But when he does eat, he opts for saltine crackers slathered in butter, bologna sandwiches, canned soups, and plain noodles. Occasionally he treats himself to store-bought pasta sauce, though it’s still the saddest spaghetti known to man.

Eddie faces skepticism from the seasoned artists at the tattoo shop, all military veterans who view him as an arrogant kid. Their perception fuels his determination to prove himself. To earn their respect, he’s dedicated to cleaning more thoroughly than he ever has in his life.

He’s become keenly observant, absorbing every detail of the professional tattooing process, despite never being included in those conversations. Within the circle of artists—Ace, Lunchbox, and Dozer—Eddie gravitates toward Ace, who becomes a mentor. Seeing Eddie’s genuine enthusiasm, Ace asks about his drawing abilities. 

Although Eddie’s sketchbook is brimming with fantastical creatures, Ace can recognize a young man’s raw ambition and desire for direction and purpose. He takes Eddie under his wing, allowing him to learn the medium while on the clock.

After taking Lee up on his offer, Eddie found himself on stage every Thursday night. His performances were rusty, as he hadn’t played in front of anyone since before he was working his ass off to get here.

As he strummed through the jitters, Eddie rediscovered the sanctuary that music had always offered. It felt like a part of him had resurrected, reviving the passion he sorely missed.

Playing Thursday nights may not rake in tips like the weekends would, but he’ll take what he can get. Eddie’s been saving up for some pre-owned furniture, and he’s happy to snag any extra cash he can for it.

Life is good right now. The worry about moving back home has lessened, and he’s genuinely amazed at how smoothly things are going. Just when Eddie thought things couldn’t get any better, a Saturday night slot opened up at the bar.

It would be twice as busy, packed from wall to wall with people who could bare witness to him fucking up. Doubt crept its way in, but when Lee mentioned that Eddie could pocket thirty-five bucks or more by the night’s end, it was a no-brainer.

Tonight marks his debut Saturday gig. Stepping through the red brick archway and out onto the stage, the creak of the rustic boards beneath his feet sends a ripple up his legs. Eddie hasn’t even made it to the mic and he’s already forgotten what foot he’s supposed to be stepping with next.

Beneath his t-shirt, his back grows slick. A lump lodges itself in Eddie’s throat, causing his voice to crack when he introduces himself to the room. Amidst the overlapping conversations and the flushing from the nearby restroom, the amassed noise seems muffled. The strong winds in his head distort the sounds, whirling like a twister.

Eddie hooks his guitar up to the amp and forces himself to take a deep breath. As he tunes his instrument, the upheaval begins to settle. Gradually, Eddie finds unity with his guitar and concentrates on perfecting the tone.

Throughout the performance, there’s a persistent undertow of nerves refusing to fully subside. In spite of his efforts to lose himself in the music, his fingers occasionally falter as they dance on the strings.

At the end of his set, Lee can be heard whooping and hollering over the sparse clapping. With a sense of relief, Eddie packs up and makes a beeline for the bar, eager to ease the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Normally, the rush is akin to a high, but this time around it’s so intense that he’s dying to dial it back a notch.

He splurges and orders something a bit fancier than his usual bland beer. Why not celebrate a little? Eddie claims a recently vacated table in the bustling crowd, seating himself on the leather stool adorned with studs. His eyes roam the room while he takes a swig of his drink, savoring the superior crisp taste.

His attention zeroes in on a figure just feet away, a quick recognition igniting in his mind. Eddie recognizes you instantly, due to the scarcity of memorable encounters he’s had.

Eddie observes from afar, observing your mannerisms as you execute your waitressing duties. You must only work weekends, which would explain why your paths haven’t crossed again until now. When your eyes meet his, a shock shoots through his body.

He sits in rapt anticipation as you make your way over. Time seems to stretch unbearably from your previous spot until you finally stand opposite of him, separated only by the circular wooden table.

A courteous smile graces your face—a skill that waitresses must master if they want to pay rent. “Ready for another?”

Eddie stares back at you. His eyes drift down to the almost full beer bottle in his hand. The cogs in his skull are scraping, unable to put the words you’ve said to him in a comprehensive order. He nods without making a peep.

You pivot to leave, but then turn back to him and lift a brow at his unaltered dumbstruck expression. “Are you sure? ‘Cause you don’t look it.”

He remains silent and shakes his head sheepishly, feeling foolish for agreeing to another beer and then changing his mind just because you asked again. Is there more dignity in being indecisive than a bumbling mess?

“You were just singing up there for nearly an hour,” you call him out, folding your arms and tucking your serving tray against your side. “I know you can talk.”

Eddie clears his throat, but he ends up making an odd sound. “Uh, my throat’s a bit sore, that’s all.”

“Did you forget to do your vocal warm-ups or what?”

“It probably sounded like I did,” Eddie laughs, the self-deprecation evident.

“Not at all, I thought you were great.”

“You did?” Eddie’s lips curl at your compliment. Heat blooms on his cheeks, amplifying the full-body perspiration. He takes a casual sip from his beer, a guise to moisten his dry mouth and escape your intimidating gaze.

“Totally, you really come alive when you’re up there,” you rest your forearms on the table’s edge. “Is it just Eddie, or do you go by a stage name?”

No way. There’s no fucking way that you remember him, his face is so forgettable it’s not even funny. Lee had to have said something about who was filling the Saturday night spot. Eddie is inwardly thrilled to hear his name roll off of your tongue, but he tries to maintain his composure. “I suppose not, I guess I never thought about it.”

“You could pull it off, it suits the whole ‘one-man show’ thing you’ve got going on,” You say while giving him a once-over. The intrigue on your face is unwavering as you walk away.

He’s drunk, he has to be. Or maybe his drink was spiked somehow. The room is spinning and he feels nauseous as all hell, despite only having taken a few swigs from his beer.

A short while later, Eddie’s bottle is half-empty as he sits, continuously replaying the moment in his mind. More specifically, he can’t stop thinking about the sparkle in your eyes; he’s never seen anything like it.

He snaps back from his daydream at the sight of your return, this time with an unopened beer in hand. Eddie looks nothing short of puzzled as you slide it across the table toward him. “Uh, no thanks, I’m-”

“Relax, it’s not for you. I’ll be clocking out in six minutes. I wanna hear more about that small town of yours. I mean, as long as that’s okay with you. I understand if you have other plans tonight.”

“No!” Eddie exclaims. “I mean, yes it’s more than okay, and no, I don’t have anywhere to be.”

You glance downward while scuffing your shoe against the floor. “Okay, cool. Keep it cold for me then?” 

“Yeah, for sure. You can count on me.”

Shit shit shit. How is he going to keep this beer cold? Of course, ways to heat it flood his mind. If you come back to a lukewarm beer, that’ll be the end of him. He’s going to fuck this up and any chance of getting to know you will be squashed.

When you join him again, your drink is still cold and the bottle has left a ring of moisture on the paper coaster. Eddie’s unsure of how he managed to not lose it; if he’s capable of anything, it’s misplacing something when his only responsibility is to keep it in his possession. 

As you slide onto the stool beside him, you’re quick to inquire. You ask him typical ice-breaker questions at first, and Eddie responds with a plethora of details. At times, he goes off on tangents. You don’t appear bothered by it.

Eddie talks about his ability to learn how to play songs by ear, and he delves into the intricacies of his favorite Dungeons & Dragons campaigns that he’s created over the years. He earnestly tries to convey its depth to you and throughout his ramblings, he doesn’t miss the concentrated look on your face as you try to keep up.

Lee is nearing the end of his cleaning routine and the other waitresses have left for the night. Neither of you is aware that the bar is devoid of a crowd, scorching lights, and blaring music.

Eddie has been too busy asking you about your origins and passions, his wide eyes and attentive demeanor affirming his genuine interest. Just as he mentions working at the shop and you’ve asked him how many tattoos he has, you’re interrupted.

Lee stands beside the table, armed with a damp rag and a spray bottle. “Awfully hard to wipe the seats when your asses are still on them. Scoot your booch,” Lee instructs by motioning toward the entrance.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to slip off his stool. You, on the other hand, take your sweet time.

“Have a good night,” You say and give Lee’s shoulder a friendly pat.

Uncertain of his next move, Eddie hesitates while you make your way to an unmarked door. It’s half past two in the morning, and he feels a tug of concern about you leaving by yourself.

There’s a very good chance that you’d consider him clingy or intrusive if he waits here. Eddie opts to stand outside. He props himself against the building and idly nudges a loose chunk of concrete with his shoe to keep himself occupied. Soon after, you emerge into the night.

The slam of the heavy door prompts him to straighten up. “Hey.”

“Oh, I thought you left,” you admit and adjust your purse strap on your shoulder. “Thanks for telling me about Hawkins the Hell Hole.”

“The pleasure was all mine. Do you, uh…” Eddie inches forward, his Reeboks scraping loudly on the pavement. “Would you like me to walk you home? It’s pretty late.”

“I don’t live far, it’s just a few blocks.’

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around then?”

Your eyes twinkle brighter than he’d previously seen. “I’d say the odds are in your favor.”

“Goodnight. Get home safe,” He says with a half-hearted bow.

“Likewise,” You reply, biting back a giggle.

Eddie watches you fade into the darkness along the unlit patches of sidewalk. Once you’ve turned the corner, Eddie smiles from the surreal sensation of floating on clouds.

In this moment, the feeling of joy is so potent that it’s borderline palpable. He’s the embodiment of elation, a soul soaring high. It’s a feeling he wishes he could bottle up and carry with him forever.

The next Saturday plays out much like the previous one, save for one detail: it’s considerably tougher to concentrate on stage knowing who’s in the audience. Post-performance, the routine echoes that of the prior week. The two of you gravitate toward the same table as before, establishing it as the one you’ll always sit at.

At first, a hesitation lingers before diving into more personal topics. However, as the night progresses and more beers are consumed, you seamlessly fall into them. Eddie weaves elements of drama and romanticism into his past, making it utterly engrossing for you to listen to.

When you propose getting together outside of the confines of the bar for the first time, Eddie eagerly accepts your invitation to show him around since he has yet to do any sightseeing.

Eddie is swept up in an exuberant wave of boyish excitement, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. He never experienced it during his teenage years like the average person. The sheer thrill of having an instant connection with a girl is an entirely new feeling for him.

Week after week, your laundry days are synchronized and you’ve started the habit of making silly faces or giving each other the finger just because. During the late nights spent together at Dove’s Diner, Eddie finds enjoyment in seeing you eat. It’s a peculiar fascination, but it makes him happy. Seeing you completely at ease while enjoying greasy food is endearing to him.

When he arrived in Chicago, Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling of not wanting to move back to Hawkins. Even so, he wasn’t experiencing the same comfort here as he did in that cramped trailer.

There was a longing for familiarity that he had in his old surroundings. Eddie didn’t want to have to go back home in order to feel that sense of belonging again. He had his doubts about ever truly adjusting to life here until you came along. In your company, the foreignness of the city fades away, replaced by that feeling he’s been missing.

Several times, he’s been working in his sketchbook, adding to the pin-up style figures and faces that bear a striking resemblance to you. While engrossed in drawing, he hadn’t picked up on the similarities. But when he absentmindedly drew a simple heart, that's when it occurred to him.

Eddie like-likes you.

As your shift comes to an end, you head to the back room to gather your belongings. Eddie stands idly at your claimed table, picking at his hangnails while he waits.

“When’re you gonna ask her out?” Lee asks while tidying up nearby.

Eddie laughs heartily at the idea. “How about never.” 

“You should. I can tell she’s into you.”

“Yeah, right. I don’t stand a chance.”

Lee puts down his spray bottle and looks at Eddie. “Listen, I’ve known her for a while now. Trust me on this,” he dumps a used ashtray out into a trash bag.

Eddie emits a noise of disbelief, his mind flickering back to the painful lesson he learned in his youth—he’s no one's type. Lost in reflection, he doesn’t realize you’ve returned with your sweatshirt draped over your bent arm.

Despite the tiring evening, you're upbeat in his presence. “Okay, I’m ready! I was thinking we could get some takeout and watch TV at my place.”

“Sure, I could eat,” Eddie says with a grin. Lee is shaking his head, looking particularly smug.

Your apartment is the polar opposite of Eddie’s, the difference is like day and night. It has a homey atmosphere and there’s a notable absence of wear and tear. He does have band posters, framed personal photos, and furniture, but they fail to create the same inviting ambiance that your apartment effortlessly exudes.

Seated beside Eddie on your couch, you tease him. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m trying!” He attempts to mimic your technique, but the piece of chicken repeatedly falls from his chopsticks.

“I can see that,” you stifle a laugh. “And you’re total shit at it.”

Out of frustration, Eddie impales his sweet and sour chicken with both sticks.

Glancing your way, he catches you smiling ear to ear, watching him. Eddie smiles back as he chews. “What? This way works just as well.”

You laugh and refocus your on the TV while resuming your meal. Eddie swears that you’re sitting closer to him than when you first sat down. Your thigh is almost touching his and your shoulder is just as close.

The paranoia subsides as he gets lost in thinking about how he can feel the heat radiating off of your bare thigh. But Eddie’s pulled back to reality when your chopsticks cut across his vision and dig into his takeout box.

He doesn’t mind, not really; sharing is caring. Having said that, when you lean over to look into the box, your shoulder bumps against his. A particularly appreciative sound escapes your lips, one that’s borderline pornographic.

“That’s really good, I’ll have to get some next time,” you hum and place your takeout box on the coffee table. “Or I could just keep stealing yours, it tastes better that way.”

Eddie is frozen, eyes unblinking. As you return to your spot on the sofa, you’re unquestionably closer this time. Your beautiful skin is on display in those shorts of yours and your bare thigh is brushing against his own. He could choke on air right now if he were still breathing.

You look over at him, your brow furrowed. “You good?”

“Yeah, yep. All good,” Eddie avoids making eye contact and stares blankly ahead. “Peachy keen.”

“Okay, weirdo,” you brush off his abrupt awkwardness and scoot toward the edge of the cushion. After gathering your trash, you look at him. “All finished?”

“Mhm,” He replies weakly and extends his box toward you.

With your arms full, you head into the kitchen, leaving him by his lonesome in the living room.

Eddie releases a heavy sigh and drags his hands down his face. Your absence allows him to reenter his body, but it only makes him keenly aware of his not-so-subtle half hard-on that’s outlined through the thin fabric of his shorts.

His eyes widen in alarm and panic takes over. “Shit!” Frantically brainstorming ways to conceal it, Eddie spots a fuzzy blanket at the far end of the couch and he retrieves it, draping it over his lap. While he tries to make himself look as casual as possible, he catches a glimpse of your approaching shadow just before the kitchen light is switched off.

In the few seconds he has left, Eddie tries out various hand placements, but none feel quite right. Every position feels forced and conspicuous.

As you stride back to the couch, your sweet expression eases some of the tension in his bones. “I got a bit chilly,” Eddie blurts out, hoping to preempt any impending questioning. “Is it okay if I use this?”

“No, I’m totally gonna tell you that you can’t use a blanket for its sole purpose.”

Eddie laughs nervously, “Alright, alright.”

This is arguably worse, being wrapped in your scent. It’s awfully hard not to get any harder when your natural smell is flooding his head. It’s intoxicating, and he finds himself inhaling deeply to capture as much of it as he can.

“What’d I miss?” You ask while plopping back down beside him.

The continuous movement causes Eddie to clench his back molars together because an image surges before he can even think to suppress it. He’d bet all the money he has that you’d look stunning on top of him. There’s fantasy looming alongside the image; Eddie wonders what you look like beneath your clothes.

“Nothing, you didn’t miss anything,” He mutters. When you start to squirm against the back of the couch, Eddie shoots you a questioning look. “You got ants in your pants?”

You huff, “No, there’s an itchy spot on my back. Could you scratch it for me, please? It’s driving me nuts.”

“Oh, um, sure,” Eddie fumbles for words as you angle yourself and present your back to him. “Where is it?”

“Right between my shoulder blades.”

Eddie’s eyes zero in on the outline of your bra strap that’s visible through your shirt across your back. Given his luck, that would be the target. Just to be cautious, he starts by scratching at the higher middle part of your back.

“A little lower.”

Eddie swallows hard as his fingers tentatively inch their way down. His belly begins to swirl the closer he gets to the clasp, but thankfully, you stop him just before he reaches it.

“Right there! Yeah, harder.”

If this goes on too much longer, Eddie could very well pass out. But, per your request, he applies more pressure. Beneath the blanket, the discomfort has only intensified—his arousal is now raging with a persistent ache.

“Oh my god, finally,” You say appreciatively and settle back into a more relaxed position.

The overwhelming urge to touch himself skyrockets as his body begs for friction. Eddie repositions himself to adjust the blanket, hoping to keep his erection concealed. From the corner of his eye, his gaze drifts along your figure, pausing at the rise and fall of your diaphragm as you watch TV.

A jagged breath falls from his lips, but he’s determined to clear his mind. Realizing that he can’t leave here tonight with your blanket as a shield, he has to find a way to distract himself by the end of this program.

Miraculously, he survived. Now lying in his bed, Eddie is surrounded by the darkness, save for the glow of the moon and the faint residual light from the streetlamps filtering through the broken blinds. Eddie stares up at the ceiling while his mostly naked body responds to the vivid recollections swarming his train of thought.

On any ordinary day, Eddie would resort to the routine of using his hand and lotion to relieve himself. Be that as it may, the stirring in his core demands a different sensation.

With the thought of you weighing heavily on his mind, there’s an alternative means by which he’s going to alleviate the frustration and desire that’s grown too loud to ignore. Eddie, already shirtless, yanks his boxers off in a swift motion and kicks them off carelessly. Moving onto his knees, he leans over the edge of his bed and retrieves a pillow from the floor.

He sits back on his heels in the middle of his bed and contorts the stuffing with intent. For a moment, he’s not sure how he wants to use it. His body’s impatience grows, causing his erection to bob expectantly.

Eddie licks his lips in anticipation and sets the bent pillow down with the bend facing him. With one hand, he firmly holds the makeshift toy in place. With his other, he strokes himself languidly, blotting the fabric of the pillowcase with precum as he taps his cock against it repeatedly.

Experimentally, Eddie rolls his hips downward, thrusting the sensitive underside of his length against the smooth material. His eyes fall closed, and he can’t seem to pick just one aspect of you to fantasize about, not when every inch of you is so captivating. Eddie grunts, “Yeah, you like that?”

He adjusts his hips, angling them lower to get more friction. The heat blooming causes Eddie’s jaw to go slack. The usual five or six minutes have been halved as the thought of your smile makes Eddie embarrassingly close already.

Wanting to get in a few more thrusts before he’s spent, Eddie pistons himself against the pillow. “Tell me how badly you want me, I wanna hear you say it.”

With one fist continuing to pin the pillow down against the mattress, Eddie trails his other hand up his pale, slender stomach. He digs his gnawed-down nails into his skin, leaving red streaks behind, as he tries to imagine it as your touch. Eddie doesn’t know what it would feel like if it wasn’t his hand, but the thought of you is more than enough.

Devoid of any visual aid, the absence of a magazine or porno tape isn’t hindering him. Typically, when Eddie only has his imagination to utilize, he can beat off without finishing until he eventually gets bored and gives up.

This time it’s different. As his thoughts run wild, Eddie’s rhythm falters. The bed frame squeaks, and the wood shifts while he thrusts as hard as he can.

“Uhhh,” A coarse moan pours from his throat as his cum shoots onto the pillow. Eddie’s thrusts slow to a stop and he pants. The tension in his abdomen gradually subsides as he floats his way back down to earth.

His eyes flutter open, and he’s faced with the mess he made. “Fuckin’ hell,” With a sigh, Eddie decides that he’ll deal with it tomorrow.

After changing into fresh boxers, he chugs down a glass of tap water. Utterly exhausted, Eddie collapses back onto his bed. The aged frame creaks in protest to his abrupt flop. The intensity has been burned away, and what lingers is rawness.

Here’s the thing, Eddie has a way with words, and his unconventional charm comes without a second thought. But conveying himself physically is a different story. His upbringing lacked affection, and consequently, Eddie was robbed of particular milestones. Among those missed moments was sitting on the grass beneath a starry night sky on summer night.

Eddie never got to pluck the green blades from the ground as he gathered the courage to have his first kiss. He hasn’t so much as held someone’s hand before.

With Mr. Pickles tucked under his chin, a wave washes over his heart, wading him further into the tide of ache. Eddie may be inexperienced but he’s not stupid. He’s picking up what you’re putting down. Your persistent hints practically scream at him to make a move.

But your persistence only worsens the anxiety because Eddie’s not sure that he can take the leap like you want him to. It’s not that he doesn’t want you, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s uncertainty about what to do if he gets to be with you.

Eddie’s drawn to you, his poor pillow could tell you that much. This isn’t the first night he’s spent laying here trying to talk some sense into himself. When he practices being smooth instead of awkward, Eddie struggles to navigate through the hypothetical scenarios that he’s in complete control of.

If his bedroom walls could speak, they’d tell of those nights. But after the sinful act he just committed, they have a hell of a lot more to say. Those bold utterances were far from who he is. It was a facade, a portrayal of a self-assured man he’ll never embody.

Talking dirty made him feel powerful in the moment because the mask allowed him to avoid facing how he truly feels about you. At his core, what Eddie craves is to baby you, he wants to show you that he can be sensitive. He’d die on the spot to see you in a state of delight from being showered with adoration.

Eddie closes his eyes and envisions a world where he can be what you want. He’d never be oblivious to having food in his teeth, and he’d never push a door that should be pulled. This false reality is one where he doesn’t disappoint you by shying away from your advances. It’s unrealistic, he’s just not wired that way.

During his younger years, Eddie endured the worst of taunting. The other kids mocked his short frizzy curls by referring to it as a “rat’s nest.” They told him that he’d resemble a troll until his dying days.  It was ingrained into him that he was unworthy of any form of love—be it familial, platonic, or romantic. The remarks made about Eddie’s prominent nose convinced him that he was a walking safety hazard and he’d poke someone’s eye out if he ever dared to kiss them.

In the seventh grade, Eddie hit a breaking point. He was fed up with having chewing gum put into his curls. There are too many times to count where Wayne sat for hours with a jar of peanut butter, attempting to free the cemented wads from his nephew’s locks. One day, Eddie stood in front of the mirror in the cramped bathroom and cried at the discovery of another bright pink clump of gum tangled in his hair.

It may have been just one piece at that time, but it was the final straw. Out of desperation, Eddie did the only thing he felt would solve the problem for good. By taking matters into his own hands, he used the clippers to give himself a buzz-cut. As chestnut-colored locks cascaded down, settling atop the sink and his feet, the damage was done.

Wayne lent a hand in handling the patchy spots in the back of Eddie’s head that he couldn’t quite reach. The impromptu solution worked as he’d hoped, but it only opened the door to different torment. 

The following school day, his classmates didn’t hold back, likening his appearance to that of an inmate waiting to meet Old Sparky, or cruelly suggesting that he resembles his imprisoned father.

Eddie quickly came to understand that he was never going to be the guy girls wished would ask them to the dance. The scars of rejection were etched into his self-esteem, and since then, he’s come to terms with his inadequacy.

Perhaps you’re interested in Eddie because there are still things you don’t know about him. Surely, once you learn how unworthy he is, you’ll laugh in his face just as the others did.

Tonight he’s shielded from the nightlife commotion inside his van, parked along the curb outside your apartment. He sits patiently, watching the pine tree-shaped air freshener gently sway with the feeble push of air from the AC vents.

It’s Friday night, and there’s nothing he’d rather do than spend it with you. Eddie directs his attention toward your building as you descend the steps of your apartment’s stoop.

Eddie detects the effort, even from afar. Your shoes look new and you’re wearing more makeup than he’s used to seeing you in. These differences have him pondering the significance behind the deliberate choices.

When Eddie casually suggested catching a movie a few days ago, he hadn’t thought much of it. To him, it was merely something you hadn't done together. He didn’t think twice when you got so excited about seeing a late-night showing of Die Hard.

It’s dawning on him that it wasn’t because you’re a big Bruce Willis fan. The reason you’re all gussied up is because this is a date. He asked you out on a date.

This is not a problem, per se. Eddie’s thrilled about going on his very first date, but fear also has him in a chokehold because he’s unprepared.

Wayne never took the time to give his nephew the lowdown on dating. It didn’t come up because Eddie never displayed interest or curiosity about it.

He’s at a loss. Eddie doesn’t know how to carry himself, he doesn’t have a clue about what’s considered proper etiquette beyond what he’s seen on TV and in movies. Are those even reliable sources?

As you cross the sidewalk in his direction, Eddie’s palms grow slick. It suddenly registers that he should be outside, ready to hold the car door open for you. But before he can act on this realization, you swiftly swing the door open and slip onto the passenger seat.

"Hi," You chirp, the sound almost a squeak as you close the car door behind you. You subtly adjust the bottom of your dress before securing your seatbelt.

“Hey,” Eddie’s eyes wander over your body until he finds himself admiring your bare knees.

With a jolt, his eyes snap back to your face, only for you to be watching him with a pleased expression adorning your features.

Eddie clears his throat and busies himself with turning over the ignition. “You look nice,” he scrunched his face. “Pretty! I meant to say you look pretty.”

"Thanks," you reply appreciatively and inspect your freshly painted nails to ensure they’ve withstood the indecisive wardrobe changes of the past half hour.

Throughout the brief drive, engaging in small talk grants Eddie a temporary respite from his brain being in overdrive. Determined to maintain composure, he makes a conscious effort to avoid looking your way.

Eddie successfully carries the conversation as you enter the lobby and get through the refreshments line. Luckily, you secure the last two seats at the end of a row; he’d have been mortified if the theater was oversold and there weren’t any seats left.

The first half of the movie goes as one would expect; you’re comfortably seated beside him, occasionally whispering commentary to each other. Meanwhile, Eddie shovels fistfuls of over-buttered and under-salted popcorn into his mouth, crunching away as the scenes progress on the screen before him.

But then there’s a subtle shift in your body language. He assumes that your inability to sit still might be caused by the need for a restroom break. That is until your knee gradually inches closer to his.

The film has become an afterthought as Eddie watches you place your hand on your thigh, noticeably close to his own that’s casually hanging off of the armrest. It’s impossible to differentiate the pounding pulse in his ears from the blasts of gunfire booming through the theater.

When your fingertips graze his, Eddie rips his hand away to reach for the bucket of popcorn that’s resting in the ditch of his opposite arm. “Want some?” he fails to whisper while offering the bucket to you.

The explosive flashes of red and yellow harshly illuminate your face and without a word, you shake your head and go back to the movie.

Eddie puts the bucket back where it was, and in the hopes of distracting himself from the guilty tingle in his feet, he fidgets with his wristwatch. Repeatedly, Eddie clasps and unclasps it, making the strap incredibly loose and uncomfortably tight around his wrist.

A few minutes go by and without warning, his heart stops because you unexpectedly rest your head on his shoulder.

As if struck by lightning, Eddie leaps to his feet. The motion launches the bucket of popcorn into the air, and the people in the row in front of you are showered with kernels. He's as stiff as a board as he’s confronted with mild uproar and a chorus of expletives. 

Red-faced and unsure of whom to apologize to first, Eddie turns to you. “Shit! I’ll go get another one,” He doesn’t wait for your response and rushes down the stairs, practically leaping over them two at a time.

After bursting through the double doors and out into the empty hallway, Eddie brings his palm to his forehead, his other hand propped on his hip while he paces. Once he’s able to collect himself, Eddie heads toward the lobby, only to find that everything is powered down. 

Eddie decides to use the little time he has to rehearse what he’ll say. There might not be anything he can do to play off his peculiar behavior; at least, nothing that he can think of at the moment.

As he shows up empty-handed, Eddie doesn’t overlook your rigid posture. Your left leg is crossed over your right, pointing away from him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just upset that he wasted the popcorn and didn't get more.

In your lack of questioning, Eddie feels compelled to explain himself. “Concessions were closed, so…” He gestures with upturned palms, but you don’t acknowledge that he’s spoken or come back.

Not having received a response, Eddie resorts to chewing on his thumbnail and his leg bounces in tandem. Lost in his head, he finds it increasingly difficult to focus on the remainder of the movie.

Exiting the theater and stepping out into the parking lot, Eddie’s voice lacks confidence as he walks alongside you. “What’d ya think? I give it a solid six out of ten.”

You reply with a casual shrug and wrap your arms around yourself. “It was alright.”

“How ‘bout I treat you to Dove’s? Wanna go for a bite?” Eddie suggests to salvage the remainder of the evening.

“I’ll pass. I’m not hungry,” you say curtly, taking a step ahead to open the passenger door for yourself, denying Eddie a second chance to hold it open for you. 

“Oh,” Eddie begins, but his sentence is severed by the slam of the door. “Okay,” he finishes with a sigh.

During the drive back to your neighborhood, the air feels dense. The radio commercials do little to fill the space between you.

Upon the front tire nudging the curb, you get out of the van before Eddie has put it in park. He hurriedly follows suit, rushing over to catch up with you as you head toward your front steps.

“I had a good time tonight. Did you?” Eddie blurts out.

Pausing in your steps, you turn around and face him. “Yeah, I guess.”

Knowing that he’s the cause of your deflated spirit punches a pang to his chest. Eddie offers a gentle expression. “Would you wanna go again sometime? Probably best if you hold the popcorn though,” he chuckles uncomfortably.

“Night, Eddie,” You say with finality before letting yourself into your apartment.

Once you’ve gone inside, dejection overtakes Eddie’s features. “Goodnight,” he mutters to himself, biting the inside of his cheek.

Sifting through the mental archive of wisdom passed down by Wayne, Eddie desperately rummages for any guidance that could apply to his current situation.

Eddie has officially had the world’s worst date, and it very well could be the only one he’ll ever get to go on. It only hurts more that the outcome was entirely his fault.

You’re avoiding him, that much is obvious. You stopped showing up to do laundry together and while he performs, you intentionally keep your back turned to the stage.

After your Saturday shifts end, you no longer stick around to hang out with Eddie, instead choosing to leave with your fellow waitresses.

One would think that it was a tough decision, but it makes perfect sense to him. Eddie gives up playing on Saturdays to avoid crossing paths with you. He reverts to his old spot on Thursday nights.

It’s a way to protect himself while making things easier for you. He can’t fathom how repulsed you are by his presence at this point.

Eddie sits at the folding table in his living room, his feet hooked with one another. The blaring thrash metal fills the room as he meticulously drafts tattoo concepts, completely absorbed in his sketchbook.

The incessant ringing of the telephone hardly cuts through the music. Eddie ignores it for the first two rings and lets out a reluctant huff before pausing the tape and picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Heyyy, can you come get me?” Your cheerful request weaves through the lively chatter and honking car horns in the background.

Not having seen you in two weeks, your voice hits him like a wall. “What for?”

“M’ready to go home.”

Eddie reads his watch and leans against the wall. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“You know what, forget it. I’ll just walk home.”

“Absolutely fucking not. What bar are you at?”

“Errr, The Dugout I think.”

“Stay put, alright? Wait for me inside, I’ll be there in a few,” After hanging up, he recklessly shoves his feet into his Reeboks and snatches his car keys from the counter.

Eddie arrives, expecting you to be inside. But there you are, sitting on the curb, right where you shouldn’t be. He calls out to you and jogs over, dodging a few bar-goers on the way.

At first, you turn your head the wrong way when you hear your name called. When you spot him, you scramble upright. “You came for me!” Excitedly, you raise your hands above your head and it slightly throws off your balance. 

“Holy shit, you’re plastered,” Eddie half-scoffs, half-laughs. His eyes roam your body, and he immediately takes notice of your scraped and bloodied knees. “Jesus, what happened?”

“Huh?” you ask, your drunken buoyancy unaffected by his evident concern. Following his guided point, you simply shrug. “I dunno, can’t remember.”

“You’re not here by yourself, are you?” Eddie scans the area, looking for any signs of someone accompanying you.

“Mmm... no, well yes. My girlfriends were here but they left.”

Eddie scoffs, “You’ve got some shitty friends.”

“Good thing I have you. My very own knight in shining armor is here to rescue me!”

“That tower of yours must’ve had quite the mini bar, princess,” Eddie remarks.

“Let’s go,” Eddie instructs, heading toward his van with the assumption that you’re following.  Peeking over his shoulder, you’re practically tripping over your own feet.

The long strap of your purse slides off your shoulder, snags on your bent elbow, and the bag thuds against your calf.

“What am I gonna do with you, hmm?” He steps back, takes hold of your purse, and throws it over his shoulder. Then, he wraps his arm around your waist and holds you snugly to his side, determined to get you home safely by whatever means necessary. After helping you into the passenger seat, he reaches over to fasten your seatbelt. “No hurling in here, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” you salute before sitting back so that your head is supported by the headrest.

Getting you up the stairs was the hard part. He unlocks the apartment door and gently steers you toward the bathroom.

You make a feeble attempt to resist, grasping onto the door frame before finally yielding to your waning strength.

Eddie lets go of you and begins to rummage in search of supplies.

“Okay, Eddie Bear. I’m ready for my bath,” You slur, leaning against the wall for support as you start to ease yourself into the tub.

“Eddie Bear, huh? That’s new,” he snorts before glancing over. “Oh, no you don’t. C’mere,” Eddie grasps you by the waist once more, guiding you to sit on the closed toilet seat.

With both hands, he cradles your booze-warmed cheeks, unintentionally pushing your lips into a pout. “Stay put, would ya?”

Mumbling to himself, Eddie goes back to gathering the first aid supplies. “I look away for two goddamn seconds. Nothing but trouble, I swear.”

The pout doesn’t leave your face and you cross your arms with an annoyed huff. As the seconds pass, it's as though there’s elevator music playing in your head while you wait for something to happen.

Eddie crouches at your feet. “So, what’s your justification for getting shit-faced on a weeknight?” The tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips as he begins wiping away the dried blood on your knees with a damp cloth.

“Boys are dumb, that’s why.”

“I know, aren’t they just the worst?” Eddie concurs with a hum. He stands to rinse the cloth, washes his hands, and then fully gets to his knees on the tile floor to apply ointment.

“Yeah, they are,” Your voice trails off as you look at his fingers resting firmly on your thigh, just above your knee, to prevent any inadvertent movement.

Engrossed in your own little world, you start humming an improvised tune. “Like them so much,” you sing-song to yourself.

Eddie glances up at you briefly. “What’s that?”

“Your hands,” you explain and poke each of his knuckles with your index finger. “You’ve got such nice fingies.”

“Fingies?” Eddie smiles as he secures bandages over both of your knees. He withdraws his touch from your thigh and he takes hold of your hand, turning it palm-side up.

“Mhm, the nicest.”

“Yours are nice too,” he comments as he cleans the scrape on the heel of your hand. As Eddie admires the intricate lines and wrinkles across your palm, he inadvertently brushes the cloth directly against your wound.

You make a high-pitched fuss in reaction to the sudden contact, reflexively pulling your hand away.

“Shit, sorry,” Eddie apologizes earnestly. He applies the ointment before applying a bandage. Rising to his feet, he theatrically brushes off his hands. “There, good as new.”

You reach out to him in a toddler-like manner and make grabby hands at him.

Eddie laughs and leans against the door frame. “I’m not carrying you. Brush your teeth so we can get you into bed.”

“You’re no fun,” you groan while you stand awkwardly, the bandages restricting full movement. You wet your toothbrush and squeeze toothpaste onto it, making sure to shoot a scowl at Eddie as you do.

After lackadaisically brushing your teeth, you plop the brush back into its cup. “There, squeaky clean. Happy?”

“As a clam,” Eddie says with a grin. He steps back to allow you out of the bathroom. “Go put your PJs on.”

With a dismissive wave, you drag your feet to your room and begin to dig through your dresser drawer.

Just as he’s about to start picking up after himself, he’s interrupted.

“Eddie,” You call out defeatedly. 

“Yeah?” When he doesn’t receive an immediate response, he cautiously steps into the doorway of your room. There you stand, still wearing your dress.

“I can’t reach it,” You say, turning your back to him and bowing your head slightly, signaling that you need his assistance.

Eddie swallows hard and mutters under his breath, “Right, the zipper,” Stepping into the room, his hands start to tremble.

Now positioned behind you, he carefully takes hold of the small piece of metal. Despite the trembling, Eddie tries his best not to make contact with your skin as it’s revealed by the descending zipper.

Dizziness consumes him as his eyes flit between your shoulder blades. Once your dress is completely unzipped, Eddie takes a significant step backward, putting distance between the two of you. “Is that all you need?”

You return to sifting through your pajama options. “I think so.” 

Eddie retreats to the bathroom. The image of your bare back is seared into his memory, he’s just gonna have to live with it etched into his mind forever.

After regaining his composure, he locates some aspirin and fills a drinking glass with water. “Are you decent?” Eddie asks hesitantly, not daring to step closer to the threshold without receiving confirmation.

“Uh huh,” You mumble, flopping onto your bed and committing to the first position you land in.

Holding the cup of water and two tablets of pain relief, Eddie re-enters your bedroom. He finds you sprawled and droopy-eyed lying on your back.

Eddie’s chunky metal rings clink against the glass when he sets it down on your nightstand. “I think you’ll appreciate this little visit from the aspirin fairy come morning. You’re gonna feel like shit.”

“Okay,” you murmur, your attention glued to how his strong nose casts a shadow on his cheek in the glow of your bedside lamp. Flipping onto your side facing the door, you yawn and stretch your toes.

Eddie gathers the jumbled blanket from the other side of the bed and drapes it over you, covering you up to your shoulders with care.

Although he wants to, he refrains from tucking you in, concerned that you might trip or get more hurt if you need to get up. “Well, goodnight.”

Just as Eddie turns to leave, your weak grasp seizes his hand before he’s out of reach. It stops him in his tracks, and his gaze follows the path from your joined hands, tracing up your arm until his eyes meet yours.

Fighting to keep your eyes open, you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness. “I don’t want you to go.”

He returns without needing any further invitation and sits on the edge of the bed by your belly. Releasing his hand, you rub your eye before tucking your fist beside your head.

Looking down at you affectionately, a grin graces Eddie’s face. He watches as your eyelids flutter closed, and your breathing becomes slow and steady. “Such a sleepy girl.”

With your eyes cemented closed, you adjust your head on the pillow before drifting off to sleep. Eddie stays put for a minute or two, simply admiring you. He’s never seen something so precious.

His heartbeat rattles his ribs, just as it did the first time he saw you waitressing at Double Barrel. That static-like tingling plagues his extremities as an old thought resurfaces. In those conversations where you shared your life stories, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be kissed by you.

Eddie’s eyes brim with tears at the fact that his presence is solely due to your inebriation, and this closeness it’s about to expire. “God,” he exhales, rolling his eyes skyward to hold back his tears.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, pulling the blanket a touch higher over your shoulder. Then, he switches off the lamp and leaves you to rest.

Dwelling on the fact that you won’t remember tonight won’t do him any good. Getting this close to you would have never happened in sober circumstances. At least he got to take care of you in the way he always wanted, even if only for a short time.

Over the past few days, Eddie has been thinking about how he felt when you relied on him to get you home. He’s curious whether the call you made to him signifies that you still want him in your life. If that happens to be the case, then he can work with that.

Going through with this might worsen the sting of rejection, but Eddie has his heart set on mending things.

Within moments of entering the bar and scouring the room for you, he spots you conversing with Lee about a table’s order. Eddie begins to pat his thighs in an erratic rhythm as he feels his insides lurch.

As soon as Lee notices Eddie, he wraps up the conversation and gets back to work. You observe Eddie, noticing the hopefulness on his face as he strides across the room. “Do you need something?”

“Not necessarily. I was wondering if I could uh, make you dinner or something?” Eddie kicks one foot with the other and totters back and forth in place. 

Your expression changes to one of disbelieving annoyance. “I can slap together a PB&J at home, but thanks.”

“No, no. I’m serious, I’ll make whatever you want,” Eddie insists.

“What for?”

Eddie briefly looks away, scratching at the nape of his neck. “I miss hanging out with you.”

“I don’t know,” You ponder with uncertainty, your gaze monitoring the occupied tables in case you’re needed.

“Let me cook for you. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

His pleading eyes wear you down. “Fine, when?”

A bright smile spreads across Eddie’s face, stretching from ear to ear. He bounces on his tiptoes with enthusiasm. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can set a time then.”

“Sure, yeah,” you respond, your attention diverted to a booth on the far side of the room where the seated customers wave you over. “Look, I gotta go.”

You’re already back in work mode and walking away before Eddie can say anything else. He just stands there, incapable of shrinking his smile to a mere grin.

Bowing his head, Eddie pumps his fists at his sides in a moment of triumph. With the opportunity for redemption sitting in his lap, he has his heart set on making things right.

In the days leading up to the agreed-upon dinner, Eddie makes several trips to the library, hunting for a recipe for the meal you mentioned. He dips into his emergency savings to purchase extra ingredients, dedicating his time and money to practice making it.

The first go around, he forgot to add two crucial ingredients, resulting in a bland and tasteless dish. Eddie couldn’t let it go to waste, so he settled for the less-than-impressive dinner that night.

On the second attempt, he tried to compensate for the previous mistake by adding more than enough seasoning. He didn’t exactly do it on purpose; it poured out of the canister much faster than Eddie expected. Regrettably, that meal went straight into the trash. Eddie couldn’t stomach a forkful of it.

Eddie absolutely, positively cannot fuck this one up. He can’t afford to, both figuratively and literally. Without a doubt, if he serves you a shit dinner, you’ll push him out of your life for good.

When you knock on the front door, the perceived silence on the other side of the door is broken with a clatter and muffled cursing. The quiet resumes and hangs in the air for a couple of seconds before the door swings open.

There stands Eddie, hair a little tousled. “Hello, hello!”

His stomach does somersaults at the sight before him; your clothes accentuate your figure, and your skirt suits you. Once again, you look stunning and appropriately dressed for a date.

Meanwhile, Eddie doesn’t have many options to choose from. The most formal thing he owns is a button-up shirt and it’s too dressy, but it’s all he has. Paired with it are his holeless black jeans. Before today, he never thought it was possible to be both over and underdressed at the same time.

“Come on in,” Eddie says, stepping aside with reluctance, allowing you to enter his apartment.

As soon as he opened the door to you, his mind turned into a whirlwind of second-guessing himself. The shirt is definitely too formal, but Eddie wants to prove that he knows it’s a date this time, and he means for it to be one. If only he owned an iron so that the material wasn’t as wrinkly as it is.

He wants to prove that he can clean up nicely, evident from the scent of aftershave and cologne. Eddie meticulously clipped his fingernails and tidied his eyebrows, ensuring that he is as presentable as possible.

“This is my castle,” He gestures to the space.

The entirety of the afternoon was spent tidying up and Eddie couldn’t bear to leave a single surface undusted. Any potentially embarrassing materials were tucked away and he washed all of his dirty dishes.

As you enter and survey his studio apartment, he takes the opportunity to rake through his bangs with his fingers. You spot his sketchbook sprawled open on the guitar amp and pick it up.

“Oh, those are nothing, you don’t have to-” Eddie moves forward and reaches out, intending to retrieve the drawing pad, but pauses when you point to the sketch he recently finished.

“This one,” you trace the lines of the drawing with your finger before looking over at him. “I’d get this one.”

“You’d let me give you ink?” There’s a hint of insecurity and surprise in his voice as he subtly retrieves the sketchbook from your grasp.

“Maybe. It depends if you’re still shit at it,” you shrug casually, interlocking your hands behind your back as you assess the living room area. Your attention falls on the antique bookshelf, adorned with miscellaneous items and framed photos. “Has Cliff let you take clients yet?”

“No, you’d be my first real canvas,” Eddie admits.

As you continue looking around, his gaze is one beat ahead of yours. His eyes land on it just before yours do, and his stomach drops upon spotting the one thing he forgot to hide.

“Oh my god!” You squeal, rushing over to the couch and scooping up Mr. Pickles. “Who’s this cutie?”

Pale as a ghost, Eddie stares blankly back at you. How the fuck did he forget to hide the one thing on this planet that rids him of all masculinity.

“I’ll introduce you another time,” Eddie silently urges you to put Mr. Pickles back in his spot, desperately hoping you’ll never bring it up again.

In actuality, he should be thanking himself for the oversight, because you look far more high-spirited than when you stood outside his door.

“I’m looking forward to it,” You brush over the matted fur on the bunny’s head before carefully placing him back on the sofa.

The tension dissipates on his body as he picks up on the change in your energy. It’s reminiscent of how happy you were to see him when you were drunk. But this time is different; it’s genuine, rather than influenced by alcohol.

You’re lured into the kitchen by the incredible aroma, and the steaming food matches the enticing smell. “There’s no way in hell you made that.”

“You bet your ass I did,” Eddie retorts with his hands on his hips while he makes his way from the front door to the kitchen.

You step closer to him. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” you purr, inching closer until your toes nearly make contact with his socked ones. With featherlight pressure, you place a tender kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

Eddie’s internal circuits fry as he tries to process the fact that he just got kissed on the cheek for the first time. His lungs refuse their vital function, denying him oxygen. He retreats by half a step, attempting to mask the blazing rosiness of his face.

“For god’s sake, I’m so sick of whatever this stupid game is.”

“What game? I’m not-” Eddie panics.

“You get me to throw myself at you by doing thoughtful shit like this, but when I finally make a move, you act revolted.”

“I swear to Christ I’m not playing with you. I mean, I’m not trying to,” Eddie explains, his words jumbling together. “I know I've been making a total ass of myself, and tonight was supposed to fix that. But I just- I keep screwing up because I like you and you make me so nervous.”

You scoff, halfway turned toward the door. “That’s hard to believe. You flinch if I so much as bump into you. You don’t want to touch me, I get it.”

A pang of guilt hits him like a baseball bat to the stomach. “No no no, I do! I wanna touch you,” Eddie admits. “Look, you mean so goddamn much to me. You deserve someone who can make you feel good, and I can’t do that.”

Still guarded, you sound agitated but you turn to face him nonetheless. “What are you talking about?”

His voice lowers, a whisper of shame. “I don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. Nobody wants to fuck the dorky virgin, y’know?” Eddie’s vision blurs from the tears veiling his vision.

You frown at the vulnerable quiver in his voice. “I do, I’ve been wanting to.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t be able to make you cum.”

“I have to disagree with you on that. You’re a fast learner,” You extend your hand to him at waist height.

Eddie stares at your outstretched hand, struggling to process the gesture. He holds his breath, torn between his anxiety and trust. Cautiously, he places his hand in yours.

The benevolent hold pulses a flash flood through his being, the frigid water jolting his systems alive. When you intertwine your fingers with his, the clamminess is evident against the softness of your palm. Insecurity floods him, worried that you’ll be repulsed by it.

Cracks of lightning electrify Eddie’s heart, rendering him unable to meet your gaze. Instead, he focuses intensely on your joined hands. “I have no idea what I'm doing though.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him with a confident smile. Giving his hand a slight squeeze, you add, “See, not so scary anymore, right?”

Eddie shakes his head, even though fear is still coursing through his veins. You pick up on his hesitation and knowing that he won’t do it himself, you guide his hand to your hip and leave it there.

He sort of caresses, not out of boldness, but seeking to alleviate the numbness in his fingers. The sensation has already spread to other parts of his body.

Your patient expression, graced with a grin, grows into a bright smile when you meet his eyes. Eddie’s confidence blossoms, and he uses his other hand to cradle your cheek.

Acquainting himself with the contours of your face, his thumb strokes lightly from beneath your eyes and along your cheekbone. He starts to smile too as his nerves give way to the feeling of reassurance.

As you tilt your head into his touch, your eyelids flutter closed, and you grasp at the loose sides of his shirt, pulling him closer. He steps forward willingly, but his voice retains an uncertain tone. “I really wanna kiss you, but I’ve never, uh…”

You lean in, and the tip of your nose gently brushes against his. The thundering of his heart in his ears drowns out everything but your voice.

“Close your eyes and follow my lead, okay?” The warmth of your breath encircles his lips, turning his knees to jelly. 

Eddie can’t even whisper a confirmation. At your request, he closes his eyes, leaving him solely reliant on his other senses. The smoothness of your lips against his registers as a gentle peck with just enough pressure for him to feel it. It lingers, and he finds himself incapable of moving his lips in response.

“Want another?”

With his eyes still closed, he murmurs, “Yes, please.”

Devilishly, you press a kiss to his wrist, the hand that is still gently cradling your face.

Eddie’s eyes open, a pout and a scowl simultaneously forming his reaction. “Nu-uh, right here,” he insists, leaning in eagerly. He’s caught up in the desire to feel it again but he’s still hesitant to initiate the kiss himself.

You happily close the gap and this time, Eddie slightly purses his lips against yours, doing his best to follow your lead. After giving it a few tries, he feels you withdraw but his head instinctively follows, chasing your lips.

His eyes swirl with affection as he grapples for something to say, feeling breathless and dumb. “Fuck, I don’t wanna stop doing that.”

“Then don’t.”

Finally, Eddie’s able to pursue, but only a fraction of a second before you. With determination, his pecks carry more verve. It’s easier than he thought it would be; granted, he can rely on his ability to keep a steady rhythm, a perk of being a musician.

Eddie didn’t think this could get any better—that is until your lips slot perfectly between his, wet and warm. He pauses, malfunctioning once more. As you kiss him deeply, his mind is dusted in a golden haze and it feels as though he’s floating within himself. Enveloped by the sensation of your hands on his collarbones, a soft noise escapes him.

Mortified, Eddie freezes. Instead of deterring you, it only spurs you on. You wrap your arms around his neck and mold your body against his. The intensity of the kiss only escalates, he’s chasing your storm, matching your every move.

Your fingers entwine in the curls at the nape of his neck, coaxing more noises from him. Eddie is so far gone that he’s unaware of the growing bulge in his jeans. His hand leaves your cheek, traces down your shoulder, and along the outside of your arm before clinging to your waist with both hands.

You hover over his lips, a stream of electricity fizzling between you. “Is it okay if I take my shirt off?”

Eddie forgets to respond but then nods fervently. With curious eyes, he watches intently as you lift your shirt, unveiling skin he’s never seen before.

He inhales and exhales shakily as your necklace falls back into its place against your chest. It’s not a swinging pocket watch, but Eddie is entranced nonetheless.

“You said you wanna touch me,” you draw his trembling hands up your sides. “Now’s your chance.”

Eddie’s hands ascend and meet the silky band of your bra, and you guide his palms forward to the plush foam padding. Your reassuring hold is encouraging, but Eddie tears his stare from your breasts to check-in. He finds you already looking at him, exuding a sweet demeanor. “Give it a try.”

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs in the thick column of his throat, his hands unmoving beneath yours.

“Like this,” You squeeze your hands twice before removing your guidance and allowing him to proceed at his own pace.

Adrenaline motivates him to cup them independently this time, and his cock twitches as he commits to the action.

“You’re doing great by the way,” You offer a smile.

Growing more confident, Eddie applies more pressure. His thumbs move in tandem, brushing over the area where your nipples are concealed. The innocent delight in his eyes burns dark into frustration after a few squeezes. Eddie huffs in annoyance at the fact that he’s only getting handfuls of padding.

“Easy, tiger. Want this off too?”

Heartened by the lack of ridicule, he feels safe. Regardless, Eddie fails to articulate more than a few words, his heart lodged in his throat. “If that’s okay with you.” 

“Come sit,” You suggest, taking his hand in yours to lead him to sit on the edge of the bed.

As he sits, Eddie thanks himself for having washed his sheets for tonight, despite never imagining that this would happen.

When you release his hand, both of them return to the plush of your waist, making himself at home there. The straps of your unhooked bra drape loosely on your arms, and his pupils dilate as the foam cups gradually gain distance from your body. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie says under his breath, his bottom lip shining after a swift swipe of his tongue.

Your hips receive an involuntary squeeze as his patience begins to waver. He then slides his hands back up to your ribs, using his thumb followed by the heel of his palms to graze the bottom of your breasts.

With a sigh of relief, Eddie no longer has to daydream about what they might look like. His beautiful brown eyes roam over your body like you’re a masterpiece, a sculpture carved from stone solely for him to admire endlessly. Savoring the moment, he takes his time to appreciate every second. Eddie doesn’t take your trust for granted.

After a minute or two, you scoot backward onto the mattress toward the pillows. “Let’s get more comfortable.”

He watches you recline half-naked on his bed, and his belly swirls at the sight. Eddie follows suit, crawling to you. Now positioned between your legs, Eddie hesitates as he looks down at you, your hips not making any contact.

His touch resumes at your waist, but this time he’s stroking the expanse of your tummy; it inadvertently brings comfort to both you and him. Until this moment, he’s never had the chance to see the tiny details on your face up close—the distinct aspects that compose your sheer beauty.

Eddie’s hazelnut curls hang over his ears as his gaze trails over your neck and chest. His intense adoration makes you want to hide, but the unease is melted away when he captures your lips with his own. Eddie feels like it’s already been too long since he last kissed you, the deprivation like that of extreme thirst.

Goosebumps prickle his fully dressed form, a surge of belonging filling the cracks in the surface of his heart. Timid pecking is a thing of the past, each kiss more fervid than the one before it. The wet click of your lips drowns out the inhibitions buzzing in his ears.

Eddie’s large hand paws at your breast, his thumb playing with your pebbled nipple, drawing a whine from the back of your throat. You tug him closer by his jeans, bringing his hips down against yours. Regardless of the denim barrier, this causes a change in him. When you lift your hips against Eddie, he grinds back just as needily.

As your lips part, he begins a trail of affection along your cheek, jaw, and down your neck. When Eddie reaches your collarbones, his mouth moves hurriedly. He’s itching to fulfill the longing that’s been something he’s imagined plenty of times before. Kissing every inch in his descent, Eddie hunches over and takes your nipple into his mouth.

The melodious sound that pours from you makes him painfully harder. His cock strains against the metal zipper of his jeans, fighting to defy the taut material. You arch into his mouth, and Eddie continues to grind against the apex of your thighs.

He licks his way across to give much-needed attention to your opposite breast, all the while maintaining stimulation on the other with his thumb. Eddie suckles and flicks his tongue, his breath hitting your bare skin like a sweltering midsummer heat wave.

The reciprocity of sincerity is blowing his mind; the way it feels to have your hands weaving through his hair. There’s a slight tug when your fingers catch on a knot, and the sting only fans the flames burning in his lower belly.

Eddie releases your nipple, leaving it bereft of the heat of his mouth. Following his previously explored path up your chest and neck, he bashfully looks into your eyes. “Could I, uh, kiss you down there, too?”

“Normally I’d have to ask for head. Are you sure?”

The melted milk chocolate of his irises practically drips off of his lashes as he blinks at you. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

“I’m not entirely convinced,” You coax him playfully.

“I’ll just have to prove how starving I am then, won’t I?” Eddie quips, moving out of the way to remove your skirt. As he does, the waistband slips from your hips and he slides it off your legs.

You’re in nothing but your panties and the white cotton is not particularly sexy, but they sure are familiar. That day at the laundromat, Eddie never imagined he’d see you in this exact pair at some point. He wonders if you did.

His fingertips tap their way up your thighs until they reach the band of your underwear. You look so cute with your hands resting across your belly like an awaiting princess—his princess.

Much like the skirt before it, the garment is tugged down the curvature of your legs. Your knees knock together as your legs reflexively close. Meanwhile, Eddie is mesmerized by the damp patch on panties hanging from his fist.

“You wanna keep 'em?”

Eddie nods with feigned innocence. These would go to good use, he thinks. 

“They’re all yours,” You grant his wish.

“I feel so spoiled,” he says while tucking them into his back pocket for safekeeping. Then, Eddie redirects his attention to the living art laid out before him. “Especially for getting to see you like this,” he drags his fingertips along the outside of your calves until they reach your knees.

Your legs fall open, proudly putting your glistening cunt on display for him. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, moon-eyed. He repositions himself between your legs, lying on his stomach. Drool pools on his tongue, his mouth just inches away from your body. With one arm wrapped under your thigh, Eddie uses a finger on his free hand to collect the wetness that’s all for him.

“Don’t be a tease,” You fuss.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Eddie responds, ready to put his new skill to use. It starts with a testing press of his lips against your clit. He works his way lower, mouthing at you messily, making out with your cunt. Eddie licks his lips and rests his cheek against your inner thigh. “Can I use my fingers too?”

“Yeah, just take it slow,” You gather his hair and keep it out of his face so it doesn’t get in the way.

Eddie glides two digits through your folds, admiring the way the pads of his fingers glisten with the mix of your slick and his spit. Slowly, he eases his two fingers into your entrance. They sink deeper without facing resistance, and you soak him down to his bottom knuckles. Eddie looks up at you from between your legs, amazed. “You’re so wet.”

You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze. “You own a mirror, don’t you? How could I not be.”

Flattered, Eddie smiles. He draws his fingers back before plunging them into you a little faster this time, though not by much. As you lay back and get comfortable, you instinctively roll your hips downward with each thrust of his fingers.

With his cheek still resting on the inside of your thigh, he’s unable to bring himself to speed up, downright mesmerized by the sensation of your velvety walls squeezing around his fingers. When he accidentally flexes and curls them upward, it elicits a pretty gasp from you.

Eddie’s gaze flits up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What was that?” he teases and does it again, deliberately. “Did you say something?”

You moan, “That feels amazing,” You run your hand up your belly to your breast, massaging yourself in tandem with his improved technique.

He finds a steady tempo, rubbing the spot that makes your nerves flare. With nothing else on his mind, Eddie is fully engrossed as he drives his digits into you. Your fingers suddenly appear before him to rub your clit for added stimulation.

“Oh my god,” You moan unabashedly, arching your back off of the bed in response to the heightened ecstasy.

“You like that?” Eddie looks up at you, feeling a rush of pride as you writhe.

“Yes- fuck, I’m almost there.”

Eddie boldly nudges your hand away with his nose, swiftly replacing your fingers with his tongue, flicking it passionately.

Your moans fill his ears as he laps at you, enjoying the way you taste when you unravel. He’s so in the zone that he fails to realize you’ve already reached your peak and become overstimulated.

You squirm in his grip, gently pushing his forehead away. “Eddie, Eddie!”

“Yeah?” His fingers stop abruptly, and he looks at you with doe-like eyes, your glossy sugar smeared all over his lips and chin.

“It’s too much,” You say exhaustedly.

“Shit, my bad,” Eddie frowns, disappointed that his fun has come to an end. He slowly withdraws his digits, admiring the way you’ve coated them. He drags his fingers down his tongue like your arousal is cake batter from a bowl. A low hum emanates from Eddie as he sucks them clean, inadvertently making a show of it. “God, your pussy tastes good. Even better than I dreamed it would.”

“Come here,” You beckon him, smiling blissfully.

Eddie wastes no time getting onto his hands and knees and crawls up between your legs. Hovering over you, he gazes into your eyes, cheeks dimpled. “I made you cum.”

“I can’t remember the last time I came that hard either,” you chuckle, noticing the sheen on his face. You grab your discarded shirt to wipe it off. “Here, let me-”

“No!” Eddie angles out of your reach, his brow furrowed. Using his still-sticky fingers, he wipes at his lips and chin, licking his digits clean once more. “Can’t let it go to waste.”

After you tuck his frizzy curls behind his ears, Eddie’s tender grin fades. Your hands slowly move down his pecs to his belt, and you tug at the metal buckle. Just as you free the leather from the prong, he stops you.

“Uh- wait.” The hesitance in his voice brings your pursuit to a halt. The way you shrink back causes his heart to squeeze.

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to go all the way if you’re not ready.”

“It’s not that. Believe me,” Eddie reassures you. He brings a hand to the side of your face and strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m just worried that you’ll never wanna see me again ‘cause I'm so terrible in bed.”

Your shoulders raise and lower with the deep breath that you take. “You said you want to make me feel good, right?”

“More than anything,” Eddie declares in a heartbeat.

“Your cock would.”

Eddie nearly shudders and his voice burns raspy. “Yeah? You want it?”

You hook your fingers through his belt loops and tug, staring back at him intensely. “Not want. I need you inside me.”

“Christ,” he gulps and presses his hips forcefully against yours, dampening the denim. Eddie lowers his mouth to your shoulder and kisses it. “I wanna know what it feels like so bad.”

You turn your head and nibble his earlobe. “Let’s take care of that, shall we?” When your hands return to his partially undone belt, Eddie doesn’t intervene this time.

“I don’t have protection though.”

Blindly, you unbutton and unzip his jeans. “Side pocket of my purse.”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away and awkwardly scoots backward off the bed. His pants hang low on his slender hips, exposing the snug elastic band of his blue plaid boxers. After finding the condom, he inspects it. “I have no fucking clue how to use this.”

Sitting up, you hold your hand out. “I can put it on you if you want.”

Eddie hands it to you, then it occurs to him that he’s still fully dressed. While you’re tearing the foil package, he yanks down his jeans and kicks them away, his belt jangling. Only a few buttons are undone from the neck before he gets impatient. Eddie tears his shirt over his head, leaving his mane disheveled.

He pulls at the waistband of his precum-soaked boxers indecisively, but the sight of your beautiful naked body reminds him that it’s only fair. Eddie pulls them down and his anxiety has caused him to go partially soft. When you look at him, he wishes the world would swallow him whole. 

Your eyes rake across his slim frame, then meet his eyes instead of drifting below his waist. Eddie climbs back onto the bed, sitting on his haunches. You crawl onto your knees to join him and pull his body against yours, kissing him.

Mumbling against your lips, he tries to apologize for already failing you by being unable to stay hard, but his words falter as the kiss deepens, his worries becoming an afterthought. Eddie grips your waist, and the sensation of your breasts pressing against his bare chest makes him feel woozy. As soon as you break the kiss, he’s immediately filled with fear once more. “If it’s small or it looks weird, don’t tell me.”

You effectively distract him from his insecurities by trailing your lips down his pulse, dragging your teeth along the supple skin there. Eddie grips your ass harshly, a shaky sound pouring from his throat as you kiss your way down his body. He watches, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

As you finally look at his shy cock, you run your palms up and down the sparse hair on his outer thighs. “You’re the perfect size for me,” You compliment him with a smile. 

“I am?”

You suck a bruise on the pale skin of his waist. “Yeah, you are.” 

Eddie’s eyes close, his hands resting on your shoulders as he focuses on the sensation of you licking and biting him. Lost in the feeling rather than inside of his head, Eddie’s cock gradually rouses.

Having previously set it aside, you grab the condom. “Hold it still for me, please.”

“O-Okay,” he secures it at the base, his palm covering the trimmed thatch of curls. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” With one hand, you fit the band around the tip, and with your other, you roll the latex down his shaft. That alone causes Eddie’s mouth to fall open, a ghosted moan tumbling from his lips.

“There, easy peasy,” Sitting back up and wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against you. His wrapped, twitching cock is trapped between your bodies. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“I’m not sure I could if I tried,” Eddie says, his eyes flitting between yours. “Is this really happening?”

“It’s happening,” After kissing the tip of his nose, you settle back bringing him down with you to get comfortable, your head resting on the pillow.

Eddie returns to the previous position, this time with your legs hiked around his hips, causing his cock to rub against your mound. Afraid of poking around too much, he asks, “Would you do the honors, m’lady?”

“Why, of course,” you say with a giggle. You guide the head of his cock right where it needs to be and look into Eddie’s eyes. “Go ahead.”

He swallows hard and inches his hips forward, the tip of his cock breaching your entrance. Eddie sinks until he’s halfway sheathed by the hot embrace of your cunt. As he pushes the rest of the way in, his jaw falls slack.

“You doing okay?” You soothingly stroke the bulging veins on his forearms.

“Mhm,” Eddie mumbles with his lips rolled inward. After a few seconds without moving, he draws his hips back and then drives them forward. The moan that rips from his chest is unholy.

After two or three agonizingly slow and experimental thrusts, the motion comes naturally to him after all that practice he’s gotten from humping his poor pillow in this very spot. “Fuck me,” The hand that isn’t supporting Eddie’s weight fists at the bed sheets as he thrusts repeatedly, falling into a slow and steady pace. “Jesus fucking fuck.”

“Look at you go,” you moan out. “It feels amazing, doesn’t it?”

“Feels… god, you feel incredible,” Eddie grunts, propping himself up on both hands. His hair hangs down, swaying with the tempo of his hips. In this position, he can watch the bounce of your body with each thrust and he’s doing just that.

The grazing of your fingernails along his flexing hips throws off his pace. It weakens him, especially when you’re looking at him the way you are. Eddie is so consumed by the feeling of you wrapped around him that he can’t be self-conscious about the fact that he’s moaning every time he sinks back into you.

The shame of virginity has been lifted away as Eddie experiences this night of firsts with the girl he’s crazy about. Eddie is struggling to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second of this. He’s captivated by the way you’re watching his length disappear inside you over and over.

You look stunning lying on his pillow, anchoring his body to yours. Before tonight, he considered the concept of moaning someone's name to be cliché because it only happens in the movies. But Eddie’s had a change of heart because he can’t stop saying yours. It’s all of you right here, right now, all over, making a man out of him.

His muscles begin to tremble, and he lowers himself onto his forearms. Eddie rests his forehead against yours, his hips stuttering. “I’m so close, baby. I don’t wanna cum,” He slows his movement to stave off his orgasm.

“I want you to,” You express while gliding your hands down his muscular back.

“No,” Eddie protests, ceasing his thrusts entirely. “I want you to cum again first.”

“This isn’t about me.”

 “Are you shitting me? It’s always been about you,” he pulls back to look into your eyes. “I’d do anything for you, you’re so damn worth it.”

Just before you have the chance to respond, Eddie unexpectedly rolls his hips. With one hand, he thumbs at your clit, watching how your eyes roll back. He doesn’t even have to look down to see the mess you’re making because he can hear it.

Eddie’s moans dance with yours as he pushes his knees forward, adjusting the angle of his hips to mimic a ‘come hither’ motion. He knows he’s found the spot he discovered prior when your legs spasm around him. In response, Eddie rubs your clit harder.

The way your walls tighten makes it all that more difficult for him to hold back. He’s on the cusp, his abs tensing as he tries to fight it. Your hand flies above you to push against the headboard, your other one occupied with gripping his flexing waist.

“Cum for me,” Eddie growls, frustrated with himself as he teeters on the edge, just seconds away from spilling into the condom.

Your brows furrow and your eyes squeeze shut, a rush of air getting caught in your throat as you climax.

“Yeahhh, that’s it,” Eddie’s abdominal muscles tense to their limit. “Oh- fuck,” His voice pitches higher.

“I’m yours,” You moan prettily and guide him down, letting him bury his face in your neck to give his arms a well-deserved rest.

“All mine,” Eddie says between his labored breaths. He grips and lifts your hips while you kiss his shoulder. Losing their previous steadiness, his strokes become shorter and more sporadic. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cuh- uh- mmm.”

Eddie lets out a whimper as he delivers two unsteady thrusts before slamming his hips against you, burying himself as he orgasms. His ass tenses and ripples, the muscles contracting as he rides out his high.

Panting loudly, Eddie stills his movements completely and props himself up to look down at you. “Jesus Christ. After that, I wanna have you for dinner every day,” he says against your cheek before kissing it. “As a snack in the middle of the night,” Eddie adds, kissing your temple. “Shit, you’d be good for breakfast too. It’s the most important meal of the day, y’know.”

You let out a winded giggle, your bodies sticking together as he struggles to keep himself propped up.

“Sweetheart, can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” You tease and smile wide when he rolls his eyes and snorts.

Eddie takes your hand, flattening your palm against his chest so that you can feel how vigorously his heart is beating. “Is this what being in love feels like?” He asks tearfully.

“Yeah,” you nod, placing his hand over your own heart that’s thudding just as hard. “Just like this.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

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[galedekarios]

gale & curing the orb - early access

writing my current series of cut content from early access made me think a lot, especially about how curing gale of the orb might have originally worked out if larian had kept to what had been set up in early access. it's no secret that a lot of things were changed or cut entirely, big and small, like for instance halsin's involvement with ketheric's fall, isobel and the shadow curse.

gale's condition, too, seemed different then.

what exactly was different in early access?

while only a few body models were unique in early access, gale's key art showed his left arm in bandages.

in early access, auntie ethel had vicious mockery lines, which hinted what might be beneath those bandages:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

we also had information from gale directly as to what happened to karsus in the aftermath of casting his spell:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus’ folly.

which is in accordance with the lore:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood. The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder, like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed. Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. When he spoke, the pool fountained upwards, its height varying on the volume of his voice.

the netherese orb then seemed to have a immediate visible physical effect on gale, in addition to the ones that carried to the full release version of the game.

so putting these clues together, i think it's safe to say that the orb caused gale in early access to be afflicted with some form of corrupted petrification, which makes sense given that it's a piece of magic unleashed during karsus's folly.

at that point, this corruption seemed to be affecting his left arm the most, perhaps either from opening the book containing the netherese magic with it, or trying to shield himself with it - but that's just speculation on my part.

so what did the early access set up in terms of curing gale from his affliction?

gale in early access showed a great interest in the astral plane, especially in the absence of time there. he has several banters with lae'zel, which are still in the game now and showing his vested interest in the astral plane as well as any knowledge or insight lae'zel might offer on it:

Gale asks Lae'zel about the Astral Plane. Has she been there? Gale: Tell me, Lae'zel, what is it like on the Astral Plane? Your home realm intrigues me. Lae'zel: Githyanki lay their eggs on other planes. They cannot mature in the Astral. Lae'zel: I will only be welcomed once I obtain a mind flayer's head.

lae'zel notices gale's interest and initiates a banter of her own:

Lae'zel asks Gale what his interest is in the Astral plane, and he equivocates Lae'zel: Tell me, Gale: what is your interest in the Astral Plane? Gale: Time. Or rather: the absence of it. In the Astral Plane, everything is eternal. Lae'zel: It will be my home soon enough, should Vlaakith will it.

in addition to these banters, which clearly show gale's interest in the astral plane - which now in the full release seems merely academic - hinted at another solution to ridding himself of the orb.

what points to that quite conclusively is gale's dialogue when he reveals the truth about the orb to the protagonist.

this reveal differs quite significantly from the full release version. most notably, the protagonist was able to ask him about his own ideas for a what might be able to cure him from the orb.

gale had something very interesting to say to that question:

Player: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerun brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

so what does this all mean?

in conclusion, i believe originally there were either more ways to cure gale from the orb - or maybe even in a different manner entirely - than there are in the full release version of the game (begging mystra to remove it, ascension, or accepting/keeping the orb).

perhaps even one that would circumvent having to beg mystra for forgiveness entirely, without gale having to sacrifice his mortality to do so.

i think these banters and lines of dialogue show that the astral plane, which would have rendered the orb inert and stopped the corrupted petrification of his body, would have played a bigger role in gale's quest.

[sinkovia]

The Coliseum

Gladiator Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Violence, blood, mention of death.

Masterlist

In the splendor of the royal box, you, the princess, watched with bated breath as the gladiatorial games unfolded below. Among the fierce warriors, one figure stood out to you. The way his eyes looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and longing made your heart yearn for him.

As Simon emerged victorious, you approached him with reverence, a crown of delicate flowers clasped gently in your hands. With adoration shining in your eyes, you lifted the floral adornment and placed it upon his head, a gesture of respect and admiration for his remarkable fight.

Your voice reached his ears like a soothing melody. "What is your name?" your words carrying a softness that made Simon's heart flutter within his chest.

"Simon," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he bowed his head in deference, feeling unworthy to be in the presence of such grace and beauty.

"You fought with honor, Simon, something I rarely see" your praise washed over him like a soothing balm to his weary soul. With gentle hands, you took a fragrant cloth and wiped away the traces of blood from his face, your touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. 

As a final act of gratitude and affection, one that filled his heart with warmth, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him feeling as though he had been touched by an angel.

Simon was hesitant to entertain any feelings for you, knowing the risks involved in falling for the daughter of the king. He was a gladiator, a man bound by duty and honor, and the idea of getting involved with royalty seemed both reckless and forbidden.

However, you were always there to see him fight, sitting at the edge of your seat praying to the gods above to keep him safe. And every time he came out victorious you would be there placing a crown of flowers you had woven together on his head, smiling up at him, and placing a kiss upon his cheek.

Simon found himself drawn to you, the princess whose grace and kindness shone like a beacon in the darkness of the coliseum. Despite his initial reluctance to entangle himself with royalty, Simon couldn't deny the growing affection he felt for you, a love that bloomed quietly in the shadows, hidden from prying eyes.

Your meetings in secret became the highlight of his days, each stolen moment filled with whispered confessions and tender caresses. In your arms, he found solace from the brutality of the arena, his heart beating in rhythm with yours, bound by a love that defied all odds.

The shadows of secrecy could only conceal your love for so long. When your father discovered the truth of your forbidden romance, he devised a cruel plan to teach you a lesson.

Your father, driven by rage, forced Simon into a duel against the most formidable warrior in the land. Towering over Simon, the opponent loomed like a mountain, casting a shadow over the arena with his imposing stature.

With every ounce of strength and determination, Simon fought valiantly, his every move a testament to his unwavering love for you. But the odds were stacked against him, and despite his best efforts, he was ultimately overpowered by the brute force of his adversary. 

You watched in agony as Simon fell to the ground, his body battered and broken, while the deafening cheers of the crowd echoed in your ears like a cruel mockery of your grief. You cried out, your anguished scream piercing through the crowd. Ignoring your father's desperate attempts to restrain you, you broke free from his grasp and raced down to the arena, your heart breaking with each step.

In your grief-fueled rage, you lashed out, pushing aside anyone who dared stand in your way. With a single motion, you sent a soldier trying to restrain you tumbling down the steps, his neck snapping with a sickening crunch as his body rolled to the bottom.

When you reached the arena you grasped Simon's sword with trembling hands and as the warrior who had robbed you of your beloved raised his hands in triumph, basking in the cheers of the crowd, you plunged the sword deep into his back. The crowd erupted into shocked gasps as they witnessed the princess, their beloved royalty, committing a brazen act of violence before their eyes.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you collapsed beside Simon's lifeless form, the weight of grief and despair pressing heavily upon your heart. Tenderly, you cradled his face in your trembling hands, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips softly against his, a final gesture of love and longing.

But as your lips met his the shocked gasps of the crowd echoed around you, their disapproval thick in the air. In that moment, you were acutely aware of the gaping divide between your station as royalty and Simon's humble existence as a gladiator. Yet, despite the scornful glares and muttering voices, you refused to let go of the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Among the spectators, your father let out a cry of anguish, his voice reverberating with fury and disbelief at the display unfolding before him.

As the king's guards advanced towards you, their expressions a mix of apprehension and determination, you knew that your fate was sealed. With resolve burning brightly within you, you reached for the small dagger strapped to your thigh, a gift from Simon for your protection.

With a steady hand and a resolve born of unwavering love, you drew the blade across your throat, the searing pain nothing to the agony within your heart.

As the crimson blood stained the pristine fabric of your gown, the collective gasps and cries of the onlookers reached a fever pitch, mingling with the anguished wails of your father. 

As your blood mixed with Simon's on the bloodstained earth of the arena, you knew that in death, you would find solace in the arms of your beloved, united for eternity in a love that transcended even the boundaries of mortality and the barriers of royalty and status.

[nixiefics]

Submit

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: Smut, public sex, p in v, cunnilingus, rough (if you squint)

Aegon is a man obsessed.

Ever since the incident in his chamber a mere two nights ago, he cannot not rid himself of the feel of you. How your hair brushed his cheeks, how soft your skin was against his hand and your smell - it was as if you had cast a spell to have it constantly follow him around.

He imagines your giggles as a response to a different kind of touch and groans; it would seem as if he would be in a constant state of arousal until he could devise a plan to rid himself of these thoughts. It's slightly embarrassing that he cannot control himself - like a little boy discovering the pleasures of women for the first time.

Gods, he has known the pleasures of women for years and yet the mere thought of you seems to cause his body to overload with raw hunger. He could have you for an eternity and it would still not be enough.

You are giggling with a lady he does not recognize, a plain thing, about something or another but all Aegon can focus on is the delicious image of your mouth as a dollop of cream is left behind in the left corner. Your tongue darts out to clear it and Aegon wishes he could violently throw himself from the balcony to avoid the sudden rush of more blood to his lower body.

"Are you quite alright, Aegon?" Alicent appears suddenly and Aegon chokes on his own tongue, trying in vain to shift his body so as not to offend his mother. "You look pale, darling."

Your eyes dart to his with concern, a silent question. He wants to scream, rage at everyone to leave you alone with him - he wants to-

"The sun is bright today." he swallows as he gulps a particularly good vintage of Arbor Red; It's tasteless. "Too hot."

Alicent smooths a hand over his forehead and he wishes she would disappear - it feels more like smothering with her, sometimes. She takes a seat instead, on his left side and reaches for a pastry as she listens to you and the… whoever she is, prattle on.

"Going to my room." Aegon mumbles and drains his cup. "Tired of being outside." He needs release.

He nods at his guard and whispers something to another, and you watch him with a forlorn expression. He had been acting very strange lately and you wondered if you had taken your teasing too far the other night. It had been unintentional, just a testing of the boundaries, but he had swiftly ordered you to bed and slammed the door in your face leaving you feeling… hollow.

Your feelings for Aegon had always been immeasurable. He was the first boy who had given you attention - positive attention - and he was the only man you now felt secure around. You knew his marriage to Helaena was purely practical, a way to secure a claim he might or might not have, but you still felt jealous of your friend - that she knew him so intimately.

You blink as the sun glances off one of Lady Connington's bracelets. She was a fine enough conversationalist, but you would rather be with Aegon just laying down in an alcove somewhere and not saying anything. Gods, you need to ask a Maester for something for headaches.

"You are pale as well, Y/N." Alicent sighs, "Have you and Aegon been staying up late in the halls again?"

You want to snap that her son is grown and can do what he pleases but hold your tongue, lest you lose it. "No, Your Grace, I have not seen Aegon until this morning."

She frowns at your words and glances to where her eldest has disappeared. It is odd for you to not be in Aegon's company. Alicent had always been wary of your friendship with her son; feeling that it undermined everything she worked so hard to cultivate but it became evident that you did make Aegon happy and so she contented herself with the gossip of castle staff - you had not ever been abed together.

"Perhaps it is a summer flu, Your Grace." Lady Connington says, winking at you as she sips at her wine. "I have heard the smallfolk are getting light symptoms."

It is enough to divert Alicent's attention. Yes, that must be it; nothing untoward that a tincture from Maester Orwyle could not fix.

The night is warm, as only one in King's Landing could be. You're not sure how you managed it but you had found out from Aegon's sworn guard Ser Erryk that Ser Arryk had escorted him to the Dragon Pit. Aegon adored Sunfyre more than anything in the world and often snuck out to see him; when he wasn't in the Street of Silk, that is.

The Dragonkeepers eye you warily but allow you to pass into the caves unencumbered. Sunfyre was used enough to you that he would not cause much havoc. It is a familiar path as you step lightly past the lairs of Dreamfyre and the others, careful not to disturb their rest. The caves are sweltering, something you had never gotten used to, and you are grateful that you remembered to only dress in the lightest gown you had.

"Egg?" you call as you near Sunfyre's little corner. He is huddled against her side, eyes lazy as he clutches a bottle to his chest. No wonder Arryk had looked nervous outside.

"Wouldn’t let me take him out." Aegon slurs, "S'my damned dragon, can do what I like."

You smile and bow your head to the golden dragon, who is appraising his rider as if he had lost his mind - perhaps he had. "I doubt Sunfyre feels like a midnight flight, Egg. Why don't we just sit with him?"

Aegon hiccups and shakes his head, turning away from you as he takes another swig of his drink. He seems very upset with you and you are left speechless; not ever had Aegon gone without resolving a disagreement - not that you knew what this one was about.

Sunfyre adjusts himself as you approach, allowing you to perch against his leg and huffs a hot breath at you. If he could speak, you're sure he would be telling you to fix whatever is wrong with his rider.

"What is the matter, Aegon?" you ask tenderly, licking your lips to add some moisture to them. "You seem… put out by something."

He huffs and whirls to face you. "Women! I can't… why are you all so complicated?"

Taken aback, you laugh. It's not what he wants to hear and violently throws the bottle of liquor against the nearest wall, staggering to his feet.

"S'not fair, that… you all just get to hide your," he blinks for a moment and looks at you with a squint. "You can all just hide your hunger under dresses and pretty smiles. We… us men have to suffer the fucking embarrassment of being so… engorged! It's not fair!"

"You're not making sense, Egg." you whisper, hesitant that he might lash out in his drunken state. "I don't know what you mean?"

"I came in my pants." he yells, startling Sunfyre. The beast growls low and you swallow thickly as you move away tentatively. "Oh, sod it, you smug beast. You're allowed to have one over whichever pretty dragon you like! I came in my pants the other night from a stupid touch against her backside!"

You balk and shoot to your feet, not believing your own ears. "Aegon-

"You've bewitched me, Y/N." he is close now, the smell of mead on his breath almost too much. "You haunt my every thought - how you would moan and writhe… it's maddening."

You stand there, bathed in the eerie glow of the dragon cave, with its massive, shadowy form looming in the background. Aegon, his eyes glazed over from too much drink, sways slightly as he leans in closer to you. His breath, warm against your skin, carries the scent of ale and adventure.

In this moment, the air between you crackles with a tension that’s palpable, almost suffocating. You can feel the heat of his gaze, intense and hungry, as he inches closer, his lips mere inches from yours. The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in this enchanted cavern.

Your heart races with anticipation, your pulse echoing in your ears like a drumbeat. His hand reaches up, tentative yet eager, to brush against your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. Every nerve in your body tingles with anticipation, yearning for the moment his lips finally meet yours.

But just as your lips are about to touch, Aegon’s expression shifts. His eyes widen in alarm, and before you can react, he lurches forward, his stomach heaving. The spell is broken as he retches at your feet, the sound echoing off the cavern walls.

Disappointment floods through you, mingled with a hint of amusement at the absurdity of the situation. Sunfyre, observing the scene with a curious tilt of its head, seems to share in your bemusement.

With a sigh, you realize that this moment was not meant to be. Gathering your composure, you call Ser Arryk, who emerges from around the corner and observes the spectacle with a mixture of concern and amusement.

“Help me get him back to his room,” you say, your voice tinged with resignation. Together, you and Arryk lift Aegon’s limp form, carrying him out of the cave and back to his chambers, leaving behind the almost-kiss that never was. As you walk, you can't help but wonder what might have been, the taste of what almost happened lingering on your lips like a bittersweet promise unfulfilled.

Aegon avoids you for a week.

You've been on edge for what feels like an eternity. Every moment without his presence is a torment, a gnawing ache that refuses to be ignored. It's been a week since that almost-kiss, a moment suspended in time, fraught with anticipation and desire; leaving you standing there, lips tingling with the ghost of what could have been, while he stumbled off, retching embarrassingly in front of you.

Since that fateful moment, Aegon's been avoiding you like the plague. Your notes go unanswered and your attempts to bump into him accidentally-on-purpose met with swift evasions. The frustration builds within you like a storm, thundering in your chest with each passing day.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you decide to confront him. You track him down at his favourite tavern, where he sits alone in a back room, nursing a cup of his favourite Arbor Red. As you approach, he looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes before it's quickly masked by a guarded expression.

"We need to talk," you say, your voice trembling with pent-up emotion.

He nods slowly, gesturing for you to take a seat opposite him. The air between you crackles with tension, thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions.

"What's going on, Aegon?" you demand, your frustration boiling over. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I... I don't know," he admits, his voice tinged with regret.

"That's not good enough," you insist, your tone sharper now. "We almost kissed, Aegon. You've been avoiding me ever since. I need to know why."

He meets your gaze then, his eyes haunted with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. "Because I've wanted you for so long," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I never thought you felt the same way. And then when we were finally close, I... I got sick, and I thought you'd be repulsed by me."

Your heart aches at his words, the vulnerability in his voice pulling at your own insecurities. "You're an imbecile," you whisper, reaching out to touch his hand.

He looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes at your touch. "I know," he says softly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But I meant what I said. You're the best thing in my life, and I want to make you happy."

A rush of warmth floods through you at his words, melting away the walls you'd built around your heart. "I want that too, Aegon," you admit, your voice barely a whisper. "I've always wanted that."

You sit together in the small room, Aegon's gaze meets yours, his eyes reflecting the warmth of the candle as he reaches out to gently cup your face in his hands.

The air is filled with anticipation, a tangible electricity that seems to crackle between you. With a tender smile, Aegon leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a delicate caress. The touch is light at first, a gentle exploration that sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

But as the kiss deepens, the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment of pure connection. His lips are warm and inviting, a perfect match to the softness of your own as they move together in a dance of passion and longing.

You can feel the beat of his heart beneath his chest, steady and strong, matching the rhythm of your own. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you, lost in the blissful embrace.

You moan as his lips feather their way over your cheek, down your neck and to a sensitive spot that makes you almost limp with pleasure. Gods, his lips feel good. His hands even more so because they travel from their spot on your waist and up, to cup your breast through your gown, and down to the curve of your behind. The flesh is lush in his hands and Aegon swears under his breath as you tug at his hair, a plead for more leaving your lips.

He hates the idea of taking you here, in a dirty tavern on the Street of Silk but his thoughts are sharply halted when your hand travels from his chest to his erection. Every sane thought he had harboured until then, disappears into thin air at the sight of your hand cupping him through his breeches. "Fuck."

He lurches forward, claiming your mouth again and you're left breathless as his hands dig into your arse, lifting you onto the table and scrambling to get his hands under your skirt. "You are a marvel."

He kisses his way down your neck again, nibbling that flesh that he so dreamed about for so long. It is more divine than he could have imagined and he groans as you tug at his curls again; just as Aegon's fingers reach down to hook into the seat of your underwear. His eyes are squeezed shut as he leans into you, smelling you, while his fingers drift over your pussy, searching desperately for a reaction.

His actions steal the breath from your very lungs as you feel the first sign of wetness begin to coat your underwear. He is in utter awe when he feels it. Quickly descending into a level of pleasure that he was not even sure existed, he murmurs in his desperate drunken haze, "I wish to play with you and taste you and fuck you until you’re barely able to speak-"

"God's, Aegon!" Your voice is hoarse and your cries reach a pitch that would be audible to the patrons outside. Aegon does little to stop them, in fact he encourages them, as his fingers push your underwear aside.

"So fucking wet," The warmth of his breath fans against your cheeks, his lashes fluttering as his thumb teases the treasure at the very cusp of you. Then his lips stop moving against your chest as he suddenly drops to his knees and stares up at you - it is a heady sight. His hands scramble for your skirts and you see him smile like a child who has been given a boiled sweet.

"If there is a heaven, woman, it is here." he mumbles, trailing his lips along your inner thigh gently. A soft moan falls from your lips as he swirls his tongue around your needy pearl, awarding you the attention he earlier denied.

“Aegon,” you moan, thighs clenching against his head.

His hands wrap around your thighs, pressing them to the table so he can continue feasting. Aegon’s tongue moves lower, dipping inside your centre, lips parting your folds. He moves his mouth in such a way, eating and kissing you all at once. The pleasure is almost too much to bear and as he pushes his tongue completely inside you, you begin to shake, almost reaching your peak.

You’re tugging at his hair with every movement, angling your hips just so and then…

"Fuck, love, look at how beautiful you are…" the scowl down at him as the feeling of euphoria starts to dim but he merely wipes his mouth sloppily before leaning in to kiss you again, whispering. "Don't pout, darling, you shall have what you crave but only when I say you can."

You hadn't even noticed that he had freed himself from his breeches until you feel his cock stretching out the beginning of your entrance. Aegon sinks into you with a stuttered gasp, lazily thrusting into your tight heat. The pain that comes from him splitting you clean in half is short-lived, pleasure creeping its way up your spine.

You cry out as he thrusts into you, hitching your leg around his waist as he rolls his hips into yours.

“Such a good girl,” he croons, as tears leak from the corners of your eyes, “look at that greedy little cunt, taking my cock so well.”

You throw your head back against the wood, arching your back as waves of pleasure wash over you, both from Aegon’s thrusts and the sweet words he whispers to you.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, burying his face against your chest.

He suckles at your breasts, leaving scattered red marks across them that will surely bloom into purple bruises the following day. Dragging his hot tongue over your nipple he bites the puckered nub harshly and you tangle your hands in his hair, yanking harshly at the roots.

Aegon lets out a breathy laugh, slamming his hips against you until your jaw slacks and your grip loosens. He brings a hand to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it loosely. His rings are icy and you whimper, pupils blown with lust.

“Now I will never let you go.” Aegon taunts, the sound of wet slapping echoing throughout the room, “You are the sweetest addiction - one I would happily give every other one up for.”

You can only moan as he sloppily kisses you. You can feel your walls pulsating around his cock, stomach clenching so tightly you feel you may break in half.

“That’s it, take all I have to give you,” Aegon murmurs, as your walls flutter against him.

Your belly warms as your orgasm hits you, and with a few final thrusts Aegon pulls out suddenly, coating your stomach with strings of his pearly white release. He watched you as you drag your fingers through it before shoving them through your parted lips; savouring the taste of him with a moan.

You watch him, with curiously as he watches the way your fingers trace the shape of your lips. Then those perfect eyes meet yours and he drags himself from your between your legs, fixing his trousers and tugging your skirts back into place.

"To bed, then." he places an uncommonly tender kiss to your forehead. "I wish to devour you, still."

Hey everyone!

I just wanted to drop a quick note about something that really helps me out. If you’re enjoying my fanfiction, I’m thrilled to hear it! However, simply hitting the 'like' button doesn’t help spread my work for others to see and enjoy.

If you could use the 'reblog' button and share your thoughts in the comments, it would make a huge difference. Reblogging promotes my work to a wider audience, and your feedback (both the good and the constructive) helps me improve my writing.

Thank you so much for your support and understanding!

Best,

💕 Nixie 💕

[aettuddae]

business matter — chapter 70.

↳ synopsis: two of the most important kpop companies covet a partnership with a huge global brand, only to be surprised when the deal is extended to both labels. fearing potential sabotage and cynical strategies to secure exclusivity for just one of them, both CEOs resort to desperate measures. in a bid to maintain trust and prevent betrayal before the signing, they come up with a pact: forcing a fake relationship between the leaders of their star girlgroups. if one side attempted to fail the other, they threaten to expose it all to the conservative south korea.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

[a/n: the reactions of the fans are not happening at the same time as the events written.]

a large team with cameras and employees of different categories were in a field not far from the city. from the makeup area where they also got their microphones to that piece of land where there used to be nothing, but now there was a recreational structure for the recording, it was about twenty minutes by car. the filming crew surrounded the cast of azza time!, which was meeting for another week to produce a new episode.

the celebrities were casually chatting about everyday topics and also conspiring about what today's maze could be, already accustomed after three years to the dynamics of the program in which the production devised confusingly ordered circuits in which there were different games as obstacles that required general knowledge, intelligence, and also physical skill.

serim often asked herself how she had ended up being part of this kind of program and not one where she could merely sit, eat and talk, as she knew there were many.

after waiting a moment, the director was heard throughout the set announcing that they would begin recording, so the regulars stood next to each other looking at the camera to start the program.

“so…” sejeong, who was standing next to serim, leaned even closer to her friend so that she could talk to her without anyone else hearing. “is she your girlfriend today or not?” she asked as she watched the guests approaching from a distance.

serim returned an annoyed look, causing sejeong to laugh with accomplishment. “they asked us to act friendly in front of the camera.”

“in that case, i hope she doesn't go into acting.” she commented, looking at karina, who showed irritation on her face.

they received the indication that they were already being filmed and then jaesuk, the main host of the program, began the presentation of the episode and gave way to a short exchange of words between the arranged cast, to finally introduce the guests.

“…they finally returned to azza time with their first full album, ‘armageddon’, aespa!” the four members entered the camera vision and were welcomed with applause from the mcs.

the group introduced themselves, as well as one by one, and then their new project, courtesy questions that are asked at the beginning of any variety show took some time, in which the leader of aespa did not deign to place her eyes even close to the position in which the leader of heaven was, as if they did not partially live together.

“serim-ah." jaesuk called, catching her attention. “you are an idol, are you close to the members of aespa?”

“well…” she turned to look at them, noticing that winter and ningning were holding back the urge to laugh, while giselle looked terrified at the possible answer to that question, and karina had her eyes on the ground. “we have recently promoted together, as you know,” she recalled. “we are co-workers, we can still become closer." she replied, careful with her words.

“didn't you exchange contacts after the episode they appeared in before?” another member, jukjae, chimed in, surprised that they weren't close.

“to be honest, i don't really remember that episode.” serim's answer caused her mates to laugh.

“that sounds like serim.” sejeong accepted.

“from among them,” the star of the conversation pointed to the guests with her hand. “karina and i…” the aforementioned raised her head quickly to look at her seriously, causing serim to smile sideways, smug. “we are the closest.” she adverted, turning her gaze from the girl to her work friends.

the others started talking over each other asking questions, after all, they were quite close since they recorded together every week and even met after when they could, but it wasn't enough to know who was in their inner circles, so they were fascinated by the new information of a possible friendship between their beloved serim and another of the most popular idols in the country.

“karina and i,” this time she spoke to the camera, possibly because she was disturbed by the furious gaze of the blackhaired woman who was staring at her. “we met through what she describes as…” she gave a sigh and thought for a second. “a business matter.” she nodded her head, affirming the memory of jimin using that term. “we've spent a lot of time together” she added. "at work." she commented, creating even more tension than there already was between her and the guest, but seeming like an ordinary anecdote to those who had no idea of ​​the context behind it.

“i can't believe we're on the same team again." sejeong complained to serim as both of them, part of the red team, entered the maze prepared for that day.

the azza time labyrinths were artificially assembled sets that were easy to dismantle, but they needed large spaces to be settled up in, which is why the episodes were always recorded in open fields or large spaces such as baseball stadiums or sports courts. they were generally themed based on what the guests were promoting, and in this case, the topic was an alien invasion.

the dynamics of the program is that the participants are divided into two randomly chosen groups that have to explore the map until they find the exit, completing missions, playing games or passing obstacles along the way, and once reached the end they cannot win without a certain number of these carried out.

“it's destiny trying to tell us something.” she brought her hand to her chest acting in love with her.

“serim, could you behave?” the oldest punched her shoulder in frustration. “karina is right there." she joked, without having the latest news on the relationship between these two.

ningning turned to look horrified at the brunette, then at her leader to capture her reaction, but she just, very poorly, pretended she didn't hear, while serim swallowed hard and opened her eyes wide as if she were trying to tell her friend to shut up with them, although she didn't see it since with her competitive spirit she had taken the lead in the team. even so, the atmosphere did not become uncomfortable since the other two members of the cast did laugh at the joke, although they may not have understood it very well.

without giving time for there to be any type of interaction between the two leaders because of that comment, a sharp shout from sejeong was heard, and as a result, the two members of aespa who were on the team reacted the same out of inertia. when they turned a corner they ran into an actor in an alien costume, and once everyone saw what it was that had scared the woman, they simply burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. once they grew normal with it, serim approached the boy and took a letter that he had in his hand to open it so she could read what it said.

unconsciously, due to her restless, game-loving and impatient nature, jimin pressed her body against the older girl's, trying to grasp the instructions to start the mission as quickly as possible, wrapping her touch around the other's upper arm and leaving her cheek only a tilt of her head from jang's skin. but serim loves being right, in addition to being in control of every scenario, and considering the grudge and annoyance she held against jimin at that moment for the attitude she had adopted that they were complete strangers, she couldn't help but notice the girl's closeness, nor contain the victorious smile that appeared on her face, creating a pedantic and arrogant aura, which only unfolded with karina abruptly breaking apart from her side in madness.

“let's see if i understood." dongyeon spoke after hearing the explanation. “he" pointed to the alien. “is going to sing in an extraterrestrial language and we have to guess what song it is?”

"exactly." assured ningning funnily before the mini-game.

they prepared to carry out the activity, sitting on some stools that the production prepared for them and paying attention to the man when he began his part, failing in some, but eventually getting four of the five songs right that they needed to complete that point of the race.

everyone was waiting for the next melody, leaning on the edge of their seats, ready to shout the answer. the boy awkwardly started humming something after receiving the name and the show's stars took a moment to guess what it was.

“ah!” serim exclaimed after identifying the sound, feeling a tap on her shoulder from one, very passionate about the game, jimin, who seemed to have also deciphered it and wanted to communicate it to someone in some way. “snsd!” she shouted, upset.

“party!” yu finished.

for just a second everything was silent, but the moment it was confirmed that it was the correct answer, they both squealed happily. the song began to play through the speakers so they could complete the next part, which was to dance and sing it, to which they both got up running. serim got to the center faster, but she has always been terrible at remembering choreographies, so she stayed static, although not for long because as soon as karina caught up with her, she pushed her out of the shot and started performing impeccably.

upon seeing the youngest, the vocalist remembered the steps and returned to her position, covering her work mate in front of the camera lens and continuing with the dance. however, this one approached quickly and she used the full weight of her body to rush at the girl who had interrupted her, quickly returning to the middle to continue from where she had left off. jang stopped to look at her in disbelief, but quickly regained her determination and approached with wide steps to wrap her arms around her waist and lift her off the ground, carrying her back through the air to leave her behind, going back to the center to finish the challenge by herself.

“girls, remember that you can dance together, we are all one team.” tried to intervene jaesuk from his seat, although in any case, all the spectators found the leaders' tom and jerry act entertaining and funny.

but no one listened to the man and the main dancer once again gained the spotlight by pulling the older's shirt until she was off camera, ending in serim running back towards her and grabbing her by the torso again, but this time maintaining her grip, no longer trying to dance, but to prevent the girl from achieving what she wanted.

"let go!" perhaps because of the distraction of wanting to win, she didn't give that order with bitterness, but rather charged with the emotion of a child who wants to continue playing.

“no! it's my favorite group, i have to answer!" she refused, still having her captured in her embrace.

“it's my favorite group too, nam…” she realized. “serim." she retracted herself, trying to get free.

“it can't be because you and i would never have anything in common.” she contradicted.

“i liked snsd before you did!” seeing that she couldn't get out of the woman's arms, she changed her strategy and began to try to throw her to the ground.

“how would you know when i started liking snsd?” she struggled to maintain balance.

"intuition!" she responded simply as she finally managed, after kicking serim's foot and causing her to lose balance when it lifted suddenly, to get her to fall off. although perhaps she didn't expect the vocalist to take her down too.

“they both got the point for the team.” someone from the staff announced. they hadn't even noticed that the song was no longer playing.

"that's not fair!" from the ground, jimin pointed accusingly her index at the person who said that, with her back against serim's front and still in her hold, still too blinded by her desire for victory to notice what position she found herself in.

"i don't believe you!" serim continued.

“it is possible, we are playing as a team.” interrupted sejeong, appearing in their field of vision above them. "get up please."

after several hours of recording, the red team was on the fifth mission, and this was one of those that required physical dexterity. before them stood a platform that swayed, decorated as if it were a spaceship. in the middle of it, there was nothing more than a tube that connected from the floor under the machine to the ceiling of the place, which had various steps that wrapped around it, and a little higher hung a series of figures in moons, stars, hearts, and butterflies of different colors. on the sides of the wobbly stage were two baskets.

the game consisted of reaching the required figures and placing them in the containers without anyone falling off that surface that kept rotating and moving up and down. those in charge of climbing to reach the emblems were ningning and dongyeon, while jaesuk and sejeong were the ones who had to throw them into the barrels trying to fill them, and karina together with serim worked as hinges, holding the previous two so that they do not fall, but also ensuring that those who climbed didn't either.

the figures were very high, so the hosts really had to work hard to reach them, but dongyeon managed to get a pink star, as requested in the game instructions, and went down to pass it to serim who would get it to sejeong. but as soon as the last one stretched out to try to throw the object where it had to enter, as it was her first attempt, she lost her balance and also the support she had in serim's hand, almost falling into the water that was under them. fortunately, her friend, with speed and agility, released her grip on the tube, taking advantage of the fleeting moment in which the platform was tilted on the opposite side, but elevated on hers, she approached kim, hugged her against her body, and returned to hold on just in time so they wouldn't be propelled out of the game.

on the other side, ningning already had a green moon in her hand, but she was still on the iron bars that functioned as steps. it was difficult for her to go down because of the movement, leaning on her leader so that she could tell her when it would be appropriate to step. but the blackhaired woman had her eyes distracted by serim and how she was hugging sejeong, which is why she was not paying attention to her maknae when she tried to get down just at the moment when the ground rose on their side, causing the girl's foot to suddenly rose and with it the rest of her body that was still over the metals that formed a staircase, leaving her hand trapped in the one it was wrapped and causing her thumb to bend unnaturally as she did not adapt to the abrupt change in position. the youngest girl's scream echoed throughout the place, accompanied by her body falling on top of her bandmate as she released her grip because of the pain.

upon hearing her, the game stopped and the production, as well as the group's staff, came to help her without delay. taking her off the set to the car they had arrived in so she could be checked by a doctor, followed by karina, while the others were notified. everyone gathered outside to deliberate about what had happened and wait for answers about whether they could continue recording, while the members of aespa gathered around the car with their manager and others to see how serious the maknae's injury had been.

after a moment, when she saw the emergency staff leaving, serim decided to approach the girls.

“hey, ning, how are you?” she gave her a kind smile.

"fine." she assured her, she didn't look distressed. “it's a sprain, but it's not serious, in a few days it will heal.” she raised her hand to show it. “they only gave me this.” a splint held the injured finger in place, wrapped with some bandages to support it.

"i'm happy to hear you're well." she walked over to lie against the truck next to the opening where ningning was. "but what happened?" she put her palm on the girl's leg, which made her nervous and so begin to mix up her words when trying to explain, without getting her to understand.

"it was my fault." karina interrupted, gaining the attention. “i should have been attentive to help her get down, but i wasn't.” she explained.

“no, it wasn't anyone's fault.” ningning denied. “my finger got caught in the tube, no one would have imagined that would happen.” she clarified.

“either way, it was my role to prevent something like that from happening.” yu repeated.

“you seem to have a tendency to lose control of things.” serim observed, her tone slightly hostile to her.

"what do you mean by that?" she furrowed her eyebrows and looked at her with annoyance.

“whatever you want to understand.” she shrugged her shoulders. “ning, have they already told you if you will be able to continue recording? maybe you should rest.” she turned to see the named one.

“serim, i think i already told you more than once, but you don't know me enough to make assumptions about me.” she warned irritably.

“don't you get tired of repeating the same things over and over again?” jang turned her gaze to her in distaste. “even jesus rested.”

“i wouldn't have to keep repeating the same thing if you would just stop acting so immature.” karina defended herself.

“i'm done talking to you.” serim cut off her words.

“how can you be so unbearable?” she took a few steps to get closer to her.

“that question is too personal, i'm sorry, i thought you didn't want to know anything about me.” she pushed herself from the vehicle and faced her.

“can you two not fight? ningning almost ripped off her finger…” giselle tried to stop them.

“is all the resentful attitude you've had today is because i rejected you?” she crossed her arms. “poor little serim, finally a woman says no to her.” she hummed mockingly.

“what resentful attitude are you even talking about?” she inquired unperturbed.

“your constant laughing, looks and comments with double meanings.” she recounted. “that speech of yours about how we met that you gave at the beginning, was it necessary?” jimin was furious.

“i was just repeating what you told me.” she argued with an innocent tone. “and for someone who doesn't want to know anything about me, i noticed that you were very aware of what i do all day.” she tilted her head, looking at her expectantly.

“how can i not notice the stuff you do if you are over me all the time hoping that i do something you can hold against me?” she exclaimed, raising her voice.

“did i force you to do those things that i ended up rubbing to your face?” she responded, turning up the volume of her sentences.

“i didn't do anything to you all day!”

“aside from letting your groupmate get injured because you were too focused on what i was up to?” she exclaimed exasperatedly. “or did you really think i didn't catch you staring?” she spoke normally again, but still with anger.

“fuck you, serim.” she said angrily and turned around to leave.

“fuck me yourself!” she shouted loudly for karina to hear as she walked away from her.

[archfeyreveries]

He will not be denied

Raphael had finally claimed the Crown of Karsus, a relic of unimaginable power, though it was not by Tav's hand. Her scornful refusal to aid him in his pursuit still burned deep within him, a slight he would never allow to go unanswered. Tav had dismissed and betrayed him as if he were a mere nuisance—a grave mistake she would soon come to regret. Raphael was not one to be cast aside lightly. By all the seething flames of Hell, he would not be denied. Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav Content: NSFW | BDSM | Humiliation kink | Rough | Dirty talk | Creampie | TW: Kind of non-con Author's note: My first smut on this cursed website and fandom. Hahaha I hope it doesn’t feel too rushed; I aimed as an exercise to keep it concise, wrapping everything up in a short, intense story (three chapters max). Enjoy and I do appreciate feedback. <3

Raphael, ever the cunning manipulator, devised a plan to isolate Tav from her allies. Employing his most potent illusion magic, he crafted a series of convincing visions that preyed upon Tav’s deepest fears and insecurities. Over the course of several days, Tav began to notice subtle but unsettling changes in her companions—whispers behind her back, furtive glances, and unexplained absences that chipped away at her trust.

The final blow came when Tav overheard a conversation, seemingly between her most trusted allies, where they coldly discussed handing her over to Raphael in exchange for their own desires. The illusion was flawless; their voices dripped with deceit and cruel calculation, leaving Tav’s heart shattered and her resolve hardened.

Convinced of their betrayal, Tav felt she had no choice but to confront Raphael on her own terms, hoping to strike a deal or end the threat once and for all. Fueled by anger and despair, she stormed into his lair, determined to face him. But the moment she crossed the threshold, the illusion unraveled, revealing the bitter truth: her companions had never betrayed her—everything had been a lie, a meticulously crafted trap woven by Raphael. And as the horrifying realization dawned, Tav found herself immobilized by chains and bound by blood to the devil.

That was over a week ago.

She struggled against her restraints, her thoughts a maelstrom of self-loathing and fury, until a familiar scent wafted through the chamber—a sickening blend of sulfur, musk, and the sweet tang of cherries. The master of the house had arrived, relishing the sight of Tav bound in chains, savoring every moment of her torment.

"Why the sour mood, my dear little lamb? I see you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament. Perhaps I could offer a remedy?"

Tav glared at the devil, her wrists and ankles bound in thick, cold chains that dug into her flesh, preventing even the slightest movement. She was immobilized, utterly at his mercy—a fact that filled her with equal parts rage and fear.

"You’re the reason I’m in this predicament" she spat, her voice laced with cold contempt.

"How ungracious" Raphael huffed, crossing his arms with a mock pout. "I wasn’t the one who chose to stray from the path. You had every opportunity to make a different choice, and yet here you are—bound, chained, entirely at my mercy. Did you truly believe I needed your help to claim what is rightfully mine? How could you ever be so delightfully foolish?"

Tav’s eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with bitter defiance. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with. I won’t give you the satisfaction of tormenting me."

"Torment you?" Raphael laughed, a deep rumble from his throat, "I'm not going to torment you, dearest. You have the distinct honor of being the first to serve the Archdevil Supreme of this era —body and soul. I chose you, and you shall serve me well."

Raphael stepped closer, his clawed finger tracing along Tav's jawline with deliberate slowness. She shuddered under his touch, but it wasn’t fear that coursed through her—no, it was something far more insidious, a dark anticipation that gnawed at her resolve.

"Do not fret" Raphael murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "I’ll be gentle… if you behave. As I said, this is an honor."

He stepped back, his wings fluttering behind him, and his tail swaying lazily as if in rhythm with some infernal melody only he could hear.

"Kneel" he commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

"I will not—" Tav began, but before she could finish, her legs buckled beneath her. She collapsed to the floor, her knees slamming against the cold stone, the chains clinking ominously as her limbs were pulled taut against her sides.

"Do not defy me" Raphael spoke softly, yet his words carried a weight that pressed down on her like a physical force. His hands remained clasped behind his back, a sly grin curling across his lips. "Good girl."

Tav’s eyes blazed with fury and confusion. "What have you done to me?!" she cried out, her voice echoing off the walls.

"I did nothing" Raphael replied, crouching down to meet her gaze, his tail swaying with lazy arrogance. "You did this to yourself. Your actions brought you here, to your knees, where you belong—begging for forgiveness, for mercy." He chuckled, the sound a cruel mockery that cut through her like a blade. "But I am not in the business of mercy."

"I don’t care" Tav hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I will not beg. I will not break. Do whatever you want with me."

Raphael’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Oh, but I will. I will do everything, and more. I will break you, and you will come to love every moment of it. You will be mine. All mine. Mine alone."

With a snap of his fingers, the chains around her ankles vanished, and Tav’s legs moved forward of their own accord.

"Stand. Do not move." Raphael ordered.

Tav rose to her feet, her hands still bound behind her back, her body trembling with a mix of fear, anger, and a growing, unwelcome desire. Raphael stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and grabbed her hair roughly, his sharp nails digging into her scalp.

"Open your mouth. Wider. Wider" he commanded, his voice low and menacing.

Tav obeyed, her jaw dropping as her lips parted, her tongue visible, wet and trembling. Raphael’s gaze darkened with lust as he licked his lips hungrily. Without warning, he spat on her face, the warm saliva splattering across her mouth and cheek.

Tav recoiled, her nose wrinkling in disgust, but she could do nothing—her body remained frozen in place, her mind reeling from the humiliation and the dark, twisted pleasure that coursed through her veins. His cock twitched with her reaction.

"Now," Raphael murmured, his fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her closer as he gazed down at her with a mixture of amusement and dark desire, "Lick it off your pretty face."

Tav hesitated, her defiance flickering in her eyes like a dying flame, but she could feel her resolve slipping away, crumbling under the weight of his command. Slowly, she extended her tongue, tracing the path of his spit across her flushed cheek, each movement a reluctant act of submission. Her heartbeat quickened, echoing in her ears as her skin burned with humiliation.

Raphael’s chuckle was a low, rumbling purr, his gaze never leaving her face as she continued. "That’s it, my sweet" he whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Savor it"

Tav’s movements became more deliberate, her tongue sweeping across her skin with increasing confidence, lapping up every trace of his saliva. She could feel his eyes on her, drinking in her submission with a hunger that made her pulse race. As she flicked her tongue across her lips, tasting the remnants of his essence, a shiver ran down her spine.

"Good" Raphael purred, his hand releasing her hair to caress her cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. "You learn fast, mouse. Now, let us see how much more you’re willing to do to please me."

CHAPTER 2 >

[harmonysanreads]

Hi Harmony! I just noticed that your requests are open and I decided to drop by with a small request I thought about for weeks.

I was thinking about Arlecchino for a while, and it made me ponder of the concept of Arlecchino with a darling on a reincarnation AU. Maybe Arlecchino has met her darling at such an inconvenient time, and every time that it has happened, only she remembers their past lives.

It probably goes to the point that Arlecchino starts devising ways to be able to keep her darling safe, because each time they would meet, her darling gets into an accident... And it would seem that each time she tried, then it would simply fail. And it would push to a point where she resorts to one of the more not so morally good methods.

I don't know if this counts as a req. or a brainrot, but I offer you this idea because I think it could be interesting to think about sometimes. You're free to deny it btw if its typical, hard, or overall you can't write it <3 I completely understand if that's the case.

(p.s.: this is the one running @yxstxrdrxxm BAHAHAHAHAHA I'm sorry if I haven't replied to your message during OLC, I dont know how to talk to you w/o sounding really awkward </3 also!! hydration check! Anyways thats all, have fun with the idea + I hope you have a great day Harmony :D)

Pantomime Of The Night

yandere!arlecchino x reader

cw(s) : yandere, vampire!arlecchino, mentions of blood, murder, slight gore, non-consensual touching, unbalanced power dynamics

wc : 2.1k

a/n: omg hiii! would you believe me if I said I was just thinking about you before getting this ask? also please don't worry about my message! i had a hunch that you might be in a situation of sorts. thank you so so much for requesting arlecchino because i've been itching to write for her for a long time! i decided to go with vampire!arlecchino for this because i thought it'd suit the reincarnation theme well. i hope you enjoy it<3

lovely illustration based on this fic by a lovely person <3 (spoiler alert!)

At the deepest hours of the night, even the innocent crackles of hearthfire sound as clamorous as gun-shots.

You're dazed by the flame's continuous dance until the aroma of freshly brewed tea reaches your senses and the servants have left. A sharp clank from Arlecchino's glass and the weight of her gaze prompt you to meet her eyes. The light from the fireplace casts shadows on the other half of her fair face, she seemed to have foregone her usual taught posture in favor of a relaxed one. One of her hands supports her cheek while the other holds the wine glass, the beverage within sloshes as the claw-like accessories on her fingers curl around the object.

Your side of the table is far more decorated, desserts that you've never even seen in your impoverished mortal life and that tea you've grown fond of over the course of your stay in her mansion sit appetizingly. All beckon you to feast, all seek to fan the flames of voracity and you offer but a thoughtless stare in return.

The master of the house seems to have noticed your lack of appetite as she finally breaks the stretched out silence, “These are all confectioneries of the highest quality from the town and as I recall, all of your favorites. But you give them no more than a blank stare... you've also not taken a sip from the tea. May I inquire why?”

The raspy tone of her observation has your arms covered in gooseflesh, though, you note she does not sound as confused as her words suggest. You can feel her onyx eyes gloss over every part of your person, inspecting and dissecting each and every visible clue. You swallow dryly, “It’s just that it's way too late in the night,”

“Yet you look as ready as ever to head out. Tell me, have you been anticipating my return, dearest?”

Arlecchino stares pointedly at your attire, likely referring to the traveling clothes you have on instead of the silk nightwear that she had gifted. Your shoulders tense unconsciously, there's something about the way she speaks at this instance that has your heartbeat crescendoing. The silver haired woman gives you a few more beats of anxiety, her talons scrape against the dainty glass.

“I’ve been informed that you have not eaten anything since yesterday.”

The words escape her painted lips easily, but they don't fail to send a jolt through your system. Throughout your stay, she'd never spoken to you like this, like you were one of her children who did not know better and decided to cross a line. That realization renders you further puzzled, you did nothing wrong to begin with, but her tone made you feel as though you were on the verge of doing so. You clear your parched throat and gather yourself to meet her eyes. This time, you do not allow yourself to wilt at the force of her burning stare.

“Arlecchino, I have something to tell you.”

The addressed woman straightens up at your sudden serious tone, her hand abandons the wine glass on the table and you inhale involuntarily at the scratches that now decorate the object, “I’m all ears, dearest.”

Your brows crease, as usual, Arlecchino is courteous, too courteous for someone who makes it obvious she's informed of something that she wasn't supposed to know. She's been like this ever since you and your travel-partner stepped foot in her ambiguous estate. Initially, you were touched by the hospitality she and her adopted children had shown you. Your greed lulled any arising suspicions, you neither questioned why she'd been so generous to a commoner with nothing more than fifty mora to their name nor did you bother to think about how she was affording all those gifts. You naïvely wished to believe in her kindness and that nothing was wrong about this house. But of course, self-woven deceptions last so long.

“Before you mistake me for being ungrateful, I did plan to inform you before leaving. Me and my friend are extremely thankful for the care your house has shown us, but we cannot stay in one place forever.”

“Why not?” you halt at her abrupt question but she follows up before you could even part your lips, “Have we lacked in any area to provide you with the adequate comfort? Have any of my children said something? If it's the latter, I'll apologize in their stead, they can be quite playful at times, I'm sure you understand.”

You stare dumbfounded at the sudden turn this conversation has taken, she wasn't supposed to behave like this. Why is she searching for a reason to make you stay when she should've been happy that a burden was about to be lifted off of her shoulders? Are all nobles this pushy?

“I—” you cut yourself off as the silver-haired woman leans in without warning, her shadow envelopes the delicacies laid out on the small table.

“Or… have you seen something?” she drawled.

You cannot hold back a flinch this time. A curse echoes in your mind at your stupidity, this was no ‘conversation’ to begin with ; this was yet another trap and you'd willingly played right into the palm of Arlecchino's hand. If there's one thing you've learned about this mysterious noblewoman, it is that she enjoys the process of dragging answers out of everyone. From the very beginning, she was aware of your scheme but, she chose to wear that mask of courtesy one more time and lured you out in the open, unguarded. If only your friend arrived to fetch you from your room at the right time, you wouldn't be in this messy situation.

Your eyes dart from her unblinking expression to the sharp accessories that adorn her gloved fingers and something about them forces you to reply quickly.

“No! I mean, you know that I'm a traveler, do you not? It's already been six months since we came to your estate, me and my friend were starting to.. crave that adventurous thrill—yes! We were starting to miss being on the road and decided to depart in the early morning.”

Once upon a time, your late mother had told you that some people in this world are like spiders. They're always at the centerpiece of their lair, leaving intricate translucent webs for unassuming prey to get tangled upon. Although the croaked warnings of your bedridden mother did not make much sense to the younger you, you understood now exactly what she meant.

“Incorrect. You were planning to escape with that friend of yours, weren't you?”

The hearthfire burns bright, shrouding Arlecchino's expression in shadows. The chilling octave of her voice defeats the warmth of the fireplace and has every muscle in your body stiffened. Escape? Her word choice never ceased to baffle you throughout this faux tea-party. She speaks as though you were her prisoner instead of a guest. She tilts her head and has the audacity to look betrayed as though you were a possession she held dear, and not a random human she decided to take pity upon.

Arlecchino runs a hand through her silvery hair with a sigh that actually indicates ennui and you bite back a scowl, “Honestly, I do not understand why you even befriended that thing. He's an obnoxious blabbermouth with a nose bigger than his brain. And he's loud, too. You've always preferred to mingle with level headed people with a sufficient intellectual capacity in the past and here you are, glaring at me as though—”

“Don’t speak like you know me!”

You pant after the force of that outburst, your voice ricochets across the walls of her room and further beyond. You open your mouth to continue but stop when you notice a strange flicker in the silver-haired woman's eyes. It's gone in a blink and is replaced with irritation just as quickly however.

“Oh, but I do know you. I know you better than you know yourself, in fact. I know that there are exactly 11 moles throughout your body, I know all your preferences and fears. Don't believe me? Did you really never stop to question how I managed to give you things that catered to your tastes? How I knew what you desired even before you did? Or were you so mesmerized by the words of that friend of yours to pay minimum attention?”

If the tone of a person's voice could kill, you'd be rotting in a ditch by now. You would've never believed someone could sound this malicious while not even raising their voice. You want nothing more than to shrink away but the adrenaline accumulated through your anger pushes you to keep digging your grave.

“And so what if that's exactly how it is? You have no right to have a say in who I choose to be ‘mesmerized’ by!”

A ‘ha!’ laden with disbelief escapes Arlecchino's lips. Fine silvery strands bounce at the mocking tilt of her head, “So what will you do now? Walk out of the gates with that waste of space like nothing happened?”

“Oh, you bet I will!” you fume, rising from the chair and turning on your heels. You barely take one step away from the table until the full weight of Arlecchino's malice crashes down on you and you remember something important.

“Arlecchino, where is my friend?”

The silver haired woman leisurely raises her wine glass at your stilted words, “In my glass.”

You swivel towards her, blinking several times as if to confirm you didn't mishear.

“Well, here and… probably in the stomachs of my pet vultures, excluding the carcass, that is. I'll admit, the taste is subpar compared to the trouble I went through. That thing kept on screaming until one of the vultures tore its heart out. Ugh, my ears are still ringing.”

Your wide eyes tremble towards the glass in her hand, the deep red liquid within sloshes to the direction of Arlecchino's hand ; paired with her words, your friend’s destiny becomes a no-brainer. All your wits abandon you in that instance and in a moment of sheer panic, you take a step back. Arlecchino promptly interferes with your plans, the door and windows close with no little sound and the table and your chair disappear without a trace—all in the snap of her fingers.

“What are you?”

You would've screamed if you didn't forget how to use your lungs. But then again, you doubt anyone would come to save you from her clutches even if you did. Your eyes connect to her onyx ones and in that moment, she appeared far less human than she'd been this whole encounter. Her pupils flash as two red xs and you feel an invisible pull tugging you to her side. The temptation dominates any coherent thoughts until you find yourself an arms length away from her seated self. Her claws dig into the flesh of your arm and yank you to her lap.

Free from the haze of that strange sensation, the first thing that permeates your senses is how cold Arlecchino's proximity is. Your palm meets her chest in a feeble attempt to push her away but all it does is stun you when you notice the absence of a heartbeat. You feel the sting of something sharp on your chin and waist, your eyes glance back and forth between the sources—dread pools in your stomach. Because of your closeness and the light from the fireplace, you're able to see that the sharp objects you'd mistaken for accessories are actually her nails and the gloves, her real skin.

Perhaps your trembling was so pitiful that Arlecchino could not help but soften her gaze, “Do you truly not recall?”

You look up at her, thoroughly perplexed. There's that previous glint in her eyes again but you've already accepted that understanding this woman was beyond you. One moment she accuses you as though you've been unfaithful, then she vividly describes how she murdered an innocent man and the next she looks almost… hurt?

“Recall what?”

The silver-haired woman’s red lips part and you gulp as unnaturally sharp fangs sneer at you. Albeit, she does not answer you and you wonder if you should get accustomed to playing mental gymnastics with her just to get a simple answer. Her talons let go of your waist and drag their up to your collarbone, creating a deliberate and irrepairable tear on your clothes. Her nails drum against your skin for three seconds before they latch onto your throat.

“Although, that'll no longer be an issue.”

She forces you to make eye-contact with a sharp tug on your chin, the color drains from your face as her cool breath washes against your skin. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but are quickly shushed as you feel her fangs sink into your lower lip.

“Because, we'll have ample time to get acquainted with each other starting from today.”

[tyuns-world]

do you have any thoughts abt ghostface beomgyu? sounds so hot….. match so well w him…

This hatched the hugest idea ever and I rewrote this like three times till it was perfect. I may rework it again and make it an actual and better work.

Warning: stalking, mentions of blood, killing

Ghostface! Beomgyu, obsessed with the movie Scream and eager to create his own films, found that his attempts lacked the gore and realism he craved. Despite his charm and popularity, his supposed friends tormented him daily for his unusual interests but kept him around because of his wealth and connections. His home life was no better; his single dad would consistently beat him whenever he was stressed. This pushed him to figure out exactly how to make his movie real.

You were the one who saved Beomgyu from your friends' bullying with a simple, "Alright, guys, that's enough, let's get out of here." He mistook your fleeting empathy for a deeper connection. Your intervention was a rare moment of compassion amidst the cruelty, so he became obsessively attached to you.

Your kind eyes, curly hair, and sweet voice captivated him. When he devised his killer plan, he spared you, setting up cameras in your home as well as your shared friends' to gather dirt and intel, waiting for the right moment. He focused mainly on your place, intrigued by your secret love for horror films and the scantily clad way you dressed to sleep.

He wanted you in more ways than one and he was determined to have you.

Ghostface! Beomgyu began his plan, steadily taking out his targets without getting caught. With each victim, he left romantic cryptic messages for you—anonymous notes, unsettling silent phone calls—testing your loyalty and curiosity.

You were driven half-insane by the killer's interest in you, feeling both special and on edge.You always did have a thing for the masked killers in your movies.

After his latest kill, Ghostface! Beomgyu got injured and went home instead of visiting you. Blood ran down his face from a hit to the head, hair sticking to his sweaty face, his jaw clenched in anger for letting his target land a blow. In his rage, he went overboard, stabbing the victim more times than intended. He decided to put together a little gift as an apology for not seeing you immediately after his kill.

A hard knock on your door woke you up that night. The sound echoed through your quiet house like a gunshot. Heart pounding, you slipped out of bed, casting nervous glances at the clock—3:00 AM, the witching hour.

You opened the door to find a small package lying on your doorstep, wrapped in black paper with a blood-red ribbon. Trembling, you picked it up and unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a VHS tape, old and worn, with a handwritten note attached: Watch me.

Your hands shook as you inserted the tape into your parents' old VCR player. The screen flickered to life, displaying grainy footage of familiar places—your friends' homes, the places you frequented, even snippets of your own daily life.

The camera angles were voyeuristic, as if someone had been watching you for a long time.Then, the scene changed—a masked figure appeared on screen, clad in the iconic Ghostface mask, holding a knife. The figure turned to face the camera, and for a chilling moment, you could swear its eyes met yours through the screen. The perceived eye contact sent a shiver not only down your spine but somewhere else also.

A distorted voice echoed from the speakers, "Do you like scary movies, darling? Because this is just the beginning. Check your phone right about... now."

Right on cue, your phone received a message from an anonymous texter: "So, do you like scary movies?" Your heart raced, a mix of fear and excitement flooding through you. You replied cautiously, "Who is this?"

The response was instant: "Your new favorite horror movie villain."