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#halloween town residents
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"Featuring flaps, pull-tabs, and other interactive elements, this uniquely illustrated tour of select locations from Disney Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas will be a year-round treat for any fan. But beware! Just because the banner says “Welcome,” doesn’t mean it won’t be a ghostly experience.
"Welcome, welcome dear visitor! I’m Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town. I’m so excited to show you around! But beware—there are tantalizing things hiding everywhere…"
With Jack Skellington as their guide, young readers will discover hidden surprises in beloved locations from Disney Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. Look around the Town Square, watch Sally make a potion, search the graveyard below Spiral Hill, and more. But beware! Just because the banner says “Welcome,” doesn’t mean it won’t be a ghostly experience. Peek behind curtains and gravestones in this unique book containing flaps, pull tabs, and other interactive elements that will make it a year-round favorite.
Releases July 9th this year! Preorders up on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, etc.!
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jasontoddssuper · 1 year
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'Pastel x goth ship' also means 't4t ship',always
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horrifichaunts · 5 months
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I mean, imagine if protagonists just died in the first scene
I'm the gap between a tragedy and comedy
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Side rp blog starring muses from FNAF & BATIM/BATDR--Guest staring muses from DDLC, Stranger Things, The Amazing Digital Circus, Welcome Home, Resident Evil, Dead By Daylight, and Monster High--Lovingly penned by Red --Crossover friendly--Oc friendly--Personals and non rp blogs dni -- 18+ -- Template for promo x -- Promo help from x--Banner X--CARRD X
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asrielmerrymoon · 2 years
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Complicated feelings on Oogie Boogie
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lonelysatellites · 5 months
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Bad Decisions
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Vampire!Eddie Munson x fem reader
Posting two days in a row? Something must be wrong with me, I’m never usually this productive. Anyway, I finally finished this just in time for Halloween! Hope you enjoy 🖤 7.5k
18+ minors dni - smut, public sex, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), biting and blood drinking, swearing, drug mentions, death mentions
Dividers by the lovely @silkholland and Kas!Eddie edit by the insanely talented @somnambulic-thing (do not use without permission!!)
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It had taken a few years for Hawkins to embrace Halloween again.
Being at the centre of the satanic-panic media shitstorm will do that to a community. Journalists and reporters swarming on the town like moths to a flame, each one trying to out do the other. The stories became more embellished, more scandalous, until to the outside world the quiet Indiana town appeared to be a hotbed of satanic sacrifices and sin.
So no one could blame the town’s residents for rejecting anything vaguely occult.
Until the early nineties you could walk the streets of Hawkins on October 31st and not spy a single jack-o-lantern. No fake cobwebs hanging from porches, no paper ghosts in windows, no trick or treaters knocking on doors and begging for candy.
Eddie couldn’t pin point exactly when it changed. It was gradual, the way the town’s collective trauma slipped from the forefront of everyone’s minds, fading to a lingering afterthought. He heard his name in quiet whispers less and less. The annual memorial for his ‘victims’ in the town square drew smaller crowds each year until it stopped altogether. As Hawkins thought less of Eddie Munson, it began to bring back Halloween. The world was no longer watching, so the fun could return.
Now it was like every other small town in America. The streets came alive on that cold October night; kids in cheap polyester costumes huddled together, excitedly wandering down streets lined with piles of rusted leaves, veins buzzing with the rush of sugar.
Eddie can smell it, the syrupy sweetness that oozes through arteries, enough to rot his fangs if he dared to get a taste. He won’t, of course. Eddie’s not a total monster - he’d never bite a kid.
And he doesn’t need a cavity. 

It’s getting late. The children who pass by him now clutch plastic pumpkin shaped buckets that are overflowing with candy.
If they spot him, they pay him no mind. Too busy tearing into fun size Kit Kats to worry about the man lurking in the shadows, leant against a crumbling brick wall, cigarette held loose between his fingers. 

It’s not so bad tonight. Halloween is the one night a year that Eddie doesn’t have to be quite as secretive. Half the people in this town didn’t know him when he was alive, and he suspects most of the other half wouldn’t recognise him even if he stood right in front of them. That’s the thing when people work so hard to forget you. Their memories grow hazy, distorted, until they can’t really remember what it is they’re trying to forget. 
And with everyone in costumes, anyone who does get too close has no reason to be suspicious. Eddie could step out into the light right now and flash a fanged grin at the group of kids and they probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid.
He lets them pass though, uninterrupted. They disappear from view at the end of the road, the darkness swallowing their shrinking figures whole.
It’s quiet now, only the sound of the wind rustling nearly barren branches keeping Eddie company. The calm won’t last for long. When the kids go home the teenagers come out, and that’s when the real fun begins.
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With a freshly lit cigarette clamped between his lips, Eddie makes his way across town to the trailer park. Former trailer park. 

After the ’86 ‘earthquake’ the ground at Forest Hills was ripped apart, split almost down to the depths of hell. The powers that be in Hawkins decided that it wasn’t worth attempting to rebuild in the same area, opting to move the surviving residents to the other side of town. The place that Eddie had once called home, the hardworking community he grew up in was gone, now just a barren wasteland. Debris still littered the ground, remnants of destroyed homes and vehicles, rusted metal now covered in moss, mother nature reclaiming the decay. 

Coming here had become an annual tradition for Eddie. 
Steve hated it, saw it as an entirely unnecessary risk, which was fair.
But that was easy for Steve to say, he didn’t live the way Eddie had to. He didn’t rot away alone, days and nights blurring into seemingly endless stints of nothing. His friends were so busy with their normal lives; jobs, family, errands. All the domestic shit Eddie once never wanted but now finds himself longing for. Some weeks he wouldn’t see a living soul, with the exception of the guy who dropped off his ‘meals.’ And he never wanted to talk: just threw the cooler box of blood bags down at Eddie’s feet and hightailed it back to his unmarked government van.
Eddie was bored out of his mind most of the time. So he didn’t see the harm in allowing himself an evening of fun once a year.
Hawkins older generation might have done their best to erase Eddie Munson from collective conscience, but teenage curiosity was a powerful thing. His story had been passed down for decades, a whispered ghost tale shared over crackling campfires, or under covers at slumber parties. Faces illuminated by flashlights, eyes wide with fear, goosebumps erupting on flesh. An unbelievably dark history for a town where nothing ever seemed to happen.

It was common on Halloween for some of the braver teens to venture out to this quiet side of town. A rite of passage to explore the abandoned trailer park in the dead of night, drunk on beers stolen from parents or high on shit weed that Eddie knows for sure they paid too much for.
Sometimes they just skulk around, letting off steam by clambering over the ruined remains of trailers, sneakers kicking up dust and booming laughter echoing in the cold air. Those nights are disappointing for Eddie. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic, and there’s no point in showing up in front of a group of kids who don’t know who he is.
It’s a waste of a reveal.
When they come looking for him, that’s when it’s the most entertaining. When they’re searching for answers to a question that’s only ever asked in hushed voices, eyes darting side to side to make sure no one’s listening.
Did Eddie Munson ever truly leave this place?
When the kids wander through the park just a little hesitant, the full moon and biting wind already having them on edge - that’s when it’s perfect. They flinch at every sound, every snapping tree branch, every crunch of gravel under foot. He can hear the steady thump of heartbeats quickening, dark eyes see the beads of sweat that form on brows despite the cold. He can smell the fear that courses through veins.

Eddie waits in the shadows, watching them go through their little set up: sometimes a ouija board, sometimes a chalk circle drawn in the dirt, one year a boy pulled out a bag of pumpkin spiced tea lights that ruined the tense mood with their sweet scent. 

Eddie would stifle his laughter behind his palms as the kids stood holding hands in a circle, broken latin recited from crumpled printed pages. Demon Summoning for Dummies, he assumes. 
He’d be so patient, letting the tension build. Moving silently through the darkness, stopping occasionally to kick loose stones across the ground, or bang his fist on a tin roof that tore off it’s home decades earlier. The way the kids would yelp and jump would have Eddie doubled over in the dark, clutching his aching sides as he fought to keep in his wheezing giggles. 
When they were really freaked out, on there verge of fleeing, he’d step out into the light. The pale beams from the moon illuminated his face, when he smiled his fangs flashed bright. He’d rarely have time to say a word. The kids were too busy shrieking at the top of their lungs, tripping and scrambling over each other in a desperate attempt to get away.
Eddie never chased them. He had no intention of feeding from them - he just liked to scare them a little, that’s all.
It was harmless fun.
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When he arrives at the site of his former home, he finds it disappointingly empty. Not a soul to be seen, just an abandoned landscape, the empty burnt out shells of his neighbours homes half buried in the ground like skeletons that gave up on clawing their way out of the dirt.
He waits behind a trailer, crouched low.
He can be patient. He’s got nothing but time.
Eddie’s not sure how long he stays there - maybe an hour or so. His knees don’t seize up like they might have done once, he maintains his position, so perfectly still that the few rats that’s scurry across the ground, snuffling in search of sustenance, pay him no mind. They circle around his feet, sniffing at his boots, leaving him be when they realise he offers them nothing.
The rumbling of an engine is carried to him on the wind. He can hear the loose stones being kicked up by the tires, the squeak as the brakes are applied. He’s surprised by a single door opening and slamming shut, just one set of feet approaching. In all the years he’d done this he’s never known someone to come alone before.
Eddie peeks through the smashed window of the trailer, watching you make your way into the centre of the park.
A thin beam of light flickers from the flashlight in your hand, and you curse quietly, shaking it and banging the base with the heel of your palm, jostling the batteries in place so the light steadies. It sweeps the ground in front of you, illuminating a path for you to follow.
You pause, brows furrowed, something on the ground catching your interest. Eddie watches as you bend, feeling like a damn pervert for the way he can’t take his eyes off your behind, popped out all pretty as you stoop low. The black denim on your lower half hugs close to your curves, tight over the swell of your thighs and the fat of your ass.
You’ve picked something up, some small piece of debris. Eddie watches you hold the object beneath the light of your torch, turning what he can now see is a chunk of glass over in your fingers. You study it for a moment, then toss it aside. Eddie fights back a disappointed groan when you stand up straight, your ass no longer raised in the air for him to ogle.
Wandering further, your eyes stay glued to the ground. You’re searching for something, but Eddie’s not sure what. Every now and then you stop, crouching to investigate, hands sweeping through dirt to pluck out objects of interest. Some end up dropped like the glass. Some make their way into the canvas satchel that hangs against your hip.
It’s obvious now you’re not waiting for anyone else to arrive. You’re not here to mess around with friends. You’re not here for him.
Eddie wants to ask what you’re doing, but he doesn’t want to frighten you, his desire for a cheap laugh vanishing. He studies you as you study the area, smiling to himself when your face lights up, a slip of paper being tucked into your bag for safekeeping.
His curiosity gets the better of him, he can’t help it anymore. He has to know what you’re looking for.
He stands slowly. The chain hanging from his jeans tinkles softly, but it’s a loud enough sound to cut through the silence, your head whipping round to the source. Eddie hears your heart beat faster as you realise you’re not alone.
But you don’t run.
You don’t freeze either like some do, don’t stare at him like a deer caught in headlights as fear locks you in place. You fix him with a stern glare, arms folded over your chest.
“What’re you doing?” You call out.
Eddie opens his mouth, but no words come out. He’s struck dumb, partially by the fact that you’re not scared of him. And partly because you’re pretty. Painfully so.
“Well?” You snap, your boot tapping the ground impatiently. Your frown deepens, delicate brows almost marrying in the middle. The pout you wear makes Eddie’s unbeating heart twinge in his chest.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He replies, finally regaining the ability of speech.
“I asked first.”
Eddie chuckles.
“True. I was just… hanging out.”
“Hanging out? Alone? Here?” You ask incredulously.
“S’what you’re doing.” Eddie shrugs.
You scoff, arms tightening across your chest. Eddie can’t stop his eyes from dropping for a second, seeing your breasts pushed up and together from the action.
“I’m looking for something.” You say. Spinning on your heels you go back to your search.
“What are you looking for?” Eddie asks, taking tentative steps towards you.
“Just… stuff.”
“Like what?” He presses.
You sigh, letting the bottle cap you’d picked up fall from your fingertips.
“Stuff that might’ve belonged to someone who used to live here.” You say.
“Someone you know?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then who?”
“God you ask a lot of questions. Eddie Munson, okay? You know who that is?” You reply as you stand, ignoring Eddie as he follows along behind you.
He can’t help himself. He barks out a laugh before he can contain it.
“If you’re just gonna laugh at me then you can fuck off and leave me to it.” You snap.
The angry rush of blood coursing through your veins roars in Eddie’s ears. He’s still spluttering behind his palm.
“Sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”
“Whatever dude.” You say dismissively. You try to snarl the words, tone biting, but there’s a wobble beneath that betrays your hurt. He’s struck a nerve.
“Hey, don’t-“ Eddie pleads. He grabs your wrist instinctively, not hard or rough, just enough to stop you from walking away.
That was bad decision number one.
A sharp gasp passes your lips, eyes widening at the icy cold fingers that curl around your wrist. Eddie pulls back, flinching like he’s been slapped, cursing himself in his head.
“Jesus Christ. You’re freezing!” You say with concern. You rub the place where his hand had touched, trying to smooth away the goosebumps that had broken out, the fine hairs on your arm raised to attention.
“S-sorry.” Eddie stammers. He takes a fumbling step back.
“I was just gonna say - if you’re looking for Munson’s stuff you’re in the wrong place. His trailer was over there.”
Your gaze follows the direction of his pointing finger, over to the back of the park, where the ground is the most damaged and uneven.
“Thanks.” You mutter. You take a couple of steps, then stop and call back over your shoulder.
“You coming?”
The boy nods furiously, walking quick to catch up with you.
He feels bad, you still won’t find anything that you’re looking for. Most of his and Wayne’s belongings disappeared into the Upside Down when the gates split the earth in two.
He’d managed to salvage a few things for himself in the early days, ducking under police tape in the dead of night to pick through the remains of his home. His haul was pitiful: a snapped piece of the fretboard from his precious sweetheart, the jagged broken handle of his Garfield mug, a sleeve from one of Wayne’s plaid shirts, his scent erased by the stench of smoke and decay. The remnants of his old life were tucked away in a box beneath his bed. He rarely looked at them, but it was a small comfort to know that they were there.
For a moment, Eddie thinks he can feel warmth on his cheek, an unfamiliar sensation for him now. He realises that it’s the heat of your stare, you’re looking right at him as you walk side by side. If he was still capable of blushing he’d be the colour of beetroot by now.
He’s kind of cute, you’ll give him that. Your initial irritation at having been spied on fizzles to nothing when you get a decent look at his face.
Round tipped nose, thick dark brows and even thicker lashes, plump pink lips just a little chapped from the cold.
There’s something almost familiar about him, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Your mind cycles back through vague faces: people you knew back in school, customers at work, Tinder dates that never worked out.
Then it clicks, the realisation having you bite the inside of your cheeks to stifle a laugh of your own.
“I know how you knew it was over here, by the way.” You say.
Eddie swallows the lump in his throat. He’s been rumbled.
“Y-you do?” He whispers.
“Yeah. You’ve been researching him too, right? Bet you got here before me and got all the good stuff.” You reply bitterly.
“Researching who?”
“Eddie Munson, duh. That’s why you’re dressed like that, right?” You say, gesturing to his clothes.
Oh. You think he’s in a costume.
“The wig’s not quite right though. S’not long enough.” You tease.
“It’s not a wig!” Eddie snaps. He tugs the end of his curls to prove his point. He’d trimmed them a couple of times over the years, but it never seemed to grow back again. At least he didn’t have to worry about his bangs getting in his eyes anymore.
“Wow. Well that’s dedication I guess.” You grin.
Having reached the edge of the pit where his home once stood, you hold your arms out for balance as you step down carefully. The loose gravel underfoot makes you slip, and Eddie just manages to grab your arm before you topple over.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. So why are you researching m-him?” Eddie says.
“It’s just a hobby I guess.” You reply with a shrug.
“I’ve always been interested in true crime cases. It seems weird to me that there’s so little known about this one. Something seems.. off about it. I’m not convinced he was all the things that people say he was.”
“What do you mean?” Eddie whispers.
“Well, from what I’ve read, he just seemed like some normal guy, y’know? I get that being into metal and Dungeons and Dragons back then would’ve made you a bit of an outcast, but it seems like he mostly minded his own business. Why would someone like that suddenly snap and murder a bunch of people. I know it happens but… it just doesn’t add up to me.”
Eddie stands in silence, watching you carefully sift through the loose gravel at the bottom of the pit. His head feels like it’s spinning.
He’d just accepted that this was his legacy: the small town freak who sacrificed a bunch of his innocent classmates in a pact with the devil. He knows the people who matter know different, but it had never occurred to Eddie that anyone outside of his circle of friends would think better of him.
“I kind of relate to him too a bit. As weird as that sounds.” You mumble.
“You do?” Eddie asks.
“Yeah. I grew up in the trailer park across town. When I was in school people always used to talk about me, call me trailer trash, a weirdo, freak. If I’d have been a teenager in the eighties people would’ve probably accused me alongside him.”
Eddie’s chest aches. He’s starting to wish you had been born all those decades earlier. You would’ve had a friend in him.
“It’s me.” He blurts out.
Bad decision number two.
“What?” You laugh.
“I’m Eddie Munson.” He clarifies.
You roll your eyes, arms folded over your chest once again.
“Sure you are.” You say sarcastically.
“I’m serious. I - I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I shouldn’t, it’s dangerous. B-but it really is me.”
His recklessness could cost him greatly, but he’s said it now. He can’t take it back.
God, if Hopper could hear him right now he’d probably beat Eddie’s ass. The man might be in his eighties, but he still looked like he could throw a mean right hook.
“That’s impossible.” You state matter of factly.
“Look, I know how this sounds. Just hear me out.” He pleads.
With one brow arched you nod your head, giving him permission to continue.
“You’re right, none of the story adds up. Because it’s not true, what they say about me. The earthquake wasn’t real either, it was all.. well, it’s too much to really explain quickly. But something else happened that year, something unbelievable. But it’s real, and when everyone thought I’d died in the quake, that was just a cover up for the reality.”
“Which is what?” You ask.
“That I didn’t really die. B-but - I’m not exactly alive either.”
Eddie pauses, letting his admission hang heavy in the air. The silence is painful, claustrophobic. He wishes you’d just say something.
Instead you laugh. A hollow, humourless sound; it echos in the empty space and feels like a punch to Eddie’s guts.
“So what are you saying exactly?” You tease through lingering giggles.
“That you’re undead? Like some kind of what? Vampire or something?”
“I guess that’s the best word to describe what I am, yeah.” Eddie says softly.
You’re quiet again as you stare at his face. Eddie feels your eyes boring into him, like you’re trying to pierce through his skin and get a glimpse of what’s underneath.
You don’t believe him.
You’re not stupid, you know none of this stuff is real. He’s just messing with you, taking the piss, trying to prove that you’re gullible. Still, his expression is so earnest, he looks deflated that you’re not taking him seriously. You almost feel bad for him.
“Prove it.” You demand.
Eddie scoffs.
“What do you want? I don’t exactly carry a business card: Call Eddie Munson - your local friendly vampire.” He spits.
You shrug your shoulders at him.
“Come on. You’ve seen pictures of me, right? You know what I look like.”
“Yeah, but they’re old and grainy. Just because you look a little like Munson doesn’t mean you’re him. Hell, you could just be his relative for all I know.”
“Okay then, explain these!” He says, waving his hands in front of your face. His palms are broad and calloused, each long finger wrapped in thick bands of silver. His nails look razor sharp, filed to fine points.
“Your nails look great dude. You’ll have to let me know where you get them done, the salon I usually go to is pretty shitty.” You reply with a smirk.
Eddie grits his teeth at your mocking, taking a few steps forwards until you’re almost chest to chest.
“What about these then?” He says. He snarls, revealing the row of pearly teeth, pointed canines pressing into the plush of his lower lip.
You have to admit they look good. Not like the cheap rubbery kind of fangs that make your mouth feel clumsy and give you a lisp. They must have been expensive.
“Still doesn’t prove anything.” You mutter.
Eddie’s got one option left. He’s not sure why he’s so desperate to reveal himself to you. But he hasn’t felt seen in years. He’s lonely, desperate, and for once he feels like he’s got a chance at someone maybe understanding him.
Lifting the hem of his shirt, he reveals his abdomen, littered with gnarled swirling scars. He catches your gaze flitting down, lingering on the trail of hairs beneath his navel that disappear into the waistband of his jeans.
“My eyes are up here sweetheart.” He says smugly.
“Shut up.” You bite back.
Eddie grabs your hand, ignoring your quiet gasp at his chilled fingers. He presses your palm to his belly, your skin searing hot against his frozen flesh.
Your touch is dangerous. He could so easily melt for you.
He guides your hand up, pressing it hard against his chest over his heart. Then he waits.
Seconds tick by, feeling like they stretch on for eons. Your brows pinch. He can hear your heartbeat quicken as his continues to evade your touch.
The side of his neck is warmed by your free hand, burning fingertips searching and pressing just below his ear.
Eddie watches your face cycle through emotions: shock, disbelief, confusion, then finally - acceptance.
“What the hell?” You whisper.
“How are you doing that?”
“I’m not doing anything.” Eddie whispers back.
He’s expecting you to pull away. To shout and shriek, go running back to your car as fast as your legs can carry you. He’s expecting to go back to his little isolated world.
But your hand doesn’t move from his chest. Your fingers stay lingering on his neck, no longer pressing in search of a nonexistent pulse, just stroking gently over his pale skin.
You should be running. A small voice in the back of your mind is telling you to go. This boy’s either crazy, some freak so obsessed with a supposed serial killer that he dresses like him, and has found some way to lower his heart rate until it’s undetectable. Either that, or he’s really who he says he is - what he says he is.
You’re not sure which is worse.
But you can’t move, some magnetic force keeping you grounded in place. His skin is so cold beneath your fingers, but smooth too, soft. Fine hairs on his chest tickle your palm, the length of his neck fitting just so in your hand when you cup it against him.
You’re close enough to smell him now. Cigarette smoke clinging to his hair, bergamot and vetiver from his aftershave, the ghost of cinnamon gum on his breath when he exhales. The heady mix is intoxicating, you want to bury your face against his and breathe him in.
“Are you scared?” He says softly.
Two wide dark eyes meet yours. He looks scared. Those rich pools of mahogany shimmer in the moonlight, his bottom lip caught anxiously between his teeth.
“No.” You answer honestly.
“Good. I’m not going to hurt you.” He promises.
“What are you going to do to me?” You whisper.
Eddie feels your heart rate quicken, pulse throbbing in your fingertips that are hooked around the back of his neck.
He can hear your blood rushing, it calls to him, a sweet siren song. His fangs ache, drool pooling in his mouth at the thought of sinking them into the vein that thrums in your neck. He doesn’t need to feed, and it’s not that he wants to hurt you. But he wants the closeness, the intimacy. He wants to drink you in in every way imaginable.
He’ll settle for a kiss.
Bad decision number three.
It feels clumsy at first, his nose bumping yours, his lips pressed to the corner of your mouth. How long had it been since he’d done this? He can’t remember, but he hopes you can forgive his rustiness.
Your fingers curl into the hairs at the nape of his neck. Guiding him, you slot his bottom lip between yours. His kiss sparks that same sense of recognition, like the moment that his features became familiar to you. It feels like he’s kissed you a thousand times before.
He grants access to your tongue when it sweeps against his lips, snaking it’s way inside to explore his mouth. The wet muscle traces his fangs, circling the tips experimentally. It presses just enough to have a bead of crimson pooling.
“Easy.” He groans, forcing himself to pull away.
“Sorry.” You say with a sheepish smile.
Eddie gulps, his eyes rolling back in his skull as your taste floods his mouth. It was just a drop, barely a pin prick, but the heady ichor tingles on his tastebuds.
He’s learnt over the years that everyone tastes different. Blood lacks the coppery tang he’d expected in the early days, it’s less metallic. Some is savoury, some is sweet, some tastes dirty. He remembers one donated bag that was sour like rotten meat, his stomach turning as he forced himself to drink.
You’re citrusy, a little acidic, something saccharine underneath, the juice of a ripe peach.
It makes him greedy.
He crashes his lips against yours again, the kisses growing hungrier, hands roaming to grab and squeeze and pull, until you’re flush to his chest. It’s not close enough. He wants to crack his sternum, split his ribs apart and pull you inside, have you curled safely around his still heart.
He’s not sure who’s knees give out first. One moment you’re both standing, the next he’s sat on the floor where his and Wayne’s porch once stood, you straddling his lap.
You gasp against his lips. Hips rolling, you grind down on the hard length that’s straining in his jeans. For someone without a heartbeat, he’s certainly got no issue with his blood rushing south.
Eddie’s hand cradles your jaw, tipping your head back until you’re gazing at the moon, bathing you both in her light. His lips move to your neck, sharp teeth grazing the skin but not breaking the surface. You feel a pulsing in your core, your body aching, yearning for more.
When you sigh his name, all breathy and sweet, Eddie’s composure begins to shake. In a swift and smooth motion you’re flipped onto your back, his weight pressing down onto you.
“Oh! Fuck, Eddie.” You whine.
His name has never sounded better. Not said with disgust or disdain, not whispered like a dark secret, something to be hidden away and feared. You say it like a prayer, like you’re begging for him.
Your hips buck up, chasing the friction as he ruts himself against your clothed heat. The head of his cock catches against your clit, but there’s too many layers between you, the sensation dulled by denim.
Eddie tugs at the hem of your sweater, nails catching on the fabric at he hastily pulls it up, snagging and tearing. He pulls your torso upright so he can shove the offending garment off over your head. Your fingers make quick work of unhooking your bra, padded lace tossed aside carelessly in the dirt.
“Look at you.” Eddie coos.
“So pretty.”
He shrugs off his jacket, folding it and tucking it under your head when you lay back. Your fingers wind in his curls, tugging harshly when his lips seal around the bud of your nipple. He moans in response, and you pull with more force, relishing in the way he suckles harder at the sensitive peak, rewarding your roughness. Spit glistens on your chest when Eddie breaks away to move lower. He presses soft kisses on your stomach, shuffling down and taking your jeans with him until they’re pooled at your ankles. You kick off your sneakers, letting him throw your clothes away until you’re left in just your underwear, the cotton stained dark on the gusset as your arousal drips.
“God. I can smell you baby. Y’smell so sweet. Bet you taste sweet here too.” Eddie grins.
“Please.” You whimper. A violent shiver shakes your body, maybe from the cold, or just the anticipation which is almost painful now.
Eddie’s nails hook under your panties, ripping through the cotton with ease until the tattered shreds fall away. With his hands on your knees, he guides your legs up to your chest, putting you on display for him.
“Can I get a taste angel?” He asks, tone cocky and dominant. You’re not sure where the hesitant, stammering boy from before went.
“Yes. Fuck, Eddie you can do whatever you want.” You say breathlessly.
With your permission granted he dives straight in, burying his face in your cunt. The tip of his nose presses against your clit as his tongue snakes through your folds, slurping lewdly, swallowing the nectar that flows for him. The taste is almost as divine as your blood, earthy and rich, alive.
You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet, ever felt this good. Eddie seems to know what your body needs before you do, his lips moving up to your bundle of nerves before your mouth can even open to ask.
You cry out into the quiet night when he sucks your pearl in his mouth. His tongue flicks expertly, circling and suckling, your back arching away from the ground, hips rocking eagerly against his face. He’s brought you to the precipice quicker than anyone before him. You teeter dangerously on the edge, so close to falling, but needing something more to get you there. His fangs nip at your lower lips, too gentle for your liking. You skin craves the burn that they can bring.
“Bite me.” You gasp.
“What?” Eddie whispers. He stops to look up at you, lips and chin glistening with your essence. His eyes are unnaturally dark, black swallowing the chocolate brown, spreading to the white.
A reminder of what he is.
“Bite me Eddie. Please.” You beg.
“I - I don’t know if I can control myself.” He admits.
“Please! I trust you. I need it, please.”
He can’t resist your pleading, God’s sweetest angel begging the devil to take her in the most unholy way. He kisses the crease of your thigh, tongue collecting the sweat that’s beginning to bead on your skin in spite of the cold.
“Maybe you are a freak after all.” Eddie grins.
“Only for you.” You sigh.
The sting is immediate when his fangs break the surface of your skin, burning hot as they sheath themselves into the meat of your inner thigh. You gasp at the pain, but your whines soon melt to moans, Eddie’s tongue soothing the burn as he laps at the trickle of crimson. He’s moaning too, deep guttural sounds from the depths of his chest. His hips buck desperately against the ground, seeking friction to relieve the ache that grows with each heavenly sounds you make for him. He drinks you down greedily, savouring every drop like expensive wine. When the calloused pads of his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles furiously against the nerves, it’s the final push that you need.
You fall over that edge, toes curling and back arching once again. Euphoria clouds your mind, thoughts lost in a swirling haze, Eddie’s name on your lips. Chanted over and over.
You’re too fucked out to realise that he’s pulled away from your core, pressing soft kisses to your knees as your body trembles with the aftershocks.
The puncture wounds on your thigh have already closed, his healing tongue seeing to that. His fingers ghost over the faint marks. He hopes it scars. Leaves a piece of him with you forever.
The pleasure wanes, gentle waves that ebb and flow against your shore retreating as you come down. The orgasm he gifted you was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, but it hasn’t cleansed the burning need that aches in your bones. You need more.
Metal clinks as Eddie fiddles with the buckle of his belt. He pushes his jeans and boxers down just enough to have his length springing free, pulsing in his fist when he curls his hand around it. You watch in awe as he tugs at himself, slow and teasing, hips twitching when his fingers run over the leaking slit.
“How do you want it baby?” He purrs, fangs flashing with a grin.
“Anyway. Anyway you want me Eddie. Whatever you want.”
He’s close to cumming from your words alone. His head falls back, a low groan rumbling in his throat, adams apple bobbing. Saliva floods your mouth, your own teeth aching to sink into him like his did to you. You want to mouth at his neck, tear his flesh, taste the essence of his life and mark him as your own.
But Eddie has other plans. His strength is unnatural, he flips you onto your front like you’re weightless. Rough hands grab the fat of your hips, angling your ass up, chest pushed flat to the ground by a palm splayed in-between your shoulder blades.
Sharp nails prick at your skin, dragging slow down your back and across the plump cheeks of your behind. Eddie’s careful, no blood is drawn. Just raised lines left in his wake, the scratch making you whine and push yourself back into him.
The head of his cock nudges at your entrance. A part of him feels guilty that he couldn’t get you better prepared, work you open with his fingers first.
“Please Eddie.” You whisper.
“I’ve got you.” He murmurs.
His hands are gentle as he spreads your cheeks apart. He smirks at the sight of your hole clenching on nothing, begging to be filled. Your skin glistens with slick, pearly shine smeared on your inner thighs.
Eddie swears he sees heaven when the head of his cock pops inside your entrance. You gasp at the sting, hands fisting the dirt, filth caked under your nails that rake through mud and dust. He watches himself disappear into you, your body swallowing him whole, pushing deeper deeper deeper until he’s buried to the hilt.
A broken moan slips past your lips, cunt pulsing around him, more slick coating his length and wetting the dark curls at his base.
“Already sweetheart?” He mocks.
“I haven’t even moved yet.”
“F-fuck. Eddie. Feels so good. So full.” You whimper, voice strained from your second orgasm.
Eddie’s cock and his ego grow from feeling you clench around him. It’s been so long, so many years without this, he’d forgotten that he was actually kind of good at it. The girls he had all those decades ago came to him with low expectations, offering a quick fuck hoping it would earn them a discount on their weed. They all left on trembling legs, a full price half ounce in their purses, each one calling again just days later hoping for a second round.
Rolling his hips back, Eddie pulls out halfway, admiring the shine on his length from your arousal. He pushes back in harshly, a choked moan punched from your chest with the force. He sets a brutal pace, desperation taking over, using your limp body for his own pleasure. Each thrust has your body rocking, claws piercing your waist where he holds you, pulling you back to meet each thrust so his cock hits that sweet spot inside you that no one else has ever reached.
“Fucking hell.” He spits through gritted teeth.
“So fuckin’ tight. God damn sweetheart. Look at you, taking all of me so well.”
You whine and stutter, words slurred and indecipherable. A dirt covered palm reaches back blindly, fingers opening and closing, begging him to take hold.
Eddie grins, pushing your hand aside and laying himself over you. The warmth from your body is transferring to his, his chest sticky with sweat for the first time in years when it presses to your back. The new angle has him hitting even deeper, tears spilling down your cheeks from the pleasure and pain.
“What’s the matter baby? You missin’ me? You want me closer, yeah?” He purrs in your ear.
“Y-yes.” You sob.
A large hand wraps around your throat, pulling your face up from the ground so Eddie can press his lips to your neck. The vein straining against your skin still calls to him, the scent of the blood running inside overpowering the delicate perfume you’d spritzed their earlier in the evening.
“You’re mine, you got that?” Eddie grunts, rutting into you.
“This cunt is mine. You belong to me now.”
“M’yours. I-I belong to you.” You gasp. The words come instinctively, you’re not even sure what you’re saying, just knowing that you’d agree to anything he asked when he’s fucking you like this. Your pussy squeezes around Eddie’s cock like a vice.
He seals his promise with a bite, lips puckering over the wound in your neck, tongue eagerly lapping at the flow, hot and syrupy.
He feels you pulse again, weaker this time, but your spasming pussy still gushes around him. His hand at your throat is the only thing keeping your head up, your eyelids fluttering shut. You’re dizzy from the blood loss, overwhelmed by the pleasure, entirely spent.
After a few more desperate thrusts Eddie feels his balls draw tight, muscles in his stomach tensing as he teeters on the edge of his own orgasm. Your body is so warm, wrapped around him snuggly like you were made for him, and he never wants to leave your heat, but he knows he’s should. He’s not even sure if his body is still capable of reproducing, but despite all the other risks he’s taken tonight Eddie regains his senses enough to make at least one smart decision.
With a heavy grunt he pulls out, his release painting the ground between your legs in hot white lines. For a moment his vision goes black, mind blank as he cums, pure pleasure in his veins.
He’s panting as he comes down, flesh rapidly cooling again. He can’t remember the last time he felt warm, and he misses it instantly, wanting to curl up against your body and feel your energy radiate into him.
When he looks down he finds you trembling. Realisation dawns on him like a slap in the face; it’s barely 40 degrees out and you’re completely naked, sprawled out on the cold earth.
“Oh shit.” He mutters under his breath.
Tucking himself back into his pants, Eddie scrambles to his feet, grabbing your tattered sweater and jeans. You’re still too out of it to dress yourself, limbs heavy and head lolling as he manoeuvres you like a doll, slipping your body back into the fabric.
When he’s rolled up the zipper on your pants he leans up to press a gentle kiss to your throat. Your heavy eyes peek open, a sated smile on your lips. It’s so pretty Eddie swears he almost feels his heart restart.
“You okay?” He whispers.
Nagging doubt creeps into his mind. He’d found you so vulnerable, alone in the dark, and just minutes later he was fucking you like an animal and drinking your blood. He’d let himself lose control, and he was terrified that he’d taken advantage of you.
“M’good.” You hum in reply, soothing his fears with a delicate hand that sweeps across his brow and down to cup his cheek. You pout, lips pursed all sweet, begging for another kiss, which he’s all too happy to grant you.
Eddie rests his forehead against yours, sticky hot skin meeting flesh that’s cold and smooth like marble.
“Can you stand?” He asks.
“I’m a bit woozy.” You admit with a giggle.
Eddie slides one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. He stands, holding you close to his chest, cheeks aching with the smile that he wears when your arms loop around his neck, your face buried there, breathing deeply.
“I’ll drive you home.” He offers, walking back in the direction of his vehicle.
“The vampire has a car?” You smirk.
“He does indeed.”
“Is it a hearse?”
Eddie scoffs.
“Next you’ll be telling me you’re so 21st century that you’ve even got a phone.” You tease.
“I do. And you’ll be putting your number in it.” He laughs.
“What about my car?”
“I’ll bring you back for it tomorrow.”
“So I’m staying the night?” You ask.
“Of course you are. I told you, you’re mine now. But make any wisecracks about me sleeping in a coffin and I might change my mind.”
Your laugh is loud and bright, warm breath tickling his neck. He smiles to himself when he feels you leave another kiss there.
As he wanders back to his car with your sleepy body cradled in his arms, Eddie realises he still doesn’t know your name.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s got a lifetime to find out everything about you.
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sailoryooons · 6 months
Text
T R I C K O R T R E A T
presented by BTS Fantasy and Fangs
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Celebrate this Hallows' Eve with legends told by our most esteemed ghouls. Enter worlds of the unknown and lose yourself in these tales. But beware: one might lose themselves in these hallowed stories.
Rating: Works range from SFW and NSFW. Each work will have its own set of warnings.
Note: This collaboration features works written as general works and works that were assigned via a Secret-Santa style within the BTS Fantasy & Fangs server in which writers did not know who was gifting them a work!
LEGENDS COMING THROUGHOUT OCTOBER.
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T R I C K S
☾ Title: Devil Town
☾ Pairing: Platonic OT7 x reader
☾ Summary: You take a chance and spend a month in Devil Town: a quaint little place nestled deep in the woods of The Unknown, where the air is always a touch chilly, things are never quite what they seem, and no one will tell you anything.
☾ Genre/AU: Autumn?? A lil spooky, a lil whimsy, a lil mystery; not quite angst, not quite fluff
☾ Rating: PG 
as told by @park-jimin-isnt-real
Read Now
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☾ Title: Handmaidens
☾ Pairing: OT7 x reader
☾ Summary: When the murder of handmaidens begin in Joseon, you are assigned to serve the throne – the seven imperial princes, sons of Lord Sihyuk. Despite your loyalty, your suspicions begin to rise about the killings. Can you escape the palace before it’s too late? 
☾ Genre/AU: Joseon Era thriller/slasher
☾ Rating: TBD
as told by @eserethriddle
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☾ Title: Have Mercy 
☾ Paring: Demon!Jimin x Reader | Alpha!Yoongi x Reader | Demon!Jimin x Alpha!Yoongi 
☾ Summary: As a crossroads demon, Jimin is no stranger to vile creatures. Summoned once more, Jimin is surprised to find one of the purest souls asking for his help. Not only does he accept her deal, but while watching over her, Jimin finds himself falling for the very soul he is meant to devour. Eager to confess, Jimin summons the sweet soul only for his plan to turn sour when someone far more evil finds her alone. 
☾ Genre/AU: Angst | Smut | Strangers to Lovers | Demon AU | A/B/O AU 
☾ Rating: 21+ | Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
as told by @sweetestofchaos
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Title: The One who Saved Us All
Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader
Summary: It's the annual Halloween celebration in Seoul, where everyone from different walks of life get together and celebrate the history of the Vidyadhara. But when someone decides to cause some trouble, Seokjin's best-kept secret comes to life.
Genre/AU: Halloween, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Disaster?
Rating: Maybe M to MA 15+
as told by @quirkybtsarmy
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☾ Title: Simply Meant to Be
☾ Pairing: pumpkin king!jungkook x fem reader
☾ Genre/AU: nightmare before Christmas au, romance, horror, smut
☾ Rating: m (18+)
☾ Summary: You aren’t sure how any of it can be real. This place…these creatures…this man.
You wake up next to a man you’ve never seen before with no memory of who he is or where you are.
But everyone in town seems to know you. You belong to the Pumpkin King. Scared and utterly terrified you run into someone who claims they can help you remember. And now you’re starting to wonder if that’s truly what you want.
as told by @caelesjjk
Read Now
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T R E A T S
☾ Title: Blessed With A Curse
☾ Pairing: Werewolf!Jungkook x Hybrid!Reader
☾ Summary: When your company throws a mandatory Halloween party, you aren’t thrilled. You’re even less thrilled when a delusional coworker ruins the party and places a curse on everyone because her crush, the resident werewolf, Jeon Jungkook, rejected them. OR When a coworker gets rejected at the company Halloween party, things get crazy.
☾ Genre/AU: Smut, Werewolf AU, Hybrid AU, Modern Magic AU
☾ Rating: NC-17
as told by @sweetestofchaos for @jessikahathaway
Read Now
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☾ Title: Bump In The Night
☾ Pairing: Bogeyman!Yoongi x f. reader
☾ Summary: The dark can be scary; full of strange, unseen things. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on your fear, the lights go out, and you face the reality that you were always right—you should fear the dark and especially what’s waiting in it.
☾ Genre/AU: Monster Under The Bed, Horror/Thriller, Angst, Smut
☾ Rating: MA
as told by @colormepurplex2 for @minisugakoobies
Read Now
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☾ Title: Carmen
☾ Pairing: Vampire!Jimin x human!Taehyung
☾ Summary: Taehyung gets lured to an exclusive club by a strange, enchanting woman. What finds him there is much more intoxicating and dangerous. 
☾ Genre/AU: Supernatural, Vampires, Smut
☾ Rating: Explicit/Mature
as told by @sailoryooons for @gimmethatagustd
Read Now
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☾ Title: Fledgling
☾ Pairing: Jungkook x Namjoon
☾ Summary: Jungkook is tired of his dreary existence. So when a mysterious stranger offers him a way out of life as he knows it, he takes it without hesitation.
☾ Genre/AU: Vampire AU, horror, smut
☾ Rating: 21+ | Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
as told by @theharrowing for @sweetestofchaos
Read Now
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☾ Title: Love As Soft As a Distant Star
☾ Pairing: Min Yoongi | Reader, Min Yoongi | Park Jimin
☾ Summary: You didn’t mean to fall in love with your husband and fellow Witches’ Councilmember Yoongi, but here you are: in love. (How gauche and not the thing. You’re co-workers, not lovers.) It’s particularly inconvenient since he is in love with someone else. 
☾ Genre/AU: Witch AU, arranged marriage AU
☾ Rating: Explicit/Mature
as told by @vyduan for @colormepurplex2
Read Now
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☾ Title: Lose Your Head
☾ Pairing: Park Jimin x F!Reader
☾ Summary: As a constable’s assistant you have several duties to him and the police force. Not only as his assistant, but as his dear friend. However, when an ominous summoning sends you and Jimin both to the town of Sleepy Hollow, you fear there might be more at play than either of you understand. And feelings that you’d hope to bury for life bubble to the surface...
☾ Genre/AU: Movie!AU, Thriller, SleepyHollow!AU, Smut, Romance. Rating: 21+
as told by @jessikahathaway for @/sailoryooons
Read Now
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☾ Title: The Love Witch
☾ Pairing: witch!yoongi x demon!taehyung
☾ Summary: Despite being a popular romance blogger, Yoongi isn’t interested in finding love. He only summons a demon boyfriend to prove to his followers that it’s possible. He’ll send Taehyung right back to Hell once he’s done with him, obviously.
☾ Genre/AU: fantasy, strangers to lovers, fake dating (kinda), light angst, smut, fluff, humor
☾ Rating: 18+
as told by @gimmethatagustd for @theharrowing
Read Now
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☾ Title: Passage
☾ Pairing: Captain!Yoongi x Dracula!Jimin
☾ Summary: For several years, Min Yoongi and the crew of the Magpie have sailed the perilous waters of the Pacific, surviving treacherous waves and other deadly threats in order to deliver goods to the West. Now, on his final voyage as captain, Yoongi is about to face a danger like none he’s ever seen before - and he may find it too tempting to resist. 
☾ Genre/AU: horror, supernatural, angst, smut, Dracula!AU
☾ Rating: M(18+)
as told by @minisugakoobies for @vyduan
Read Now
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Disclaimer: This is a collaboration put on for members of the BTS Fantasy and Fangs Server. These stories, characters, and festivals used here are not meant to represent any real or factual people, places, or things.
629 notes · View notes
trashmouth-richie · 9 months
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eddie x Fem! Reader
honey I’m home masterlist
TW: 18+ hospitals, trauma, crying, etc
A/N: this is a short little chapter. the next one will be longer— thank you for hanging onto this story even though it took me forever to get it started. I have most of the next chapter done so it’ll probably be posted next week.
The blue and red lights are blinking in rapid succession. Painting the curtains in washes of ruby and royal. 
  The sirens should have been loud but Eddie figured it was the blood trickling down his head and into his ear canal that was preventing him from hearing clearly. 
  He fought with the first responders. 
  Fought with the people fussing over him and trying to rush him into an ambulance. 
  He refused to leave you. 
  He didn’t need to be cared for. 
  He didn’t care about anything. 
  Only you.
  Mr. Derry’s loud knock and burst through the door was the exact distraction needed for Eddie to grip the bat in his bloody hand. 
  Rings squeezing tight around blood and the wooden handle, he swung hard. A suddenly athlete in a smokers body. He felt the thuds and friction vibrating in his forearms when the nailed head connected with flesh. But he didn’t stop until there were two crumpled bodies collapsed on the red stained carpet. 
  And when the ambulance crew met him at the door, gurney ready, you were wrapped tight in his arms. A faint pulse echoed like a whisper against your skin. Eddie’s tears streaming down his face and onto yours. 
  His promise pressed delicately to your lips.
  “What have we got?” 
  “According to the patient’s friend, she is twenty-one-year, sir! you need to be looked at, and lived by herself for the past few months..” 
  I’m fine! Jesus— get off me and help her! 
  “…call came in at 2208 from a Mr. William Derry— the neighbor— claiming there were screams coming from across the street of his residence on Cherry Lane. Dispatch didn’t think to respond right away due to the many calls Mr. Derry has submitted to the Police Department.”
  “Sir, I am not telling you again, you need to be checked out!” 
  “Jesus Christ.”
  “When nobody showed up, the neighbor went across the street after hearing more screaming. Patient was held up by her throat by the DOA”
  “Bill has him in truck 011, ID found on the body confirmed he was Chad Cunningham.” 
—-
Eddie is standing before you, looking the same has he did the morning g after Halloween. It’s similar but different. There’s more light in the kitchen, and he is rosy cheeked like a cherub, his movements almost floating like angel wings as he moves the carton of orange juice hp to his lips, small glints of a silver nipple ring peaking out from the cutoff shirt he wore. 
  When he speaks, it’s like a harp is playing, all song and beautiful notes, extending and echoing around the room. 
  “So when do I get this trophy sweetheart?” He says with a grin, “thinking of putting on a shelf in my room,” 
  Your laugh feels like butterflies tickling your stomach, “you can’t be serious.” 
  His head dips as he walks towards you, smile displaying the prettiest teeth, “damn straight, want the whole town to know I had the best costume!”
  “Stolen costume,”
  “Pppffft, I just borrowed it.” the wink he delivers is almost sinful, toothachingly sweet enough to give a dentist a cavity, and you melt on the spot. 
— 
“Miss? Can you tell us your name? Can you tell us anything?” 
  Sterile. 
  Chemical.
  You were either in a hospital or a morgue. You didn’t feel any pain so it very likely could be the worst of the two options. Whatever you were laying on was cold. And when you tried to move you found you couldn’t. 
  Is this death?
  Eyelids heavy and unable to cooperate and make the connection with your brain on flicking open so you could see what was happening. 
  The only thing constant was a buzzing in both ears. A tug along your eyelids and rubber glove fingers on your body. But you were trapped in your mind, unable to speak, to scream, to show any physical movements other than the involuntary rise and fall of your chest and your lungs being filled with oxygen, fed through flexible plastic of the oxygen mask placed on your face. 
  Oblivious to your surroundings. 
  “Severe trauma to both eyes, laceration to the back of the head, severe swelling and possible damage to the larynx, Katerina, what did the CT show?” 
  “CT came back clear, X-Ray showed a break to both zygomatic bones, 5th and 6th ribs and a lacerated spleen…”
  “Look at her nails, poor thing fought for her life,” 
  “they both did.” 
  You found the will to whisper what you needed to tell them. Voice hoarse and barely audible, removing the mask they look in horror back at your words, and  immediately the feeling of warm liquid entering your veins and the blur of sleep covers your body. 
  He visits you again, this time you know it’s a dream. The pink clouds flow behind his head even though you are standing in the living room. But it’s different, blurred on the edges, hazy sweet and refined. How heaven could be described. 
  “I look good in this don’t even lie,” Eddie says with a spin, the white cotton of your robe resembling a mini skirt on his long legs, “but if you want me to take it off all you have to do is ask, I’m a pleaser, baby.”
  He was every version of himself, handsome, gross and menacing. Sweet and caring, eye twinkling, soft voiced: Eddie. The beer taped to his hand like it was all those months ago when you splashed him awake, threatening to kick him out. 
  Delivering his classic one liners that you now knew helped fuel your love for him. 
  “What? Hair of the dog baby, gotta keep drinking to avoid a hangover.”
  And maybe your love for him was always there. 
  Showing up in the background, fluttering bird wings of your heart before you even noticed. 
  Developing into something sweeter, deeper, so heartbreakingly sick it took a disaster and almost the last pulse in your veins for you to be able to admit it. 
  -
Steve had been pacing the cream colored tiles for over thirty minutes. The squeak of his Nikes against the floor were something Eddie was trying hard to focus on instead of worrying about you in the ICU, but so far it wasn’t working.
  The nasal cannula was annoying, he could breathe fine on his own. The stitches in his eyebrow itched and stung with each weave through his skin, pulled taut around the swelling in his face. 
  The shot the nurses had administered to calm him down after screaming and trying to fight his way to you, was making his mind fuzzy— still, Steve’s pacing kept him company. Step step step squeak, step step step hand in hair, followed by an agitated huffing breath.
  A nurse with a long blond ponytail braided down her back opens the polyester curtain with a drag and slips inside the room. A black rubber and steel stethoscope around her neck, before she could introduce herself Steve exploded with fury. 
  “Tell me what the hell is going on in this poor excuse for a hospital, right now!” Steve’s hair shook from its feathered position when he spoke, his demanding voice booming across the tiles. 
  Without missing a beat and clearly dealing with high strung men before she said almost monotonously, “Sir, you need to calm yourself down, this is a h-”
  But Steve’s fire was only fueled by her dismissive tone, his voice never wavering, “No, I will not calm down! The police were made aware of this situation a year ago and nothing was ever done!” 
  The police officer standing outside guarding entry to the room tipped his head in slow, “Mr. Harrington, we hear your complaints but there isn’t anything we can—”
  “Bullshit!” A tear stain cheeked Robin sobbed, her face red and blotchy from hours of crying and rubbing her freckles clean, “Eddie told you what happened yet he’s still cuffed to a bed like a fucking criminal!”
  She broke down again, clinging to Steve’s side like a wounded child, sobbing into the soft cotton of his crewneck sweater. “This is unethical! Unco—”
  “Alright that’s enough hot shot,” Hopper shouts in finality towards Steve, a wrinkle burrowed deep in his forehead accompanied with graying thick eyebrows set in a devastating frown. 
  “Chief,” Wayne interjects, cap wringing in his calloused, wrinkle bared hands, his voice wobbly but steady, runny nose and wet tears cling to his scruffy beard, “my son was protectin’ that girl, you know Eddie…he’d never hurt someone unless his life or someone he cared about was in danger.” 
  Hopper tore his gaze from the one of the richest in the room to the poorest, hanging his head with sorrow, “ ‘m sorry, Wayne— but until Mr. Derry’s statement comes back and Eddie is cleared… the cuffs stay.” 
  Wayne hung his head low, the few wiry hairs on his balding head stuck in all sorts of directions despite his attempt at raking them into submission. 
  “Jim Hopper you should be ashamed of yourself,” Karen Wheeler spoke up now, head held high, claw clip  teetering with each gesturing movement of her head, “you know good and well this boy couldn’t have done that to her! They loved each other!” 
  Since the pacing of Steve’s feet had stopped Eddie’s heart rattled hard in his chest, he clawed at the heart monitors on his chest, tried to bite the IV’s from his arms, caged like a wild animal he let out a broken cry, “ple— please, she needs me.”
  “Mr. Munson,” the nurse with blonde hair replies sternly, “she is in critical condition, we don’t know if or when she will be able to to recover, she is heavily sedated and needs rest, her only visitors will be family at this time.” 
  “Speaking of,” another nurse chirps, young and fresh gilled, entirely too eager to please her superior, “do you know how to get a hold of her family?”
  He shakes his head slow, causing a pounding headache, “I am her family,” Eddie grunts through clenched teeth, pushing himself up on the bed as far as his cuffs would allow, Steve’s hand on his shoulder. “Look around this room! Ted and Karen Wheeler, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Nancy Byers.. we are all she has,” a single tear falls down his bruised cheek, liquid salt in the cut in his top lip. 
  “Okay sir.. who is responsible for her?” 
  “In regards to what? Financially? You money hungry pricks just don’t let up so you?,” Ted Wheeler finally speaks behind his wife, shock and anger evident on his wrinkled features.
  “Not exactly…”
  “Whatever it is, I will handle it, alright?” Eddie interjects, annoyed with the questions, worried only about you, “I’m responsible for her.”
  “Oh,” the nurse says, perking up slightly, marking a red check mark on her clipboard, smoothing out her uniform, “so you are aware of her condition then.” 
  Light bulbs click for everyone in the room but the curly brown haired metal head. 
  Oh my God
  …Tooty
  Holy shit.
  “That she got the shit kicked out of her by that fucking psycho Chad Cunningham?”
  Eddie.
  Ma’am can we talk privately in the hall? 
  “…obviously I’m aware! I was there when it happened! That dumb fuck already took my statement!” he said gesturing to Deputy Wallace. 
  “No, Mr. Munson..”
  This isn’t the time for this! Wayne tried to warn the nurse, but it fell on deaf, naive ears.
  “…she’s right around twelve weeks pregnant.” 
  A pin dropping could have been heard from a mile away. The oxygen was sucked from the room. Karen’s hand was clapped around her mouth. Nancy and Robin choked back sobs.  
  Everyone was struck with horror, but not Eddie. 
  His mind playing that beautiful night between you like a movie in his head. The way your skin felt, the way his heart ached with fullness at your shared fervor and passion. 
  REWIND
  PLAY
  The curve of your lips on his skin, kissing him sweet and slow, no noise, just the love making swallowing you both whole. 
  REWIND 
  PLAY
  PAUSE 
  Your soft snores as he counted the popcorn marks in the ceiling, his girl. His entire universe. 
  STOP
  EJECT 
  The tears rolled like a ferocious river down his face, carving a path down his cheeks and under his wobbling chin, wetting the hospital gown he was forced into when he got here. 
  You were alone.
  He didn’t know anything about pregnancy besides the woman usually got sick right? Every emotion that most men feel when finding out they were going to be a dad hit him all at once. 
  But not fear. 
  He imagined you with a big swollen belly, feet too pudgy to fit into shoes, he’d rub them with lotion until you could fall asleep. 
  He’d imagined his arms holding you from behind, your baby wrapped in his arms still in your womb. The relief you might feel from the weight being in his hands. 
  You were experiencing this pain all by yourself. 
  He couldn’t fathom how you were feeling. Scared. Hopeless? He had no idea. And the thought of you being alone had him nauseous. 
  Why didn’t you didn’t tell him?  
  Why didn’t anyone tell him? 
  His fury built and shook as his voiced boom with grief as he screamed at Steve, dark eyes blood shot and red rimmed. 
  “How could you,” he broke, struggling through the words, "why would you not tell me?!” The cuffs around his wrist broke skin as he tried to claw his way out of them, trying to reach at Steve’s shirt demanding to be heard. 
  “Ed— fuck man!” Steve started, mouth gaping at Eddie’s arms dripping with blood from his fresh wounds, “we didn’t know!” 
  Robin speaks now, trying to reach for Eddie’s hand to offer him some comfort, “She didn’t tell us, Eddie—Steve is right, she didn’t say a word to any of us about it.” 
  “Fuck!” Eddie screams, slamming his wrists into the bed sides, “I sh—should h-have..,” the end falls silent as his long legs were pulled to his chin and he buried his head into them. 
  In the minutes it had been since he found out, he was already a shitty fucking dad.
  The pain of what happened to you and him not being able to stop it quick enough was killing him, and now, realizing that you were carrying his child and you were all alone? 
  There weren’t words for the gut wrenching feeling ripping through him. Overwhelming dread, chest tight with panic and pain. The nausea overtaking him. The vomit came fast, splashing allover himself and the bed, landing in thick puddles on Steve’s shoes. He cried harder and sobbed uncontrollably. When his stomach was empty he could only dry heave. 
  Wayne moved across the tiled floor in quick steps, careful not to slip in the wayward puke in his path. Sitting down hard and with purpose next to Eddie. This wasn’t his first rodeo of seeing Eddie in this turmoil. But never as a grown man. 
  He tried his hardest to hold back the tears he swore he’d never let fall in front of his boy, but gravity won the fight when Eddie pulled him into a bone crushing hug, his sobs snuffed by the canvas of his work jacket. 
———
It was a full 12 hours before Mr. Derry’s statement was released. Tough old bird, he couldn’t be coerced even with the gentle threat from the Cunningham’s came down hard breathing down his neck. 
  Surely not their son? Their angel?
  But the proof was there. An eye witness statement and a severely beaten woman, the record from years past and the statement from both Steve and Robin on what happened last year at your apartment, stood its ground. 
  Eddie was cleared as a free man, self defense in the eyes of the law. The second his cuffs were off he was throwing his boots onto his gripper socked feet, and untangling himself from wires and needles. 
  Steve and Wayne had both taken off work to help Eddie pick up his medication and make him go home and rest. When he tried to protest, Wayne gave Eddie a look that could pierce steel, the kind of look saying no bullshit, and begrudgingly he followed the men out to Steve’s Mercedes. 
  Nancy and Karen stayed behind at the hospital, filling your room with heavily perfumed flowers. Hushed whispers between the mother and daughter as they prayed and hoped that you would make it out of this horrific nightmare. 
  The doctors would only speak to Eddie. Letting him aware that your condition was improving but they would not be able to lift the sedation just yet. A day passed then another. Eddie slept in the hospital grade recliner in your room each night. Singing you sweet lulls of your favorite song. Promising you the world if you would just open your eyes. 
  He was weak himself. Fighting the urge to break down in front of anyone again with each hour that passed. 
-
4 days led to 5 and the nurses and doctors whispered behind their clipboards. On the 6th day they decided to lift the sedation to see how your body would tolerate pain. 
  Eddie never left. 
  Machines beeped and ticked. Tubes and wires connecting from you drip with fluid and monitoring systems. The white walls and outdated curtains of the hospital shine a yellowed glow into your room, bringing with it a warmth to your cotton thread blanket and warming the skin on your arms. A welcomed feeling compared to the cold needles of the IV poking into your skin delivering flows of medicine and liquids to keep you hydrated and your pain manageable. 
  Foiled balloons printed with get well wishes bounce and sway with the kick on from the vent. 
  One of your hands is unexpectedly warmer than the other. A rough drag across the knobs of your knuckles is a familiar feeling, and you smell him before you even open your eyes to acknowledge that it’s him. 
  The clinging smell of cigarettes on a freshly washed shirt and the spice of deodorant force their way into your nose. It’s a different shampoo than the one you’re used to catching on him. More manly. All sandalwood and musk a hint of citrus. And at first you think he’s someone else… maybe Steve picked up smoking heavily again?
  But when a tuned hum reverberates low against your hand followed by a pair of lips kissing gently around the IV and tape poked and laid against your skin, you know for certain it’s the man you’ve been dreaming about. 
  The one you cried for. 
  The one who visited your sleeping mind and told you everything was going to be okay.
  His name falls from your lips like choked frozen honey, thick in your mouth and on a dry tongue. 
  It was the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. 
  His girl. His whole world. Awake.
903 notes · View notes
soullumii · 4 months
Text
it's a risk but babe, i need the thrill | joel miller x f!reader
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part 1, part 2
summary: everything finally comes to a head
warnings: 18+!!! smut! unprotected piv, gentle smut
tags: angst, reconciliation, fluff, pining, smut (but it's light compared to the other two parts), halloween vibes (i was supposed to finish this in october, oops)
word count: 5.8k
a/n: guys. i am SO SORRY for the wait. this was so hard for me to finish i almost gave up so many times. i'm still unhappy with this but i can't make myself work on it anymore so here u go. thank you all so much for your patience, i really appreciate it. special thank you to @joelsfaveouritegirl for your support... i probably would've never finished this if it weren't for you, so thank you. <3. and thanks to all of you who kept me accountable. i hope you enjoy this fucking mess. also, this is probably the last joel fic i'll write for a while. i'm sorry. still, i hope you like this.
______________________________________________________________
There are only two seasons in Jackson, Wyoming: winter and not winter.
Where other states might have a gradual shift from warm to cold, in Wyoming, it’s like a slap to the face, quite literally. The moment you step into the evening October air, it feels as if you’ve walked into a wall of cold. 
You shiver in your thick coat, and pull your scarf over your frosty nose as you meander down to the plaza.
While Jackson residents enjoy their time indoors and close to the fireplace during the colder months, they still love to celebrate outdoors, relying on their booze to keep them warm.
You don’t stop by Joel’s for a drink this time, he’s likely already in town square, dragged there by his daughter. Or… sort of daughter. He’s told you how he feels about Ellie, but the girl has her own opinions. Sure, she might deny that he’s like her dad, but she sure as hell treats him like he is. 
You’re meeting them there. 
The stars are already twinkling in the sky when you reach the throng of people. All of Jackson’s residents are in the plaza tonight for Halloween, dressed in homemade costumes and ones raided from the Party City in Idaho Falls. Jack-o-lanterns glow menacingly in corners and scarecrows are propped against brick walls. A few people in particularly frightening costumes prowl about, startling kids and adults alike.
Stalls line the edges of the plaza, each one providing something different. Tipsy Bison’s stall is run by Tommy, serving alcohol for the adults of the town. Seth’s stall is serving pork and brisket sandwiches. There’s a few stalls down the road advertising pumpkins and pastries, and you get a whiff of apple cider. Barrels of fire are scattered about to provide warmth. Lights are strung from the roofs of buildings, spread across the road, like clothes on a clothesline. 
It’s incredibly cozy, and already, you feel much warmer than you did walking out of your house. 
Within moments of passing Seth’s stall you hear Ellie’s voice ring out. 
“She's here!”
You can’t see her weaving through the crowd but you can see Joel trailing behind, his arm trapped in front of him. He politely excuses himself and apologizes to those he bumps into as his daughter drags him through a crowd of people. 
You can’t help but laugh, especially when you hear him say, “Jesus, kid, slow down.” 
And then she’s in front of you, smiling and bouncing excitedly on her heels, dressed as one of the superheroes from the comics she reads. Joel is behind her wearing a black blindfold with the eyes cut out, and a felt superhero crest is stitched to the front of his black sweater. He looks very adorable. Clearly, Ellie forced him to dress up. His gaze catches yours, full of something you can’t quite grasp, a small, embarrassed smile on his lips.
“Hi,” he says, voice soft.
“Hi,” you repeat.
It’s been… well… you’re not quite sure how to describe how it’s been since you told him to stop kissing you. 
It’s not like you guys have stopped seeing each other since then. Or that it’s been more awkward or anything. It just feels as if you’ve been depriving your body of what it needs, like you’re actively starving yourself. 
You’d feel full while he was fucking you, and yet there was a hole in your chest, gnawing at your thoughts, a hunger so deep rooted that it’s been taking you longer to come. 
Joel had noticed, too. Noticed your struggle and your frustration. He took it as something he was doing wrong, even though you insisted that wasn’t the case. Still, he took his time with you, trying to meet all your needs, and that, funnily enough, just made you feel worse. 
Your meetings have grown fewer. Sometimes you would go a couple weeks without seeing each other—at least like that.  Funny, how before you were so upset when he hadn’t been with you for a while. And now… now the distance is needed.
You still went out to dinner with him and Tommy and Maria. You still stopped by to say hi to Ellie and ask Joel how he’s been. Things have been normal, besides the overwhelming feeling of longing that strikes your breast the moment you see him. 
You worry that it shows on your face, especially because of the dreams you’ve been having, like some lovesick teenager. Dreams that don’t involve just having sex. Dreams that frame the two of you as lovers, as parents as… growing old together. 
Sometimes you’ll wake up crying, wondering if maybe you should just stop seeing him, talking to him, being around him all together. But then you’ll see him in town, or on patrols, and you know you’d never be able to stay away.
You swallow down the lump in your throat, and turn your attention to Ellie. 
“Hey kiddo!” You greet, plastering a smile on. She doesn’t seem to notice your being off. 
“You’re not dressed up,” she remarks, arms crossing over her chest. 
“Um. Yes I am,” you gesture to your black sweater and black pants. “I’m a black cat.” 
“You don’t even have ears or whiskers and a nose. That's a terrible costume.” 
Joel squeezes her shoulder with a frown. “Hey, quit.”
“No, she’s fine. She’s right,” you sigh. “This was super last minute.” 
“Cat is doing face painting down by the haunted house. You should let her paint some whiskers on you.” 
You take a glance at Joel and he shrugs. God he looks ridiculous in that costume. Your heart constricts. You might as well be as ridiculous as him. 
“That sounds great,” you say. Ellie looks like she’s about to drag you there when Dina comes running around the corner, practically slamming into her. 
“Hey!” Ellie laughs, “Slow down.” 
“You have to come with me. We’re going to do the haunted house, Jesse is already waiting for us. Come on,” Dina says, and pulls Ellie away before you and Joel can say a thing. 
The two of you stand there for a moment, watching the kids with fond smiles before finally looking at each other. 
His gaze seems to soften impossibly more when it lands on you.
“Your costume is kinda lame,” he says after a moment. 
“Oh shut up.”
**
The paintbrush glides smoothly over your skin as Cat paints the tip of your nose black and whiskers on your cheeks. You keep sneaking glances at Joel who waits patiently for your face painting session to finish.
Once you’re done you stride over to him, grinning.
“Well?” You prompt, turning around and showing off your newly improved costume. “Not so lame anymore, huh?”
He chuckles, eyes roaming your figure. Heat simmers low in your belly at the glint in his dark eyes. “Much better.”
He pauses, eyes catching on your face. “Hey, wait.” He grabs your hand and pulls you in close. He’s warm, a nice contrast to the cool October air. You want to just snuggle up to him, wriggle your fingers up under his sweater to share his warmth.
“You got a little somethin’…” he trails off, hand coming up to press his thumb to your skin. He gently wipes off a stray black smudge from beneath your eye. It takes no less than five seconds, yet it feels like an eternity. Your chest presses into his, his hand is warm as it cups your cheek. His breath puffs against your lips, an almost kiss. And his eyes, focused so dearly on the smudge, slowly drift up to lock with yours. 
“Perfect,” he mumbles, gaze never straying from yours. His hand never leaves your cheek, his thumb brushing carefully below your eye once more, a soft, subconscious caress now.
“Thanks,” you breathe.
Time feels like it’s stopped. 
A kid rushes by with a delighted scream as another kid in a costume chases after him. You and Joel jolt apart, snapped back into motion.
He clears his throat and you swallow hard.
“You want somethin’ to drink?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
***
Tommy is beaming with his own little flush of alcohol when you and Joel come across his stall.
Maria hangs by his side, but her eyes follow every action happening around you. Ever the diligent leader.
“Howdy,” Tommy says, and Maria takes the time to glance over at the two of you with a welcoming smile.
“Hey,” Joel says, and you nod your head in greeting.
“You guys lookin’ for a drink?” Tommy asks. “We’ve got spiked apple cider.”
You bounce excitedly on your toes at that. Joel laughs lightly at the way your expression brightens. “We’ll take two.”
“Comin’ right up.”
“You’ve done a great job planning for this, Maria. Everything looks amazing,” you say.
She turns to you, and to your surprise, she looks a bit bashful. “Thanks. Everyone on the council helped a lot. I’m glad we can provide something fun like this.”
“The kids really need it.”
“I think the adults do, too. It’s nice to be able to scream without it being true fear.”
“Amen to that,” Tommy pipes up and sets two mugs of steaming spiked apple cider down. 
“Thanks, Tommy,” Joel says, and hands you a mug.
“There’s a haunted house down the road, you guys should go check it out. Laney and Paul spent a long time on it,” Maria says.
“We will, thanks. See you guys around!”
You wave goodbye to them and make your way through the plaza. Joel’s hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady. You’re glad for it, as scarers prowl along the streets, jumping out randomly and thrusting their hands in your face.
The haunted house lingers at the edge of the road like a ghost. Party City decorations blot the yard: gravestones, plastic skeletons, witches with rotted cloaks. It’s like everything they could manage to carry was dumped here. 
A line curves outside the door, kids bouncing on their feet as they await their turns. You feel a little ridiculous joining them, being your age, but Joel probably feels even more ridiculous so you push the thought from your mind.
“I’m actually kind of nervous,” you tell him as screams ring out from within the house.
“This thing ain’t nearly as terrifyin’ as the real world,” Joel says.
“Yeah, but still. I’ve never been a fan of being scared.” 
Joel takes a sip of his spiked apple cider and shrugs. “I’ll protect ya.”
“My hero,” you coo and run your hand over the superhero crest stitched to his chest. He smiles. 
Soon enough you’re at the door. 
“You go first,” you tell Joel, and shove him in front of you, but you don’t let go of him.
"Good to know you're not afraid to throw me to the wolves."
"Your sacrifice will not be in vain."
He rolls his eyes but lets you fist one of your hands in his sweater and hold onto his arm with the other. You peer around him as the two of you venture inside. 
A radio plays spooky sounds from all directions as you trail behind Joel through the house. Your eyes flit across every crevice, searching for who is going to scare you. Still, you don’t notice everything.
From seemingly nowhere, someone pops out in a Michael Meyers mask with a fake knife. You screech and hold tight to Joel. He hardly even flinches.
“How are you so chill?” you ask with a pout once you’ve recovered. Red lights flash in the hallway. Your voice is shaking. God, you’re a wimp.
“Because I’ve got someone I need to protect. I can’t act all scared, now, can I?”
You roll your eyes, knowing he’s just making shit up. He’s not scared at all.
You get closer and closer to him as the house progresses. Your hands are now interlinked, your cheek pressed against the warm muscle of his shoulder blades. You’re practically on top of him, trying to stay as close as possible. 
Even with Joel acting so nonchalant, you’re scared. You get jump scared a few more times as you continue, thankful that your hands are preoccupied with holding onto Joel else you might’ve punched one of the scarers.
Eventually you make it to the end in one piece, your heart racing. You know it’s ridiculous—Ellie probably got through this with a straight face. Still, it’s kind of fun, being scared. You’re giggling into Joel’s sweater by the end of it, and he’s tucked you into his side, hand still interlocked with yours as you meander back to the plaza.
Warmth blossoms in your chest. Is this what it would be like if you were truly together? You feel the urge to push up on your toes to kiss him, but you shove it down. Guilt tugs at the back of your mind at the thought. 
“You’re such a scaredy cat, I guess that costume is fittin’,” he muses, rubbing warmth into your waist.
“Sorry we can’t all be macho men like you."
You go to pull away, to create some distance. You can’t keep getting close to him like this. It weighs too heavily on your heart. But Joel squeezes your hand and tugs you back into his side, and you’re so very weak. You melt into him despite yourself.
“I think you rather like my macho-ness,” he says.
Heat pools in your belly at the smirk on his face, the darkness in his eyes. You avert your gaze with a small smile, warmth coloring your cheeks. “Yeah right.”
He turns toward you, towering over you. His hand splays heavily on your hip, and you shudder. “Playin’ coy now, huh? Where was this yesterday when—“
“Joel!” Ellie screeches, skidding to a stop in front of the two of you. You feel the urge to jerk away, but Joel only shifts so that he’s no longer in your face. He still keeps you close. 
“What’s up kiddo?” 
“There’s a campfire, everyone’s asking us to play a song.” 
That piques your interest. Joel has played guitar for you a couple times, though he’s always very shy about it. You’ve stumbled across him playing on his own with no one to watch. It’s fascinating what the music does to him.
It’s like he’s transported somewhere else, his eyes closed as his fingers pluck the strings of his guitar, his foot tapping to the beat, his head nodding along as his hands tell a story through the notes. 
You’ve never seen him play a whole song like that, he’s always noticed you before he could ever finish. And when you’d ask him to keep playing, there was a bit of stiltedness. You realized it was nervousness… he wanted you to be impressed, to like what he was doing. 
You’re not sure how you ever could dislike his playing. 
“You should do it,” you say. 
Joel’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “I dunno—“
“What, you’re not scared, are you?” you tease.
“Don't talk to me about being scared. Pretty sure you stretched out my sweater with how hard you were holding onto me,” he counters. 
“Will you two stop bickering like a married couple? Joel, they’re waiting. Come on!” Ellie says and grabs his hand, tugging him along. You laugh as you follow, though her little comment sticks in your mind. 
***
Joel settles down on a log with his guitar in his lap. Ellie sits at his side. You got a spot a couple logs away, so you could get a good view of them. The campfire lights his silver hair copper, reflecting like stars off the wood of his guitar. 
“Any fans of Bread here?” he asks, and a few hoots and hollers sound out. Joel laughs at that, and Ellie rolls her eyes. You've never heard of the band, but you wait with bated breath. They tune their guitars, and then Joel takes a deep breath and counts down. 
One, two, three, four…
Soft strumming fills the air. Ellie keeps the main melody, but Joel plucks more of the details. He sings first.
Baby I’m-a want you
Baby I’m-a need you
You’re the only one I care enough to hurt about
His voice is smooth, a bit shaky from the nerves, but it washes over you like a warm wave of water. Immediately, you’re drawn in. It’s unrealistic, but you still think that Joel could save the world with his voice. It’s scratchy but soft, if one can be both of those things at the same time.
He looks up through his lashes, his gaze catching yours.
Maybe I’m-a crazy, but I just can’t live without
your lovin’ and affection… givin’ me direction
Like a guiding light to help me through my darkest hours
Lately I’m-a prayin’ that you’ll always be-a stayin’
Beside me…
Your breath catches in your throat while he sings.
It’s just a song, you tell yourself. But the way he’s looking at you… it’s as if everyone else has disappeared. As if the words were created specifically for you. As if… as if maybe he chose this song for a reason…
Ellie picks up the prechorus with her angelic voice, and you’re brought back into the present. But then Joel starts the solo, his eyelids fluttering shut as the music takes over him. His head nods along to notes as he plucks each one out with precision and skill. His foot taps in time with the beat, and people cheer, but you can’t stop staring. 
The solo ends all too soon, but Joel’s voice merges beautifully with Ellie’s harmonies back on the prechorus once more. 
Lately I’m-a prayin’ that you’ll always be a stayin’
Beside me…
Used to be my life was just emotions passin’ by. 
Then you came along and made me laugh and made me cry
He gives you a small grin, secret, for no one else but you.
You taught me why…
Baby I’m-a want you. 
Baby I’m-a need you. 
Oh, it took so long to find you baby
Baby I’m-a want you.
Baby I’m-a need you.
Your chest constricts at the sight of him, at the sound of the last few notes being plucked expertly by his fingers. At the blend of his voice with Ellie’s. You can't bear to sit here at this campfire, watching him only as a friend, a fellow neighbor, just like everyone else. You want him to sing this song for you. To know that it’s only you he’s thinking of as the last few strings are plucked by his nimble fingers, ringing out into the dark, cold night. That it’s only you he sees clapping and cheering him on. But you can’t even grant him that, already on your feet the moment the song ends, practically sprinting away from the campfire as your throat grows tight and tears spring to your eyes.
You hope no one has noticed. You hope the footsteps you can hear crunching on crimson leaves are just someone walking past. Of course they’re not though.
“Are you okay?” the familiar timbre of Joel’s voice asks.
God, no! Why! 
You frantically wipe the tears from your eyes, sniffling snot so it doesn’t drip down your lip and betray you. 
“Oh,” you start, and internally curse the way your voice shakes. You turn toward the one who has been unraveling you at the seams with a trembling smile. “Hi, Joel.”
“Christ, what’s wrong, baby?”
“Don’t—don’t call me baby,” you say, and it’s not at all what you mean to say. You mean to just reassure, to just brush this off and bury it deep inside and never let it out. But you don’t. 
Joel’s face hardens, and he steps in closer with a hand stretched out but at the look on your face, thinks better of touching you.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” he says. “Why are you crying? What happened?”
Nothing. It was just a pretty song.
Was it for me?
Nothing. I’m just being hormonal.
Do those lyrics mean something to you?
Nothing. 
Enough. Enough with the excuses and the rules and the lies. 
“You happened,” you spit. 
He takes a surprised step back. “What?”
“You and your stupid fucking—your stupid fucking friends with benefits and your stupid fucking big heart and your stupid fucking guitar happened, Joel.”
This is probably the first time you’ve ever rendered Joel speechless outside of sex. He looks so stupid standing there staring at you with his wide eyes and his dropped jaw. And yet all you want to do his pull him in and hug him and tell him how much you love his stupid fucking face. Instead, you take a step back. 
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” he mutters. “You’re freezin’. Let’s head back to my place, we can talk about it there—“
“No. No. I won’t let you just fuck me and then pretend like whatever’s between us doesn’t exist.”
“That’s not—“ he starts, but then must register what you said because his brows furrow over his ice cold gaze. “Me? I pretend like it doesn’t exist?” 
“Yes!”
“No I don’t. You’re the one that told me you didn’t want me to kiss you anymore. You’re the one that’s been keepin’ me at arm's length all this time. You’re the one pretending.”
You go to yell back at him, to deny, but the realization that he’s right kills the words in your throat, and you fall silent. 
Joel steps closer, his voice dropping. “You can act like I’m the one that’s been torturing you as much as you like, but it just ain’t true.” 
His eyes flit across your face wildly, taking in the tears in your eyes, the tremble of your lips, the tint of your cheeks from the cold. He softens.
“Darlin' I... I have been in love with you since the first time I heard you laugh. Since the first time you even glanced my way. Every god damn day is torture wanting all of you when all I can have is some of you.”
You can’t speak, can hardly even breathe. 
“If you don’t want to make this anythin’ other than sex, just tell me,” he whispers, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw. His breath condenses into steam in the cold air. “Tell me you want to keep pretending, and we can keep pretending."
“I…I don’t.” You shake your head. “I don’t want to keep pretending.”
His nose brushes yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Tell me you don’t want more.”
You swallow harshly. “I want more.” 
“Tell me you’re sorry you made me stop kissing you.”
“Please, kiss me, Joel.”
“You’re not very good at followin’ directions, are you?” he says, grinning, and you can’t help but laugh into the kiss when he pulls you in.
His lips are soft, deliberate when they meet yours. He coaxes you open, makes you slow down, pulls you into it so you feel it entirely. Reminds you of what you were missing when you forbade him from kissing you. 
God, you missed it so much. Missed him. 
Joel’s arms wind around your waist, his hands sliding along the fabric of your coat, and it’s so cold but god you wish you had less layers on right now. You’re sure the warmth of his hands could keep you from hypothermia. 
“I’m sorry I forbade you from kissing me,” you say. 
He hums, “I guess I can forgive you. Might need some convincing.”
“Oh shut up,” you grin, and pull him back in again. 
“I hate pretending like I don’t love you,” he murmurs against your lips, hands gripping your waist.
“You… really love me?”
“Did you not hear my speech earlier?” 
“I did. I just… can’t really believe it.”
He pulls you in close and gently grasps your jaw with his large hands. He kisses you again, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. 
His lips find the corner of your mouth. “I love you,” he says. 
A kiss to your cheek. “I love you.”
A kiss to your eyelid. “I love you.” 
When he pulls back, he’s smiling again. It’s strange to see Joel smile. He really doesn’t do it often around anyone. But you guess you’re an exception.
All that time you had spent pushing him away, agonizing over how much you loved him, fearing that he’d leave you if you so much had hinted that you were in love with him, only for him to be in love with you all this time? Holy shit. The world feels like it’s turned upside down. 
“Okay, I think I believe you now,” you say in a laugh. 
“You haven’t said it back, which I guess is alright—“
“I love you too, Joel,” you interrupt. 
He softens again. “I love you,” he murmurs, and pulls you in again for another toe curling kiss. God, you were an idiot for making him stop.
He wipes the tears from your eyes with a calloused thumb. “Your face paint is smudgin’.” 
“It was a stupid costume anyway.”
“No, it's cute. But…” Joel glances about, lips quirking in a smirk. He leans down, and his voice is so low you almost don’t hear it. “I think it would look better on my floor.”
“Well…” you fight the grin on your face, delighting in the heat curling low within you. “I guess since you love me and we’re kissing again and aren’t exactly friends anymore… we could really put that statement to the test.” 
“I think we should,” he says, and leans down to kiss your neck. 
You hum in approval. “What about Ellie?”
“She had plans to go to Dina’s after the festival,” he says, between kisses. “Come over, please? Or do I need to send you a letter with a wax stamp and everythin’?”
“Well… since you said please, I guess that will do.”
The whole walk to his place he has his arm slung about your waist, proudly displaying that you’re his. 
You nuzzle yourself into his side, grateful for his warmth and companionship. Your heart feels so full, so light, as if you might actually drift up into the air. Thank god Joel is holding you to keep you grounded. 
You smile at Maria and Tommy when you pass by them, and they exchange a look that says something like Finally. 
Then you’re at his house, and he’s unlocking the door and letting you go in first. And this time when you’re welcomed inside, you’re no longer worrying about rules or how you feel, or how you might fuck this up. It’s so fucking freeing. 
Joel doesn’t ravish you the moment the door closes. Instead, he kind of just stares at you. 
You squirm under his attention, growing self conscious. “What?”
He smiles, hands gravitating to your hips. “Nothin’. I just love you.” 
You grin. “I love you too.” 
He kisses you again, and you don’t think you could ever get enough of it. You kisses you roughly against the door, hips colliding with yours, over and over, and soon enough you’re shaking with want. Mind muddled, whispering a single word into his ear, “Bedroom.” 
It feels different here this time. All those times in the past had felt restrained, now, everything feels exactly as it should. 
When before you used to strip down quickly just to get him inside you, this time, you both take your time. He carefully unwraps you like a present as he noses kisses down your throat. He peels your thick black sweater off, and slides the straps of your bra down your shoulders, his dark eyes locked with yours. Joel reaches behind you and undoes the clasp with ease. You can hardly hold back your shaky sigh. 
Your hands smooth over his sweater-clad chest before pulling it up and over his head. That jagged scar is there on his stomach, a reminder of everything he’s been through. You run your hand along it, and he shudders. 
“Sit down,” he says. 
You sit on the edge of the bed, and he kneels before you. Then, he grabs your boot-clad foot and sets it on his thigh. He undoes the laces and carefully takes the boot off. He does the other, and then hooks his fingers around your waistband and pulls it and your panties off together. 
“I was right,” he says. “It really does look better on my floor.” 
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, and pull him back into you. His lips catch yours gently, but the kiss intensifies when your mouth parts eagerly as his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips. His tongue slips in, and a moan tumbles out of you as your hands scrabble at his shoulder blades, your nails lightly scratching over thin scars.
His nose squishes against your cheek, and his large, hot hands slide up and down your body, like he just can’t keep them still. Like he wants to catalog all of you right now, remember it forever. 
He rocks against you, still confined in his jeans, but you can feel the hard shape of him brushing against your sensitive core, the friction incredibly delicious. Your hands find his button and zipper, undoing them both with as much concentration as you can muster, though it’s really difficult when he’s kissing you like you contain all of the world’s oxygen. 
Finally, he allows you to breathe, his beard scraping against the sensitive skin of your throat as he mouths hot kisses down your skin. He grips one of your thighs, setting it against his hip, large, rough fingers splaying across the whole of it. God, you love how easily you fit in his palms.
He grinds his hips into you over and over and you moan, aching for the feel of him inside you. You tug at his waistband again. “Joel, please take these off already.” 
“Not yet,” he says, and releases your leg, his hand skating across the skin of your thigh, brushing gently along, making you shudder in his hold. You can feel the warmth of his fingers as he nears where you want him most. 
And then, his fingers are on you, swirling in gentle circles, unraveling you at the seams. Your head hits the mattress and your back arches. He knows exactly what to do to make you putty in his hands, has had so much time to practice. But this time, it feels so much better, knowing now that he loves you. That you’re more than just friends. 
Your palms find his face and you pull him in for a slow, meaningful kiss, trying to tell him just how thankful you are for him. How glad you are that he loves you. How sorry you are for not letting him kiss you. It’s kind of hard to kiss him, though, when he’s making you feel this good. Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging at it, and he moans into your mouth. 
He slips one, two fingers inside you, pumping them at a steady pace that has your hands gripping his hair tightly and your hips scrabbling for that pleasant release dangling in front of you. He urges you on with encouraging, quiet words, his dark eyes boring into yours. Your mind, body, and soul feel hot.
When his thumb finds your clit it’s only moments until you’re shattering against him, warmth flooding your body. Your hips jerk, your legs shaking as he takes you over the edge. 
“Pants off. Now,” you huff between breaths, and he finally listens. 
“Yes, ma’am.” 
Then, he shifts you up the bed… it reminds you of the first time the two of you had sex again after he was so busy. So much the same yet so different. His hand moves up your body, cups one of your breasts, kneading it gently. When his thumb ghosts over your nipple, you shiver. 
“You’re so beautiful, darlin’,” he murmurs, and grasps your knee, pulling it over his hip. 
And then he’s sliding in, and the stretch is blissful, so welcome, so familiar and yet so new. You hold onto him, keeping him close as he begins to move. You feel full, mind faraway with bliss.
“God, Joel-“ you hiss. 
He groans out your name, and it rumbles through you like rolling thunder. Lightning lights a fuse at the end of your spine. 
You’re out of control. He tends to do that to you. Make you angry, make you sad, draw all the emotions you tend to not want to deal with out of you. Frustrates you, makes you so hungry with want that you throw all semblance of rational thought away. And he likes it. You like it. 
God, you love him so much. 
You move together as one, pushing and pulling. Everything shrinks down to just this. Him. You. Where your bodies meet. 
“More,” you moan, and he huffs out a laugh, but obliges, thrusting into you deeper, harder, and you’re as tight as a bowstring. 
Every anxious thought, every worry, every single doubt dissipates with every movement of his hips. You shift your own to meet his thrusts, and soon he’s gasping into your skin, growling your name. His hand winds into your hair, and he breathes with you, eyes locked with yours. 
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs. “Come for me.” 
Well, who are you to deny him? He pushes you over the edge in an instant, your body going taught, eyes rolling back into your head. His name flows out of you like a mantra.
Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel. 
“I love you,” he says into your throat when he follows you, hips jerking with sloppy thrusts as he comes inside you. 
Joel collapses next to you, pulling you into him, his arm slung heavily across your waist. When you can finally catch your breath, you say, “I love you, too.”
His grin is sated, eyes heavy when he pulls you in for another deep kiss. “We’ve said that a lot, huh?”
“Just making up for lost time. I think it’s alright.” 
“I should’ve said it a lot sooner,” he says, calloused fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. 
“Me too. Telling you not to kiss me was really dumb.” 
“Probably not the smartest thing you’ve said.” 
You scoff in mock offense, pushing at his shoulder. “Asshole.” 
“Yeah, but you love me.”
You roll your eyes, but scoot further into him, laying your head on his chest. 
It might have been a risk to fall in love with your best friend, but God, you’re glad you did. 
“Yeah, I really do.”
371 notes · View notes
nagumoan · 10 months
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‎‎Three-Part Halloween Collab 2023
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TRICKS: Any dark romances that leave you shivering for more. The creepy neighbour who is a touch too friendly, the killer that’s on the loose in town, the man who follows you home every night and stands by your bed. The dark fantasies that reside in your mind and are begging to be shared.
TREATS: The fun memories that Halloween brings. Couple costumes with your beloved, sharing sweets, going trick or treating together, or watching a horror movie. Whatever fun thing you can come up with!
HAUNTED: Where the non-human beings show their true faces. This section is meant for anything that goes beyond being human. Romance the vampire who cannot get enough of your sweet taste, seduce the ghost that has been residing in your basement, let yourself be lured in by a ghoul who cannot wait to get their hands on you.
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How to join?
Send an ask to me, specifying which character + prompt you will be writing/drawing for. Also tell me which of the three categories your work will be for!
When you post your piece, please make sure to tag me in the post and use the tag #dwtdcollab. I will add you to the Masterlist as soon as I can!
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RULES:
Open to all fandoms!
We do not have to be mutuals for you to join!
Please make sure to have your age on your blog. Only 18+ allowed, since this isn’t a strictly SFW collab!
NSFW and SFW works are allowed. Make sure to add the correct content/trigger warnings, please! All characters depicted in NSFW must be 18+ / aged up to 18+.
Fanfics and art are both allowed!
For fics, the minimum word count is 500 words! Drabbles, Headcanons and full length fics are all acceptable. Do make use of the “Read More” option.
Post your work between the 1st and the 31st of October and tag me in it, so that I can reblog and add it to the masterlist!
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THE TRICKS:
- Yandere mad-scientist Äs Nödt x Reader by @/violxtbxbyy
- Geto Suguru x Black Reader by @/nutheadgeenat
- Ghostface Kaeya x Reader by @/bl4des
- Obsessive art student Geto Suguru x Muse Reader by @/mekiza
- Yandere Xiao x Reader by @/nc-vb
- Yandere Megumi x Reader by @/yuujispinkhair
- Creepy sleazy neighbor Toji Fushiguro x Reader by @/buerriberry
- Yandere Geto Suguru x Reader by @/blueparadis
- Yandere Sanji x Reader by @/quinloki
- Yandere Kaeya x Reader by @/vemuabhi
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THE TREATS:
- Gojo x Viewer x Geto by @/ryosami
- Yoo Joonghyuk x Reader by @/sixeyesgojo
- Shigaraki Tomura x Reader by @/suyacho
- Portgas D. Ace x Reader by @/quinloki
- MXTX Surprise Art by @/tinyreineart
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THE HAUNTED:
- Vampire Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader by @/animereaderinsertwriter
- Yandere Wolf Bakugou x Yandere Vampire Reader by @/sorrowfulrosebud
- Vampire Miguel O’Hara x Reader by @/imperatorkhaleesi
- Ghost Ranpo Edogawa x Reader by @/mekiza
- Vampire Askin x Viewer by @/dopepoisonivyoncrack
- Werewolf Baji Keisuke x Reader by @/ghoularaki
- Vampire Ulquiorra x Reader by @/semisgroupie
- Merman Levi Ackerman x Reader by @/buerriberry
- Hunter Miguel O’Hara x Vampire Reader by @/loganlermanstanaccount
- Incubus Sampo x Reader by @/nagumoan
- Yokai Kenjaku/Geto Suguru x Reader by @/nagumoan
- Were-Beast Sir Crocodile x Reader by @/quinloki
- Ghost Toji Fushiguro x Reader by @/mydisenchantedeulogy
- Vampire Shuji Hanma x Reader by @/shujivevo
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440 notes · View notes
crystallizedtwilight · 6 months
Note
I LOOOOOOOVE how you draw sally, it makes me think she looks like the really nice librarian or the nice teacher off of Matilda (cant remember her name sorry) and I also love the others as well, but sally just makes me really happy. :D
Hope you are having a good day/night never know what time it is.
Thank you, that's so nice to hear! I really love designing fashion so I imagine that Sally becomes the official Halloween Town seamstress! (and Queen, of course). So she and the residents can have the outfits of their dreams!
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271 notes · View notes
dbs-scans · 5 months
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Halloween Event 2023 — The Kamome Monster Nursery Monstagram Account
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Hello all! In this post, we've compiled the event hosted on AidaIro's Twitter account in 2023 to celebrate Halloween: a return to the Kamome Monster Nursery!
This time, we take a look at the nursery's new social media account...
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🎃Announcement🎃 To all nearby residents: First, allow us to express our gratitude to everyone for always being such good neighbors to our monsters and researchers. Tonight, we have taken it upon ourselves to review a common concern we receive: that our facility seems dangerous and gives people the creeps.
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In light of this, we have decided to set up a social media account to allow all of you to see our monsters and researchers in action. By viewing the feats and day-to-day lives of our nursery, we hope it may help you better understand our noble mission. 🎃🎃🎃
—The large-scale social networking service, "Monstagram"... Apparently there's an account on there that posts not just the day-to-day lives of humans, but monsters as well...
What spine-chilling lives could these monsters possibly be leading? With shaky hands, I decided to take a peek at this "Kamome Monster Nursery" account on "Monstagram"...
There are already a few posts here. Now, which one should I view first...?
POLL:
【We're gonna bite'cha!】✅
【The Monster Prodigy】
【Aim to hollow out your opponent, and... Punch!】
【Who's up? ~Whispering Sweet Nothings・For Eternity...~】✅
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Alright, let's open up Monstagram...
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【Who's up? ~Whispering Sweet Nothings・For Eternity...~】 Oops! I accidentally clicked on a weird video! This man is treating me like a kitten. Is the sexy voice really necessary...? I think I'll go to sleep early tonight...
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【We're gonna bite'cha!】 It's a video of three monsters practicing their dance moves. Their footwork's a mess, but you can tell they're giving it their all. I wonder if they're going to put on a show...?
—Setting aside that researcher's cryptic video, it seems to me that the monsters are planning something. What could it be...? Now, which one should I look at tomorrow?
POLL:
【The Monster Prodigy】✅
【Aim to hollow out your opponent, and... Punch!】 
【Outing With the Older Boys】✅
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OK, let's open up Monstagram again...
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【Outing With the Older Boys】 Three monsters are being lead through town by an adult monster and an adult human male. The monster in front is leading them with a flag. He's so cool and collected... wow... I've decided: in my next life, I want to be reborn as a flag!
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【Target Spotted!】 I found the continuation to the last photo. It seems they went to the city to go shopping. The monster is pointing at a hat shop. I guess she found what she was looking for. That's nice.
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【The Monster Prodigy】 The three monsters are practicing writing. There are envelopes and stationery nearby. Are they writing a letter to someone...? The one with the best handwriting out of the three of them seems to be the one with all the wings growing out of it. That one's so skilled, I... I can't even read it...
—I feel like I'm beginning to get an idea of what the monsters are planning. I'll take a look at the rest of the posts tomorrow...
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I'm going to go on Monstagram today, too!
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【Secret Nightly Routine】 I-I didn't know monsters could be this adorable...!! The secret to keeping her tail so fluffy is by brushing it daily and bribing it with cookies, it seems.
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【Aim to hollow out your opponent, and... Punch!】 The Three Monsters are training. No way — are they preparing for battle...!? Maybe they're planning on beating somebody up. Monsters are awesome... ...
—Tomorrow it will finally be Halloween. I wonder how they're all going to spend it......
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Looks like they didn't post any updates on Monstagram today. The monsters and researchers must be too busy to post anything.
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Judging by the posts I saw, those monsters were probably doing all that work in preparation for today. I wonder if the three of them are enjoying Halloween with the researchers right now...? If they come to town, I'll hand out treats to them... ...
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🎃 Happy Halloween! 🎃
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320 notes · View notes
Note
I wonder how everyone would react if they ever did find out what Edgar did to corrupt Oogie.
YEAH!!! They clearly look up to Edgar, since they were disappointed to hear he was passing on the Pumpkin King title. Did they know about his (darker) intentions with his rule over Halloween town? How would have things went down if the Residents learned he was trying to fix the contest in favor of Oogie? It was awful, and I'm kind of disappointed his true colors were never revealed to anyone, even Jack.
I guess Oogie will be the only one who ever knew what the previous Pumpkin King was truly like...
13 notes · View notes
jadeylovesmarvelxo · 5 months
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It's Magic ✨🍁
Slightly Spooky, cute lil story about Eddie and the new witch in town ✨🍁🎃
Warnings: Eddie Munson x witch reader, soulmate bond. Cute and fluffy.
🖤🍁
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Don't copy, reuse or repost my work.
There was something weird happening in Hawkins and it wasn't the usual Upside Down related weird that usually happened.
Eddie could just sense it, some spooky shit was going down and he was here for it.
He had watched enough horror movies in his life to prepare for whatever potential shit was going to happen.
It occurred to him he was maybe being a tad dramatic, there was a definite change in the air but it didn't feel like anything to worry about.
Eddie never thought he would say this after helping Dustin, his friends and the super powered kid El defeat Vecna and close the Upside Down for good, but he was bored.
Hawkins was back to its pre Upside Down level of dull and while he was grateful he was still alive and kicking and the end of the world hadn't happened, he wanted a teeny bit of excitement.
Which is why he was convincing himself that the things happening were something to be investigated.
Mostly the spooky shit had been happening to him. Weird dreams, a sense that he was waiting for something or someone.
There was also the cute but pesky little black cat that had took up residence in his room.
It was kinda nice to have something happen even if it was vivid dreams and cute felines.
Which is why he was at your place, you were the new girl in town and everyone from Steve to Dustin to Gareth was intrigued by you.
There was something about you... Something that Eddie couldn't place, something different but he was sure you were why he was feeling like everything was different.
Not that he had officially met you yet but for some reason you were in his dreams a lot. They were weird and wonderful but still unexpected.
Eddie didn't know why he was dreaming of you, shit you were pratically a stranger to him but you appeared in his dreams and there was this sense that deep down he had known you all his life.
It was witchcraft or something. That much he knew. Something was afoot and Eddie wanted to find out what.
He had tried telling Dustin his thoughts about you but the little shrimp thought you hung the moon so it was no use.
Eddie didn't know what he expected to find when he arrived at your house, except for the fact it was decorated to the nines for Halloween, there was nothing strange about it.
In fact, Eddie admired how realistic some of the decorations looked and got distracted by the cats that were hanging around in your back yard.
He was just about to leave when he noticed sparkles of light in the air, at first he assumed they were fireflies but as he got closer he realised they were something else, balls of light shaped like orbs.
If he didn't know any better he would say there was something magical about the glowing sparkling orbs.
He was about to dismiss the fact that magic wasn't real but after all the shit he had seen it was enough for him not to rule out the thought entirely, enough for him to follow the lights that seemed to be beckoning him.
A small part of his mind wondered if this was the part in the horror films where he should run but he had a feeling that he wasn't in any danger.
That's when he saw you. The glowing lights circled around you and then disappeared with a flick of your hand.
What the fuck?
He stared at the spot where they had vanished and then at you.
Fuck, no wonder Steve was smitten. You were beautiful. He gawks at you for a second before feeling like an idiot.
"Uh hey" he attempts to appear cool and composed, determined not to turn into an awkward babbling idiot but you were just so pretty.
Eddie wasn't a smooth lothario by any means but he could be confident, flirty, strut around and make pretty girls laugh when he wanted to.
However, you had made him clam up, shyness wasn't really something he struggled with. Until he saw you.
"Eddie Munson, you should try being more sneaky if you're going to attempt to spy on a lady" You tease and he gulps.
"I wasn't... Shit, I was just... Uh I got curious about you and just wanted to figure you out. There's something about you sweetheart"
A soft smile touches your lips and you approach him. He feels a little nervous, enchanted by your sweet smile and kind eyes.
"Something spooky yet intriguing? Dustin let slip" far from being offended you look amused but Eddie curses.
"Little butthead" You giggle and it takes a second for him to notice that the lights are back again, swirling around you and him.
"Uh, cool tricks" he grins and you grin at him as the whole backyard begins to glow even brighter, like fairylights all aglow.
"Oh, it's no trick handsome" You click your fingers and the lights disappear once more.
Eddie blinks rapidly, he can't ignore what's in front of him again.
"You're a witch"
"A badass one at that" the smile slips from your face and for a second you look sad.
"Do you mind keeping this a secret? Small town and all, anyone figures out that I'm a witch then either I'm suddenly their best friend or their enemy. Depends what use I am to them"
Eddie's heart aches for you and he nods. He won't tell a soul.
"I just want to be at peace here with my family, my coven. Make a home" he touched your hand, stunned at the sparks he feels when his hand touches yours.
The softness of your skin, those pretty eyes are enough for him to fall even more under your spell. Figuratively of course.
"I won't tell anyone sweetheart, I just don't understand why you told me" you peer at him your expression shy.
"You're in my dreams Eddie Munson and I bet I'm in yours too. I feel like I've known you all my life. I can trust you" his heart skips a beat as you kiss his cheek.
"Can I see you again?" he blurts out and that sweet smile is back on your lips.
"Absolutely, but you're not done seeing me now Mr Munson" you take his hand and he follows you, his heart stolen by you already.
There's a little chirp of a meow and the black cat that's been hanging around his trailer slinks between his legs and yours purring happily.
"Hey, that's the cat that's been following me around " he blushes as you grin.
"Do you like him? I know he's been hanging around you. He's my familiar and was curious about you. His name is Ozzy"
"Ozzy like Ozzy Osborne?" you nod and Eddie is pretty sure he's in love with you already.
His little witch.
243 notes · View notes
talesofadragon · 5 months
Text
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞
Synopsis: Steve Rogers was looking forward to Halloween. Not because of the costumes, the tricking and the treating, or Tony’s meticulous party planning—he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his Y/N. But a cozy night in with pumpkin spice lattes and that Halloween Town movie he needed to catch up on was soon abandoned when the mysterious house on Easton Avenue called for his attention.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Civilian!Reader
Genre: SMUT | Fluff | Some scary stuff
Warnings: Unprotected sex, P in the V, oral sex, temperature play, sex toys, kegel balls, blindfolds, bondage, pussy slapping, object insertion, deepthroating, shoe humping, degradation, dacryphilia, sex tapes, mirror sex, breast fucking, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, overstimulation, should I go on? It’s shameful sex, basically.
Word Count: 12K
A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FOLKS! This is my very first time doing a kinktober special, but I really wanted to submit an entry to @jtargaryen18's Halloween Special! So, I hope you all like this. And forgive me, because I just finished it, and didn't triple-check for typos. Enjoy 🧡🎃
All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist
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𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 of red surged from within the fifth house on Easton Avenue, sending a chaotic ripple across the entire neighborhood. At least, that’s how you pictured it in your head. That house had a vicious and ominous aura, topped with a polarizing effect that both dared you to come closer and urged you to stay away. 
Something about that house wasn’t right ever since its residents claimed it a week ago. It had been a solid year since you moved to Brooklyn to live with Steve, and as far as you knew, that old and frail house had been vacant for the better half of seven years. Yet now, all so suddenly, someone decided it was the most miraculous idea in the world to step through the broken fence and make do with whatever crumbs the beaten structure had to offer—with little regard or effort at fixing it. 
“What in the name of God are you doing?” 
Lost in the abstract aura of your neighbor’s house, Steve had crept up on you, and you were none the wiser. You whipped your head to the back, hands firmly clutching the binoculars. It was not a sound decision on your behalf because Steve’s majestic blue-green eyes were now tenfold bigger, almost as if they were about to devour you whole.
You shrieked, fingers still gripping the binoculars for reasons unknown. Your startled expression made Steve stiffen and look around.
“Why are you screaming?” he asked, taking the binoculars away from your face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he caught the letter “A” engraved on the side. “Did you take these from my mission bag, Y/N?” 
You sheepishly gazed up at him, giving him your best pout. Steve didn’t particularly mind if you rummaged through his things, but the reason you lived on Easton Avenue and not at the Avengers Compound was that he tried to keep you away from his “alter ego,” as you liked to call it. So, snooping through his mission bag might have contradicted the boundaries you had previously set.
“I was birdwatching,” you blurted out without a second thought. 
Steve regarded you skeptically. “Birdwatching,” he repeated, his tone heavy with doubt. 
“Yes. This time of the year brings very colorful birds.” 
He didn’t respond, only subtly arching an eyebrow. Placing the binoculars on the nearby couch, his slender and long fingers pushed the curtain aside—enough for him to peek out the window. And because Steven Grant Rogers was God’s perfect human creation, he didn’t need even a monocle to catch sight of the fifth townhouse down your street. 
“Yeah, you’re right. That ashen plumage does splendidly reflect the beauty of this season.” 
“At least you are a gentleman enough to feign belief,” you remarked, indignantly rolling your eyes. 
Knowing what was going to follow, you picked up the binoculars and headed to your shared bedroom. But Steve was right behind you with the same retort he used when he caught you so much as thinking about that house. “Dove, you need to stop investing so much energy into that house. There’s nothing wrong about it.”
“Everything is wrong about it, Steve!” you defended, picking up his bag from the closet and putting the binoculars back. “It’s creepy and morbid, and I can’t believe anyone would willingly choose to settle in it.” 
“It’s a nice house. I’m sure, with some attention, anyone would want to settle in it.” 
“Well, that’s the thing! Why aren’t the new owners doing anything about it? It’s sitting there like the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The only missing part is the werewolf.” 
Steve looked somewhat perplexed and unconvinced. His lips parted then closed until he was ready to speak again. “Werewolves don’t exist.” Of course, he’d focus on that part. “And, maybe the owners haven’t had the chance to refurbish the house yet.” 
“That’s a great suggestion, Stevie! Why don’t we go and lend a hand.” 
It was not, in fact, a great suggestion at all. What it was though is a ruse.
You didn’t give him the time to answer, immediately bolting outside the room. You knew you had him in a corner because Steve Rogers might’ve been a master strategist, a renowned captain, and a fearless leader, but you could always uncover the cracks in his façade, and you were certain something about this house didn’t sit right with him either. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud.
“Uhm, maybe you should sit this one out, dove. You’ve never been good with a paintbrush.” 
“Maybe so,” you replied with your back still to him. You didn’t need heightened senses to catch the shy curse that left his mouth. “But I’m good at baking. I can offer the new neighbors some pumpkin pie while you help them with the paint. You’re the artist, after all, baby.” 
Steve caught your wrist before you could open the fridge to “search” for the ingredients for your pie. 
“You mean like right now?” 
“Yes! We may not be able to do much, but maybe enough to not have the trick-and-treaters scurry away at the sight of that house.” 
Releasing your wrist from his grasp, you reached for the fridge. Steve’s veiny hand collided with the metal door, forcing it to close. With his hands on your hips, he spun you around and placed your body against the fridge. 
“Y/N.” The coldness of the fridge’s metal door against your fingertips did little to appease the flames burning in your soul. God damn Steve Rogers and the effect he had on you. “Don’t make me say it.” 
“Say what?” 
“…I hate that house.” 
“The nice house down our street?” 
“The morbid one that looks like Azkaban.” 
“Aha!” You joiced, finger digging into Steve’s chest. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who found that creepy old building ominous.” 
“Of course not. I’ve been pestering Tony for over a week, trying to find out who bought that place and see if they’re a security threat,” Steve admitted. 
You tilted your head to the side, lips pursing in thought. “I mean, I don’t like the house. But is it a security threat?”
Sensing the shift in your voice, Steve’s hand found purchase in your hair, twirling a strand in his index finger. It was a familiar habit he had developed since you’d gotten together. Partly comforting and partly grounding—for both of you. 
“According to Tony, it isn’t. But, you know me. Your safety is always at the forefront of my mind. And I don’t like how that house is so close to us.” 
“Me neither,” you replied, now playing with Steve’s hands. You traced the veins protruding from his skin, marveling at the difference between his large hands and your petite ones. “But with you here, I don’t care about a silly old house.” 
“So, can we forget about your little stakeout missions and go back to planning our private party this evening?” Steve smirked, tugging you closer by your waist. 
“It was one time!” 
“For five days.” 
“Shut up,” you said with feigned indignation. “Or else no private party. I’ll force you to attend Tony’s.” 
Steve’s eyes widened at the mention of Tony’s infamous party. This year, the theme was something along the lines of "Halloween of Doom." And since Steve wasn't a fan of the usual wild parties Tony would throw every chance he got,  he wasn't looking forward to the Halloween shenanigans.
Just as you took his hand in yours and pulled him toward the hall, a sharp tap against your window sounded across the room. Bemused, you turned to Steve. He immediately stepped in front of you, keeping an ear out to identify the source of the sound.
Incessant in its pursuit of attention, the sound boomed louder. Steve motioned for you to stay where you were while he investigated. Five seconds later, he called your name, albeit hesitantly. 
“Y/N,” he said, gaze unwavering ahead. “I think all that birdwatching you did called the attention of an angry bird.”
“Is that an owl?” You hadn’t realized how loud your voice was until the owl in question shrieked behind the glass window. What the hell was an owl doing at your house?
“It looks like it,” Steve answered. 
Neither of you tried to open the window, which agitated the owl. It ruffled its feathers and tapped the glass, clearly demanding entry. You studied the nocturnal creature, which obviously lacked a sense of orientation since you were nowhere near the evening. Something on its leg caught your eye. You gasped, pointing at it. “There’s a rolled-up letter attached to its leg!”
The moment Steve noticed the letter, he rushed to open the window. The owl flew in, forcing you to step a couple of feet back—you were a sane person who didn’t go out of their way to look for owls, let alone ones that appeared in broad daylight.
Steve plucked the letter from its leg and opened it. “It’s an invitation.”
“For what?”
“A Halloween feast,” he said, eyeing the letter suspiciously. “At House 5 on Easton Avenue.” It was the same morbid house you two had been discussing. 
You carefully approached Steve, mindful of the owl on your coffee table. You took the letter in your hands, reading it aloud. 
We’ve Caught Your Unblinking Eye Through the Ashen Veil We Know You Are Curious. We Feel It in Our Veins.
To Uncover the Macabre Truths Shrouded by Our Shadows  Join the Halloween Feast Tonight 
And Embrace a Chilling Night at Doom’s Manor House 5 - Easton Avenue - 9:00 PM
“This is worse than our phones when they display targeted ads because of whatever they heard us talking about,” you exclaimed, hands tightly clutching the piece of paper.
Steve’s eyes widened significantly, pure horror crossing his features. “Our phones do that?” 
"Yeah," you replied with a matter-of-fact tone. You've most likely added one more item to Steve Rogers' “X Things I Hate About the Twenty-First Century” list. "They pick up on our search history too. So, maybe they'll know why that owl still hasn't left yet because it's starting to give me the creeps."
The owl with brown feathers and round yellow eyes hooted, hopping on the table and looking between you and Steve. It definitely did not like you.
“Maybe it wants something?” Steve guessed.
“Like what? Dollar bills or a treat in exchange for its postal services?” you scoffed. The owl wasn’t privy to your cynicism, but you still crept closer to Steve in fear of it deciding to attack you or something. 
“A confirmation, maybe?” The owl hooted, seemingly agreeing with Steve. You quickly grabbed his arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “Dove, I don’t think it’s taking ‘no’ for an answer.”
As if on the same page, the owl moved away from you both and flew to the outside of the house. You and Steve just stared at the open window, House 5 right there, teasingly close.
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Steve was on high alert. His fingers dug into the edges of the wooden window as he fixed his eyes on the mysterious house down Easton Avenue. You’d think that there would be bustling activity considering the owners had only recently moved in, but he never saw anyone walk in or out of that house. He didn’t even recall catching sight of anyone by the window. 
And although the Halloween feast was barely ten minutes away from starting, no one had approached the house yet. 
“Dove,” Steve called, pushing away from the window and adjusting his suit. “I’m gonna head out now. I know that Tony and the others overlooked the invite and didn’t want to interfere, but to be on the safe side—”
He was about to tell you to activate your security system and connect to the emergency line of the Avengers Initiative if he didn’t update you within twenty minutes of entering that house. But his words were stuck on the tip of his tongue when you walked into view.
“Why are you wearing your stealth suit?” you asked, almost glumly. Steve just blinked, looking completely flabbergasted, like a deer caught in headlights.
“I can ask you the same thing.” He pointed at your outfit, his tongue poking out and wetting his lips. “Why do you have a stealth suit on? Where did you even get one?” 
The saccharine surprise in Steve’s tone fueled your heart with desire. You chewed on your lower lip, twirling a strand of your hair to draw Steve’s attention to your ponytail. His breath hitched, his eyes running a marathon across the expanse of your neck. You relished the lust that crossed over his features when you swayed your hips and sauntered to his side. 
“Do you like it?” came your ardent whisper. Steve’s hands circled your hips, fingers burying in the leather of your suit, squeezing your side in affirmation.
You loved Halloween, making it your October resolution to find the best costume. But it was always hard to find one, considering there were so many options to choose from, and you were as decisive as a Gemini. After some time, an Avengers stealth suit popped up during your search, one which sinfully complimented your ass and curves. So you knew, right away, that getting your hands on it was a must if it would drive Steve crazy. 
“Why are you wearing it, dove?” Steve asked once more.
Innocently batting your eyelashes at him, you answered, “Because we’re going to the Halloween feast.” 
“Absolutely not.” And there it was. “I told you, I’m going in to check it. Alone. It’s a mission, Y/N. And you stray away from those.” 
“It’s not an official mission if Tony didn’t approve it.” 
“I’m the Head of the Avengers.” 
“You’re Head Strategist, yes. But we both know that if Tony and Fury don’t give the green light, you can’t treat whatever this is as a mission.” 
You had him there, and you knew it. While Steve Rogers had a knack for defending any argument and finding a way to assert his stance, this time he faltered for an answer, and only managed to say, “You’re still not going.” 
“Don’t you think it’s going to look a tad bit suspicious if you walk into that house alone? And with your suit on?” 
“No,” Steve shrugged. “Besides, that’s why I’m leaving my shield here.” 
“And your common sense.” If his glare was any indication, he didn’t appreciate your commentary. “If I go with you, it would look like we’re genuinely interested in their stupid feast. You can snoop around while I stick to the activities.” 
“That’s too dangerous.” 
“So, why do you assume I’d let you go there on your own?” 
“Because I’m enhanced, Y/N.” 
“And I’m a SHIELD agent for the night, Steve.” 
“And you judge me about my common sense?” 
“Steve,” you stressed, catching his attention. “If that house is not as safe as the Avengers claim, I am not letting you go there by yourself. You can either go against me and leave me here, alone, well aware that our loony neighbors are watching. Or, you take me with you. It’s your call.”
It’s been yours since the beginning, and you’re not the least bit surprised when Steve mumbled something incoherent before he ushered you out of the house. 
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The neighboring houses, much like your own, were modestly decorated for the occasion. The Barbers, your neighbors from across the street, had a couple of skeleton bodies strewn across the yard and fake bats hanging from the large tree in their backyard. The Adlers went with carved pumpkins and flickering lanterns, which created a warm, inviting ambiance. Meanwhile, the Hansens had embraced the theme with scattered tombstones and heinous, life-sized witches tending to their boiling cauldrons.
Although the fifth house on Easton Avenue was barren and devoid of even a string light, it stood as the most intimidating and menacing of them all. The sinister atmosphere grew more palpable when you and Steve approached. The wind carried an unsettling chill, and the ancient trees lining the path creaked like ghostly sentinels. It was as if the house was an isle of malevolence adrift in a sea of darkness.
“Why is it the only house with fog surrounding it?” Steve noted. You both stood by a withered fence, the imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows.
“I don’t know,” you replied, glancing around nervously. “Maybe it’s just a fog machine, but this place is terrifying enough as it is. It doesn’t need any more decorations.”
With a heavy breath, Steve stepped forward, the fog swirling around his boots. You watched in apprehension as the entrance loomed ahead. Steve paused for a moment, turning back to you. His eyes, usually full of determination, now held a flicker of doubt. “I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N.”
The atmosphere turned even more chilling when, suddenly, a low, dissonant hum echoed from the depths of the house, making your hair stand on end. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.
Without breaking his gaze from the looming house, Steve extended his hand toward you. You clasped onto it, anchoring yourself to this distorted reality. He spared a glance your way, one that was brief in time yet abundant in intensity, and you responded with a nod, your nerves on edge. With a deep breath, Steve raised his clenched fist to knock on the door, but before he could make contact, it swung open on its own.
You both cautiously crossed the threshold, never releasing each other's hands. You were met with a dimly lit room, paintings strewn across its walls, each with a calculating pair of eyes narrowing on you.
"Welcome, Steve Rogers and Y/N Y/L/N," a commanding voice boomed, rattling the portraits on the wall. You jumped in your shoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the source. You were left bewildered, staring at the void that surrounded you. "Welcome to a chilling night at Doom's Manor!"
You didn’t have time to ask questions—you barely had a chance to think before the front door swung shut and the blinds closed, engulfing the sinister house in even more darkness. 
“What the hell?” you cried as an oppressive silence descended. It was like you were sucked into a black hole with only Steve’s touch tethering you to earth. “Steve! Turn on your flashlight.” 
“I don’t have a flashlight, Y/N,” Steve tersely replied. 
“You have a phone, which has a built-in flashlight. Turn it on,” you urged, your voice tinged with desperation. “Then we can discuss why you brought a gun and no flashlight to this place!”
You heard him groan in frustration, palms smacking against the leather of his suit as he fished out his phone. He pressed it, fingers less than graceful when it came to touchscreens. For a moment, you thought he had forgotten how to unlock the device. Until he said, “My battery’s dead.” 
“Our brilliant Head Strategist venturing on a mission without the means to communicate! What kind of expert overlooks that?” you chastised, fishing out your own phone. You tapped it repeatedly, but the screen remained blank. A sinking feeling washed over you as you pressed the side button, yet it refused to light up. “I swear it was charged,” you whispered in disbelief.
“I’m afraid that your phones won’t work here,” the same disorienting voice said. 
Unexpectedly, a blinding white radiance cut through the darkness, forcing both you and Steve to shield your eyes. As the light faded, it started to flicker intermittently, weaving through the walls and mingling with the torchlights.
Despite all the courage you tried to manifest, your voice brokenly whispered, “Steve, is this a bad time to tell you that I was never fond of haunted houses as a kid?” 
The lights were still flickering when Steve ripped his hand from your firm grasp. Your breath hitched, thinking the worst. But he was still there next to you, eyeing the door. “No one is, dove. And I’m not forcing you to like ‘em now.” 
With all the super soldier strength coursing through his veins, Steve lunged at the door, attempting to force it open. It broke your heart to see it stubbornly clenching its hinges no matter how many times Steve flung himself against it.
The mysterious voice tutted, inundating your being with fear. You held your breath, praying that Steve would get you both out of here fast.
“You should learn to treat even inanimate objects kindly, Captain Rogers. Or does all that strength chip away at your humanity?” 
Ignoring the voice, Steve continued his assault on the door. What he didn’t expect was an incorporeal force that lunged at him without warning. The unadulterated strength in its grip sent him hurling through the air until he crashed to the ground with a loud groan. 
“Steve!” you called apprehensively. 
“Should I have warned you not to do that? Thought it was self-explanatory?” the same voice commented. 
You heard your heels clicking against the tiles before you could even think about moving. Steve was rubbing at his temple, eyes forcibly closed after the fall. You were almost by his side when you felt a hand grab your hair and fling you into the air. 
You shrieked, the quiver in your voice igniting Steve’s anger. He raced forward, arms stretched out. But unlike the pale, ghastly form that manhandled you, tangible vines stemmed from the recesses of the house’s tiles and walls, aiming at Steve. 
“Get off him!” you commanded as you kicked your feet and threw a punch. Your forceful gestures vaporized into the thin air, torpid against the vice grip of the spirit before you. You gasped hard when the misty form wrapped itself around your neck—constricting the air around and molding you and the wall as one. 
“Y/N!” Steve grunted, desperately trying to pry himself out of the vines’ steel grip. “Hold on. I-I’ll get it o-off.” 
The morbid atmosphere was getting worse as dark spots clung to your vision’s periphery. The incorporeal assault remained relentless, slamming you once more against the wall. As you forced your eyes to meander, searching for a solution, you focused on antique torches, each with a blue flame in its grasp. 
The same torch hung from the wall you were trapped against. With a growl and a hell lot of hope that Ghostbusters had taught you something useful, you snatched the torch and incinerated the elusive monster. 
One less than graceful descent later, you braced yourself against the floor with a thud. Steve was still struggling against Mother Nature’s prodigal offspring. He’d gotten a dagger out, but the more he cut through the vines, the more they multiplied. 
You staggered your way to him just as the plant lunged at his face. “Don’t even think about it!” you warned, attacking the plant with the iridescent flames. Steve inhaled sharply as the vines, which were wrapped around him, turned into ash. 
“Dove, I don’t know if I should be in awe or fear of what just happened,” Steve admitted as you helped him up. You were too busy inspecting his body for injuries to answer. 
“We need to get out of here,” you said in one breath. “This place isn’t safe.” 
Steve was about to answer when the eerie voice interjected, “Safe is boring.” 
You sneered, wanting so badly to punch whoever was callously commenting. Steve grabbed you tightly and maneuvered his way through the house. Luckily, nothing else attacked you two as you navigated the narrow corridors except for the thick dust and the cobwebs. 
Steve had found a door, which he immediately opened. As he stepped into the room, large and foreboding, a sense of apprehension gripped him. Shadows danced along the walls, playing tricks on his vision, while a musty scent of decay lingered in the air.
You both tried to find a way out, but to your utter horror, the same door you had opened to run into this room disappeared. 
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Steve asked, bewildered. He ran his hands over the wall, fingers tracing the edges of the now-invisible door. “How is that even possible?” 
You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t know. But the werewolf would have been better.” 
“Well, that could be arranged,” the mysterious voice announced. 
In hindsight, you should’ve thought twice before giving your two cents. But how were you supposed to know that the sentient house didn’t only manipulate nightmares but could also manifest them?
Steve turned toward you, distress visibly carved across his forehead. He reached out for his gun just as a violent wind attacked the isolated room. Your hair flailed, falling victim to the assault. 
You tightened your hold on the torch despite the wind’s ministrations. It was thrashing within the borders of the room, incessantly clawing at you and Steve. The bright azure flames wavered from where they were perched on your torch, despite all your attempts at keeping them tamed. They tumbled down and crashed into the ground. 
The moment the flames met the tiles, they burst into a fit of undiluted anger. The blue orbs separated, each tracing its brittle path and leaving destruction in its wake. The flames circled you and Steve in a dance of tantalizing grace—rising beyond the surface and falling back into the ground’s arms. 
You and Steve were each pushed to one side. You stood there, him with a fully loaded gun and you with an empty torch, silently watching as the translucent flames birthed a werewolf. 
“I don’t think the situation can get any worse,” you pointed out, taking care to not step into the line of fire. Literally. “So, is it too late to ask for a vampire instead? At least we have a stake.” 
Steve looked appalled by the suggestion. “This isn’t the Edmond-Jason debate, Y/N! Both options are worse for wear!” 
The werewolf wasn’t fond of Steve’s vernacular; at least, that’s why you assumed since it decided to lunge at him first. You slumped back just as Steve ducked his head and rolled to the side. The beast was relentless in its movement, clawing and growling at your soldier—canines salivating with excitement, eager to dip into flesh. 
“I know it’s not the time, but it’s Edward and Jacob! And what I meant is that we at least have a stake! A viable weapon against a vampire. What means of defense do we have against a translucent werewolf?!”
“The same thing we have against a translucent vampire,” Steve grunted, firing three consecutive shots at the luminous creature. All three of them pierced his hollow frame, leaving him unscathed. “Nothing!”  
Despite the fear that inundated your body, you still looked for a weapon to fight the beast with. Unfortunately for you, the room was desolate with nothing but mold and fractured walls holding it on their shoulders. Steve was actively trying to retain its attention, steering it clear from your path, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to last any longer. 
“Well, maybe the house can conjure a non-translucent vampire,” you thought aloud. Truthfully, you weren’t really thinking straight, but what other choices did you have at the moment?
Needless to say, Steve disagreed. “Vampires aren’t real!” 
“Well, what do you know?” you shrieked, all modicum of common sense out of the non-existent window. “There is a Spider-Man and an Ant-Man. Who's to say there is not a.. a Bat-Man that’s willing to make this situation a little less complicated!” The wolf finally caught your voice. It growled as if to show its dissatisfaction at having to hear you speak, craning its head and baring its teeth when its silver eyes landed on you. “Mysterious house, please!”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” 
If you could take a wild guess, you’d say the werewolf wasn’t particularly fond of the creepy voice. That, or it was crestfallen at the idea of losing its chew toys. 
Its blue glow intensified, switching from deceitful calm to voracious hunger. Your heart hammered in your chest, assaulting your ribcage as it sensed the looming danger. You tried to step away, but the wolf spied on your meek attempt. It prowled, ferocious and murderous in its pursuit. 
Just as you raised your arms to shield yourself from him, Steve’s body collided with yours. “Y/N!” his scream ricocheted across the walls. 
Was it so vehemently loud? You wondered. Or were your ears easily susceptible to noise? 
As soon as Steve’s arms wrapped around you, you fell gracelessly into the void. The blue of the wolf fused with the paleness of the room, making a torpedo of vivid, interloping colors swirl before your eyes. The fall was like a dwindling spiral—long, endless, and tiring. And then you landed somewhere more stale; much more dark.
“Y/N!” Your name was the first thing you heard and the light that pulled you from darkness’ heavy lull. Hands roamed your body, gentle yet firm, unrelenting despite the groan that escaped your throat. “Y/N, please. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me that you weren’t hurt.” 
You lifted your head, now aware that you were lying on Steve’s chest. The perilous haze only barely dissipated once you opened your eyes. “I’m okay. Are you?” you asked, eyes raking over Steve’s figure to see if he had been hurt in that fight. Besides his frightened and concerned eyes, he looked alright. 
A long breath escaped his pink lips. His large hand cradled your face, magically bringing your pulse back to a languid pace. “As long as you’re alright, I’m fine. But I’ll be better once we get out of here.”
You stood up, holding your hand out to Steve, which he gratefully took. Lacing your fingers together, you carefully examined your surroundings, noting the hollow room you were in. Once again devoid of light, air, and a way out.
“How are we gonna get out?”
“Through that door.” By now, your senses had been attuned to the house’s tricks, so you weren’t jostled by the resounding echoes of the mysterious voice. True to its words, a large blue door materialized at the far end of the hallway. It rattled against its hinges, almost as if something was trying to break free on the other side. “Better hurry up, angel wings. Or else you’ll miss it.”
The voice dissolved softly like snowflakes giving away to the sun. And yet, its resolve bellowed across the room, the walls and ground shattering against its whispers. 
“Maybe the vampires weren’t such a bad idea after all,” Steve remarked. You knew his Captain's brain was on overdrive, actively searching for the best escape route. But you knew it was there, right in front of you. So, mustering up all the courage you had in you, you tugged Steve’s hand and bolted toward the blue door. 
The walls wailed, angered at your choice. They began to move, closing in on you at a menacing speed. Steve pulled you closer, almost molding both your bodies into one. He gained momentum, and your feet were about to give up from the unbridled force of his movements. 
The walls were at a measurable distance, and you couldn’t believe you’d made it unharmed this far. Steve reached out, trying to push the silver loop that would open the door. But you should’ve known better than to trust the mysterious house. Of course, it wasn’t going to make it easy. 
“Of course, I wasn’t going to make it easy,” the voice parrotted the words inside your head. 
“What do you want?” Steve seethed, looking over his shoulders as the walls picked up their pace. 
“O Captain! My Captain! To enter Doom’s lair, you must first answer my question.”
“What question?”
You heard someone clear their throat, and you could’ve sworn the bastard was smirking before it answered,
“Forged by fears and entangled in thoughts, 
Within the breadth of darkness, I reside. 
Devoid of soul, I grasp control,
In my distorted mist, your will subsides.
I am concealed within deceit and unseen with eyes, 
Tell me, soldier, who am I?"
“Son of a bitch!”
“Language, Captain. And that’s not the answer.”
Your feet quivered, bouncing in place. Steve had lost his patience, now alternating between throwing answers and attempting to knock the door down. He was spewing some more worthless answers while you stared at the walls. Barely 10 inches separated you from your ultimate demise, and nothing but a correct answer would save you from this situation. Despite your fears, you took a deep breath, knowing you needed to answer that question. Now.
“Nightmare!” you yelled. Steve had stopped the assault on the door, looking at you with a perplexed gaze. “The answer to the riddle is  a nightmare.”
A weighty silence gripped the helm of the foreboding atmosphere, lingering until the awaited response finally emerged. “That is correct.” 
The locks turned, the door creaking as it offered you the solace you’ve been so desperately seeking. Steve practically pushed you inside, following you soon after. The door closed shut behind you, ushering you into a misty room. The wind picked up once again, and before you, a cloaked figure emerged. Its head was down, edges of the onyx fabric it wore blowing with every single caress of the wind. 
“Welcome,” the figure said in the same gruff and deep voice that you’ve been hearing since you entered the house. “Welcome to a chilling night at Doom’s Manor!”
“Who the hell are you?” you inquired agitatedly just as Steve ordered the figure to lift its cloak. 
The cloaked figure revealed its pallid hands, previously concealed. With a tantalizing motion, the fingers encircled the edge of the hood, slowly lifting it. Your eyes widened, mind barely comprehending what you saw. And before you know it, you and Steve were saying the same thing in the same affronted tone. “Tony?”
“Oh, god. You should’ve seen your faces!” Tony clapped his hands together, the force of his laughs making him bend down and clutch his knees. 
As he did that, the creepy atmosphere eroded, mist evaporating to reveal the large room behind it. Contrary to the other areas within the establishment, the room was full of life and spacious, with neon lights and a large disco ball illuminating it. All of the Avengers were there, and you even spotted Peter Parker in an Iron Man costume tearing Bucky’s ear off with one of his stories. Judging from the number of waiters tending to the even bigger number of guests, you knew what you walked into. 
“Did you seriously rent out a spooky house just so that you can throw a secret party in its basement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 
“No,” Tony huffed, seemingly offended by the absurdity of your claim. “I bought it.”
Behind you, Steve was rolling his eyes while you raked your fingers through your loose ponytail. You were never going to understand billionaires and their logic. 
“I thought you were throwing a party at the Compound,” Steve finally spoke. And thank God he did before you ripped Tony a new one for the scare he’d just cost you. You were most certainly going to have him cover your health insurance for the next eon and the one after.
“I was. But then you bailed to play house with your girl—great costume, by the way, Y/N. We should talk to Fury about making you a SHIELD agent. And they say your boyfriend’s ass is America’s ass.”
“Tony!”
“What? Fine, don’t get jealous. You still are America’s ass but in a less sexy and more annoying way.”
“Would you just tell me what the hell was all this?”
“Man, if I knew all it would take me is Wanda’s freaky manipulation magic to get you to curse, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”
Feeling your headache on the verge of expanding, you put your hand on Steve’s arm and interceded, “It’s clear that you're high on mindlessness right now. So, once you’re down from the Tony Stark Clouds of Wonder, we’ll talk about you and your ridiculous behavior.”
“Geez Louise, you’re not dressed as a shield agent, but the female counterpart of Captain Stern over here.”
“At least I’m not one less nose away from looking like Voldemort,” you spat as you trudged toward the party, Steve a step behind you.
Tony scoffed, his voice softer compared to the blaring music. “I’m dressed as the Grim Reaper.”
“Yeah, well, your stick seems to have been lost somewhere up your ass!” 
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When you and Steve joined the party, you headed immediately toward the bar. You weaved your way across the dance floor, giving Sonic-dressed Pietro a quick wave and catching the eye of a disinterested Bruce in an Ultron costume. 
Natasha was at the bar, dressed as a ballerina with a pink tutu and a lot of pearly pins in her hair. You shot her a questioning look, which quickly dissolved courtesy of the menacing glare in her eyes. ‘Don’t ask,’ she silently communicated, and you were content with sitting there on a surprisingly comfortable barstool instead of running away from a wolf. 
“I can’t believe Tony did all of this?” Steve voiced out, shoulders hunched and laced with tension. 
Natasha handed him a signature fix she’d just made, passing you your drink of choice. “It’s not just you two. He did it to plenty of people.”
“Like who?”
“Bucky and Sam,” Natasha replied to your question. “They couldn't answer the riddle, so they got stuck outside cursing at one another until Strange had enough of their arguing and portalled them in. They were pretty pissed. Thor made it out, thanks to Loki. He enjoyed it, though. Loki? Not so much. He turned into a snake and tried to bite Tony the moment he got to the other side of the door. Pepper and Happy are next.”
You shook your head at the thought. “She’s going to kill him.”
“Exactly. Which is why he has a surprise for her, under lock and key, somewhere around here.”
Dissatisfied by the piece of information, Steve snatched his drink and faced the other way. “Of course, he’d try to get out something without facing the repercussions.” His attention focused on Tony's exaggerated gestures as he iterated his previous morbid speech to the new guests. 
Your eyes narrowed at Tony, thoughts errant as they dug up a hundred ways you could get back at him. Honestly, a part of you was willing to get Snake Loki to bite him or convince Dr. Strange to send him halfway across the universe. But you wanted to hit him where it hurts. You wanted him to feel the fear he inflicted on you and Steve, even if it was for just a moment. But Tony Stark didn’t fear anything. Well, apart from Starbucks running out of his favorite coffee and Pepper ignoring him. 
“Pepper!” you shouted in glee. Steve and Natasha looked between you and the door, thinking that Pepper had already crossed all the obstacles and made it safely to the party. A crease lined up on their foreheads when they didn't find her there. “Nat, you don’t happen to have a key to that room, do you?"
At the drop of a hat, Natasha caught on to what you were saying. She shook her head but deviously smirked, green eyes flickering to the space behind you. “I don’t. But Wanda’s been regretting helping Stark on this. It shouldn’t be hard to convince her to help you get back at him.”
You jumped from your seat, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The intensity of your excitement and the tug on Steve’s arm made his drink fall and spill on the countertop. It took you a minute to find Wanda, who was sitting in the corner with downcast eyes, nursing a drink. She didn’t hesitate to help you, literally jumping at the chance. 
Moments later, she led you to a room down a few halls and flicked her wrist, materializing a key and unlocking the door. Her 30s-inspired dress swung as her figure retreated. You looked at Steve, took a deep breath, and entered the room. But where you expected to find shopping bags, jewelry, or even a giant Iron Man teddy bear, what you found was something entirely different. 
“Steve,” his name came out as a whisper. “Please don’t tell me I have to explain what I’m seeing. Because I don’t think I can.”
Your gaze was fixed on your surroundings, unable to be torn from anything else. You didn’t see Steve’s unblinking eyes or the tingles that danced across his fingers. It took him a while before he composed himself and answered you. “It’s okay. I already know.”
The room was red, a deep, rich shade of scarlet red. And if you had been careful enough to read the plaque by the room’s door, you would’ve figured it was Tony’s Halloween version of the red room. But what was beneath the mirrored ceiling, which quite frankly made you hyperventilate at the thought of the glass possibly falling on you while sleeping on that astonishingly spacious king-sized bed, was not a welcoming ballet class with metal bars and pink pointe shoes on the side. It was red walls with metal cuffs and chains attached to them and a widespread table with three silk blindfolds, floggers, ropes, and a whole lot of other things that made heat rise to your cheeks. 
“We can’t destroy anything,” you breathed out with a voice that was too airy to be your own. “We can’t even hide anything with that wide selection Tony has. He’s not going to miss a blindfold, and he’ll just ask for another bottle of champagne.” 
Steve didn’t answer, his mind preoccupied with something else. You couldn’t fault him; it was exceedingly hard to look at the room around you. And when you chanced a glance at the corners, you had to bite your lip at the sight of the cameras and lighting. Tony went all out, and to be honest, you didn’t know if this was his “genius-philanthropist” side, who was investing in a sexually healthy relationship with Pepper, or if it was his “billionaire-playboy” side, who decided there’s no shame in indulging in a variety of pleasures and give Pepper the liberty of choice.
You were so lost in thought, you were surprised to find Steve examining one of the cameras. He flicked on the lights and turned the camera to your side. Your brain finally registered his actions, and you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing since he barely even knew how to answer a video call. But before you could say anything, Steve beat you to it.
“Why destroy when we can take advantage?”
The camera turned on. You could tell from the twinkle of mischief in Steve’s irises that he caught the stagger in your pulse before you even did. He turned around, his sculpted and perfectly molded back replaced with the sight of his chiseled jaw. You gulped, blood rushing to your ears while shivers rushed down your spine.
You watched as Steve glided across the room, footsteps light and noiseless compared to the harsh speed of your heartbeats and the fray within your every vein. You wanted him. And he knew because with each step he took to get closer to you, you didn’t falter. You stood right where you were, waiting for him to devour you.
His cerulean eyes transformed, ebbing and flowing in a sea of blue and green. Until his waves crashed against your shore, and you met them somewhere in the middle.
“Steve.”
He didn’t reply. He inched closer even though there was no more room for his body to creep to, forcing his knee between your legs and giving you no other choice but to open them. You almost stumbled but quickly understood what he wanted.
It was like a dance. Every time Steve moved closer, you found yourself stepping back until your back hit the door, leaving nothing but locked gazes between you. With a bated breath, you studied Steve’s movements, whimpering as his left arm rose and nestled against your head. His palm was pressed against the cold door, whose color burned with desire. And somehow, Steve absorbed that hunger and set your entire body ablaze with it. Without a single touch.
“I can feel you,” he murmured on top of your lips, his velvety breath claiming rights to a first kiss. Steve leaned his body closer, almost engulfing you whole. His index and middle fingers made contact with your skin, and you swore you could’ve exploded. He traced the distance between your fingers and forearm, leisurely exploring the smooth surface that framed your veins. Involuntarily, your head craned, exposing your neck as he inched closer and closer, cheekily exhaling against your pulse point. “I can smell you,” he almost moaned, or maybe that was you. “You smell so tart, so fresh. So, deliriously scrumptious.”
“Steve,” this time, you did moan, implicitly begging him to touch you. You heard the lock on the door click, but you didn’t dare move your eyes.
In the next few seconds, Steve pulled the key out of the keyhole. You exhaled loudly, head banging against the wooden door when he moved the metal keys against your clothed heat. Sparks ignited in your soul as you began to take the fast lane to heaven, and Steve’s voice didn’t help the ache recede. It only fanned its flames.
“So wet.” He knew it without feeling it for himself. “So inviting.” He moved the key from your center to your navel and then to your sternum. You hadn’t realized how hot your body was until the keys touched your collarbone. It was a clash of hot and cold—an explosion of the senses with Steve’s breath hovering against your shoulders to add the final and delicious touch. With tantalizing grace, the key danced across your throat and chin, lifting your head to meet Steve’s breathless whisper, “So beautiful.”
Your eyes met, and you couldn't tell if his pupils were dilated or if his typically clear blue eyes were merely mirroring your own. He trapped your cheeks in his hold, applying the slightest bit of pressure on them. You couldn’t help but gaze at the camera that recorded the way Steve tapped the key against your lips, almost pushing it in.
Within the next second, his fingers loosened around the key, making it fall into the open space of your suit. You moaned aloud, the sound stretching over a minute when Steve stuffed his index and middle fingers in your mouth while bringing his prominent bulge closer to your heat. “My mistake, little dove.” He thrust forward, his clothed dick deliciously humping against your pussy. You whimpered around his fingers. “Be a pretty little girl, Y/N, and suck on my fingers while I get back that key.”
You nodded your head, vehemently following his order. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked his fingers inside your throat—lost in the simple pleasures Steve Rogers was known to give.
He planted wet, demanding kisses on your neck and just below your ear, not too far from your earlobe but not close enough. His other hand caressed your cheek until it retreated and began to reach for the zipper on your suit. It was at the forefront, making it easy for Steve to find it and lower it down. His hips met yours just as you pushed his fingers away from your throat. You pulled them back in, keeping the rhythm going while your tongue swirled around his fingertips.
Your zipper lowered, slowly and placidly, yet there was nothing peaceful about the way Steve trailed his thumb across your exposed skin. A fire consumed you whole, a sinful moan escaping when he found the key and cupped your pussy, with it still in his hands. You could’ve cried then and there, and frankly, there were tears on the edge of your lashes. In your lustful delirium, you hadn’t noticed your hiked leg on Steve's waist, which was pushing him closer to your body. He massaged your heat, his fingers and the key playing with your clothed folds until he backed away completely to cup your cheeks.
“Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me, dove?” he asked in a sultry voice that made your core weep.
He took his fingers out of your mouth, keeping his eyes on parted lips. You wet your them eagerly, needing him to satiate your thirst. “Yes, Captain.”
Steve smirked, the key long forgotten but the desire ever-present. “When I sit down on the edge of that bed, you’re going to take off your clothes. I want you to keep that sinful bra, these terrible excuse for panties, and those high heels on. Nothing else, alright?”
“Yes, Captain,” you affirmed.
Steve leaned forward, his pink lips above yours. You chased them, greedily wanting a kiss. But the only thing you got was a smirk in return. He took a slight detour, heading toward the camera on the right to make sure it was on, too. His broad shoulders looked even more breathtaking in the softly lit space.
Then, he sat down on the large bed, legs open and inviting. You took it as your cue. Gracefully, you slipped the suit off your skin, sighing in exaggerated relief as the fabric released its hold. You were filled with a sense of accomplishment when Steve shifted in his seat, his throat bobbing. You grabbed at your sides, making sure your thong was at a perfect angle before lowering the rest of your suit down. Steve’s breath was caught in his throat, eyes examining you as you slipped off your shoes to peel the rest of your stealth suit off.
Remembering Tony’s previous remarks about the suit, you turned back, purposely bending over as you grabbed your shoes. You kept your back at the same lowered angle, giving Steve a front-row seat to your round ass, temptingly framed by the thin black thong you had on.
Despite your bubbling anticipation, you took your time. And you were not disappointed by the sight before you. Steve was already cupping his clothed erection, playing with himself because of your actions. You glanced at him, moving one heel in front of the other, but he put up his hand before you could move any closer.
“St—?”
“On your knees,” he ordered. You were surprised by his command but quickly composed yourself, setting yourself on your knees with your hands flat on your thighs obediently. “Crawl to me, little dove. Come and show me how good you can make a man feel.”
It was like you were moving on autopilot. All your brain could muster were thoughts of Steve. On top of you, underneath you, and facing you. Every single image was of him losing control and moaning your name without abandon. So, you crawled like the good girl you want to be—his good girl.
When you got to his side, you touched his ankles, hands skimming across his legs and fingers teasing the area behind his knees. Choked sounds escaped his parted lips, egging you on. Your lips landed on his clothed erection, and you stilled for a beat, then two. You could feel him twitch as a result of your gaze.
Hands on the inside of his thighs, you gave him a gentle squeeze. You puckered your lips and peppered kisses on his clothed erection, going as far as to whimper. There was soon pressure on your head once Steve carded his fingers in your hair. “Y/N,” he murmured. “Don’t tease.”
Your doe eyes met his in a luscious glance, his eyes never leaving yours. Not when you bit down on his belt, not when you untangled it with only your teeth, and certainly not when you helped him out of his suit, yanking down his boxers and sucking on his tip. “Yes, that’s it, dove. That’s it,” he said, head thrown back.
And you took the chance to make him crumble even more. His dick was large, exhilaratingly captivating. You felt dirty at the thought of wanting it inside of you—inside your mouth and your pussy. Hell, you even loved having it between your breasts. You just wanted Steve’s dick so bad, and you were not shying away from mentally admitting that Steve turned you from his little dove to his good little whore whenever his dick was involved.
You hollowed your cheek and took as much of his dick as you could in your mouth. You had been practicing, some nights trying to deepthroat him thrice to get every bit of him in you, tattooing your every essence on his cock. 
Steve moaned, loudly and pornographically, bucking inside your mouth. You accepted him, moving even further down across his shaft, the wet noises only spurring you on. Greedily, you used your hands to grip his base. When your mouth thrust deeper, your hands moved higher, creating a polarizing rhythm that left Steve throwing himself back against the bed. “Good God,” he practically screamed. “Take me. Take all of me in your little mouth and tiny hands, Y/N. Wet my dick with your mouth, baby girl. Make me cum just for you.”
You obliged, taking him even deeper and relishing his moans. Your lips moved lower, tongue circling around his balls before you sucked each of them in. His grip on you tightened, eliciting a slight pain in your head. But you didn't care. “Fucking good girl of mine,” he cried out breathlessly, fingers fisting your hair. “Fucking perfect mouth that’s made to take no one but me. To swallow no man’s cum but mine. To have its walls and roof painted white by my dick and my dick alone.”
Your pussy ached, and you found yourself desperately humping against the floor while you took his balls in your mouth, moaning like a fucking porn star. You were surprised your lustful sounds hadn’t attracted anyone yet, and you quickly realized that the room must’ve been soundproof. The realization made you rub your pussy harsher against the parquet floor, hands now gripping Steve’s thighs for dear life. 
In your peripheral vision, you saw Steve move his shoe-clad feet closer to your core. You whimpered, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. Steve was a gentleman, and while he could be feral in the bedroom, he could never find it in himself to humiliate or degrade. But he knew that when lust took over, you desperately wanted to be his slut. His whore. Nothing but a hole for him to abuse and fill at his leisure.
The first time you asked him to degrade you, he froze. And when he wasn’t comfortable with doing that, you didn’t ask again. But Steve would sometimes do something. A small gesture to appease the both of you. He’d reach out for the drawer and silently look at you with a soundless question: can I use toys? He’d put three fingers in your pussy and wait for you to ask for more before he fisted you.
And tonight, he was giving it to you. The chance to be degraded—to be his perfect little whore. And you took it, crying out loud, practically sobbing at the feel of your wetness coating his shoes. He didn’t move, but you did, swinging your hips back and forth while taking all of his dick in your mouth. You hadn’t noticed how utterly filthy and lewd you looked until you raised your eyes and met your reflection in the ceiling’s mirror. Steve was looking at you too. He watched the way you humped his shoes and took his cock in your mouth. He pushed you against his dick, and you choked. Your breathing became erratic the more you moved against his shoes, tears spilling down your eyes accompanied by the symphony of your satisfied sobs. And that did it for him. He exploded with a scream of your name, cum invading your mouth and taking over your entire senses.
He slowly shifted you back, freeing his shoe from your hold. You were a sight for sore eyes. Thong wet and askew, bra hanging low with pebbled nipples almost peeking out, eyes blown wide with desire. He devoured the painting in front of him, committing your disheveled hair and the cum dripping down the side of your red, swollen lips to memory.
“Captain.” Though he wasn’t too far off in his dreams—because they couldn’t rival this reality—Steve had to admit that he got lost in his thoughts. Your voice called out to him like a devious siren luring him to his demise. “Please. Take me.”
You gasped when his hands were suddenly on your ass, but you barely had the chance to think about it. In the next second, Steve placed you on the mattress with his lips perched above your own. They were like the forbidden fruit: enticing, delectable, and there. Just there, only slightly out of reach. He lightly caressed your lips, each time pulling back before you could reciprocate, repeating the motion until he finally yielded to you.
“Let me taste myself on your lips, little dove,” he breathed in your mouth huskily. “Prove to me I’m only appetizing on your tongue.” You obliged. Your lips captured his own in a violent assault, claiming his tongue as a hostage. Trapped within the walls of your mouth, it explored the edges and the roof, clashing against your own tongue.
You caressed his face, fingers grazing over the beginning of his stubble. A sigh escaped your lips, both from his seductive ministrations and the thought of his stubble against your wet pussy. The image dissolved as soon as his lips left your own. You yelped, finding Steve’s hands entrapping both of yours. “Stevie,” you whimpered, every syllable begging him for his attention. His other hand slithered down your body, gliding across your inner thigh. You thought this was it—he was finally giving you your heart’s desire. But instead of the moan you expected to flee from your throat’s confines, you heard yourself yelping. A sharp and blazing sensation overtook your core, forcing your head back.
“What do you want, dove? You gotta be specific for me, little one?”
“Your hands,” you moaned. It was quickly replaced by a sharp cry when Steve slapped your pussy again. “In me. Inside of me, please,” you begged, gasping when Steve landed another slap across your lower lips. Your clit ached, swollen and inflamed, showing Steve exactly where you needed him.
He slithered his fingers across your pussy lips, moving them up and down. You mewled, alternating between looking at your reflection in the mirror and looking at Steve. His fingers quickly found your entrance, and he put the tip of his fingers in. But the bane of mischief that Steve Rogers was in the bedroom, he took them out of you, replacing them with a harsh slap.
“Not yet,” he practically growled. Leaving you fighting for composure, Steve reached out to the table by his side. The first thing you saw was the handcuffs he diligently wrapped around your hands and secured against the bedframe. The second was the silver silk blindfolds, which he wrapped around your eyes.
You willingly slipped into the darkness, mesmerized by the sea of possibilities before you. Your senses amplified when Steve’s fingers traveled down the expanse of your body. You felt the bed dip, Steve’s bulky frame nestled on top of your stomach. And you melted in a pool of unbridled hunger when he tapped his index finger against your lips with a single command, “Don’t swallow.”
You half expected him to be jerking and ready to unload his load in your mouth. Or maybe he wanted you to take him once more down your throat. But you almost gagged at the feel of the cold liquid inundating your mouth—the taste of the bubbling champagne asserting its dominance.
Steve set the bottle down, leaving you unsure whether he had taken a sip or not. His earlier ministrations resumed, this time hands tugging at your bra. He cupped your breasts, weighing them in his hands. You wanted to moan so badly, but you didn’t want to defy his orders.
He reveled in the way you whimpered, sounds oppressed by the force of his command. He continued playing with your breasts, keeping your left one in his hand and drawing special attention to your right one. He peppered both of them with kisses, using his tongue to circle the area around your nipple and make your pussy clench around nothing but the air that surrounded you.
You bucked against his tongue, hands tugging at the restraints, but they refused to budge. Not that you expected them to. Breathing through your nose, you tried to reach for your impending release. You were no stranger to nipple orgasms, and Steve was trying to draw one out of you—you were sure. A fire built up inside of you, leaving your body temperature rising. You thrust your hips in the air. Sadly, nothing caught their movements.
Steve alternated between both nipples, giving each of them an equal amount of attention. You cried louder, trying to hold the champagne in. You were about to come when Steve pulled away.
A high-pitched whine reflected your displeasure, gaining you a slap to your pussy. “Patience,” Steve ordered, and you reluctantly obliged. Even though you ached to be ravaged by him, whether by his hands, tongue, or dick, you had to admit that you were enraptured by his movements and were always more than eager to lose yourself in his lustful tempest.
You let some fresh air fill your lungs, still breathing through your nose, while Steve adjusted himself on your body. Though blindfolded, your senses were elevated, and you could sense Steve’s body heat creeping closer to yours. True to your suspicion, he loomed over you. One of his hands slithered across your neck, trapping you in a chokehold. You embraced his untamed gestures, craning your head to hopefully meet his face. 
Without so much as a clue, Steve crashed his lips against yours with such fervor it left you reeling. You couldn’t keep the champagne in anymore, feeling Steve steal some of it from your mouth to his, letting the rest fall down across your chin and chest. Steve didn’t kiss you at that moment. He consumed you, engulfed you with his mouth, greedily taking in everything you had to offer. 
You were an instrument, and he was the musician, releasing one string to play with the other. With a loud pop, he let go of your mouth, licking a long stripe down your neck and nibbling at the shell of your ear. “Mine,” he roared, one of his hands moving to your center.
“Yours,” you confirmed, eyes misty with lust and heart lost in the haze of Steve’s ardor. “I’m yours,” you barely managed to whisper before you cut yourself off with a loud yell. Your head hit the pillow, your body forced down by the weight of Steve’s palm on your stomach. You felt something enter your drenched pussy, seething itself to one side. You breathed in deeper now that your mouth had been free of the champagne’s grasp. 
You winced, something else entering the right side of your pussy. Steve played with your clit, easing the discomfort. As the pain ebbed and passion rose, you quickly figured out what had Steve done: he’d put Ben Wa balls inside of you.
“You’re such a perfect little dove, Y/N. Letting me do anything and everything I want to do with you, knowing I’ll make you feel so good. Make you feel so perfect.”
“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, restraints rattling in harmony. “Yes, Captain. You make me feel so good.”
Steve smirked, and you just knew it from when he cupped your breasts and covered them with his mouth. “Just as you make me.”
He pulled your tits apart, and you hopped that meant he was going to fuck you. To fuck the brains out of you and the desire that’s nestled deep within your core. But of course, a super soldier like Steve wouldn’t be done yet. You didn’t know how much time had passed, whether it was an hour or an eon, but time always seemed inconspicuous when Steve was involved.
“Do this one little thing for me, baby doll. And I promise, I will let your pretty princess pussy milk my cock.”
“Anything,” you replied. Steve kissed you then, short but passionate. He pulled back and gave you one more peck before you felt him squeeze your tits once more, this time putting his dick between them. “Oh God. Oh God, Steve!”
“You like taking my cock any way you can, little dove,” he stated matter-of-factly, thrusting himself in the space between your tits and toying with your nipples at the same time. “You like having me as yours. Being the only woman in the world who can take my cock in a dozen different ways. The only woman who I can paint with my cum.”
“Steve,” you mewled loudly and sinfully. His movements, your thoughts, and the added pressure of the Ben Wa balls deep inside of you did so little to appease your heat. You cried and cried, moaning louder than any porn star in existence. And when you felt Steve grunt in pleasure, you gave it to him.
“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he cursed when you spat at his dick, drool dripping down your lips and mixing with precum. “You’re so shamelessly beautiful like this. My favorite piece of art.”
He thrust faster, lifting one breast and lowering the other to create an earth-shattering friction that left his dick twitching by your mouth. You knew what was coming, and you didn’t care whether Steve would allow your release or not. You opened your mouth, counting down his brisk breaths. He grunted twice, moaned once, and nestled his head in your neck to bite down on your shoulder. He was coming. So, you opened your mouth and took as much as you could while the rest of him mesmerizingly decorated your face and chest.
Steve released your tits, but the pressure in your core only barely subsided. He kissed your forearms, wet lips trailing your hands until he reached your wrists. Finally, after so much waiting, he released your hands and untied the blindfold. You squinted at the invasive light. Steve took this as a chance to kiss your eyelids, thumb caressing the curve of your mouth. “You’ve been so good to me, little dove. I think it’s time to get your reward. Would you lay on your stomach for me?”
You opened your eyes, seeking the warmth of his irises. “Uh-huh,” was all that you said before Steve helped you to the position he wanted. He unclipped your bra and slowly discarded your thong. Your pussy clenched, and he kissed your ass cheek when he noticed. “I’ll give you everything you need and more, my Y/N.”
Steve reached out for a pillow, placing it on your pelvis. “Stevie, please. I can’t wait anymore. Please, baby.”
“Don’t beg, little dove,” Steve told you while moving your hair to the side and positioning himself above you. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m yours. Take all of me.” 
You whimpered, teary eyes looking at him to relieve you of your ache. Steve immediately moved his tip along your folds to collect your essence. Yearning for you as much as you yearned for him, he began to slowly sheath himself inside of you. You cried out at the sheer size of him, hands fisting the sheets beneath you. 
Steve inserted himself slowly, bottoming out with a deep, guttural moan. “Fuck,” you breathed, grinding your hips against his—the friction amplifying his passion and yours. The Ben Wa balls intensified your lust, making you feel full and empty all at once. 
Slowly, he started to move. His thrusts were sharp and deep, reflecting his need for you. But the more you moaned, the more he faltered, digging his dick further inside you. “You feel so good,” he admitted, knowing this position was a favorite of yours. You both had quickly discovered that it made for the best sex—giving Steve a clear route to your g-spot and an earth-shattering orgasm.
“More,” you demanded, seeking out his unbridled hunger. “Please, more!” You wanted to feel him lose control inside of you. You adored feeling him lose control inside of you. Steve obliged, thrusting in and out of you at a maddening pace, deeply embedding himself within your heat. “Fuck, Steve. Fuck!” you cried, his balls hitting your skin, adding to the lewdness of the scene.
“Tell me I can go faster,” Steve almost begged. You tilted your head, finding him with eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. There was a thin layer of sweat on his face, and you sought his hand to interlace your fingers, finding ways to mold into each other further. “Tell me I can ravage you. Tell me that I can give you all of me, Y/N.”
You squeezed his hand, and he reciprocated your touch. His thrusts were on the precipice of control, as were his actions, this close to tipping over the edge. He had taken your neck hostage in his large veiny hands, thrusting his tongue inside your mouth in tandem with his dick inside your pussy. “Lose control,” you told him. “Lose yourself in me, Captain.”
And lose himself he did. His thrusts became irregular, and it was hard to tell where exactly his hands were on your skin. They were squeezing your breasts, roaming your stomach, tightly pressing against your ass. He was everywhere. You looked up at the ceiling, salivating and burying your face in the mattress at the beautiful portrait you and Steve painted together. You both moaned louder than ever before, the cameras eagerly commemorating your actions. 
“Steve, I’m so close,” you warned him when he kept on repeatedly hitting your g-spot. His response came in the form of short but sweet-sounding kisses planted from your collarbone to your neck. He nibbled on the shell of your ear, licking the skin there and sucking on it.
“Cum, little dove,” he said huskily. “Cream my cock.”
You moved faster against his dick, taking all of him in until you collapsed in on yourself, every part of you stealing Steve’s affection. You clenched hard against his dick, feeling yourself squirt and cream his cock. It didn’t take him seconds before he exploded inside of you, emptying his load for the third time with a scream of your name. He didn’t relent, though. His sporadic movements picked up again. At this point, you were far too lost in the haze of your unabashed engagements to notice. It didn’t take you long to feel another orgasm building up.
You were about to warn Steve when he flipped you over on your back, dick salaciously pounding into your pussy. Determination itched on his brows, and undiluted want lined his irises. He put his hand on your mouth, and you wailed, back arching, pussy squirting (again. How is this even possible?), and your entire surrounding collapsing on itself.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?” you heard a high-pitched scream. Too far gone in the throes of passion, you weren’t aware that Tony had opened the door, leading Pepper inside the room. But oh, Steve did. Judging by the smirk, he had heard them coming in.
“Do I really need to explain to you the birds and the bees, Tony?” he mocked, securing the sheets around you both and hiding you from view. His dick twitched inside of you, making it harder for you to breathe.
Tony looked furious. “What I need to you to explain, you ungrateful ass, is what are you doing in this room?
Steve arched an eyebrow. “Procreating,” he answered. You had to cover your mouth and hide behind him so as not to laugh. You could barely move from all the previous activities, and Steve’s dick inside of you, trapped between your overused pussy and the Ben Wa balls, wasn’t really helping the situation. “What are you doing here? Is that why you made comments about Y/N’s ass? Were you hoping to watch us or something?”
“OH MY GOD.”
“Pepper. No, I swe—”
“Is that your idea of making it up to me? Watching Y/N and Steve go at it. Tony—”
“Absolutely not! Do I look like I have a grandfather kink or something?”
“Then, why are we in this room?”
“Well, I was hoping we could engage in—”
“ENGAGE? With Steve and Y/N??”
“NO. I don’t even know what they’re doing here!”
“What every two consenting adults do,” you added with a raspy voice. Tony’s expression was almost as good as the sex you just had. He was utterly dumbfounded, desperately raking his brain to persuade Pepper that this wasn’t what she thought she was. “Nice costume, Pep. I’m sorry. We were told there was a surprise waiting for us for the emotional trauma caused by your genius playboy.”
“Yeah,” Pepper exhaled. She was dressed in what you assumed was an Asgardian dress, and you felt guilty to have ruined her night. “Well, it was a surprise for all of us. I’m sorry on behalf of the idiot playboy.”
Pepper glared at Tony, heels digging into his shoes. He cursed, his frustrations matching hers. “Pepper,” he begged breathlessly. But she was already gone. “I’m getting you two back for this. I swear.”
“No, Tony. We will not send you a copy of our sex tape,” you teased, purposely raising your voice. You swore Tony’s arc reactor was going to malfunction.
“I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. PEPPER, I SWEAR. SHE’S LYING!!”
And with that, he left, leaving you and Steve hysterically laughing. He kissed you breathlessly, hands holding your face like you were the most precious thing in his life. “Halloween wasn’t that bad.”
“No. I kind of like this house now, too.”
“Me too, dove. I love every place I make happy memories there with you.” And happy memories you continued to make with Tony and Pepper’s squabble long lost in the background.
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I'm going to hell for this.
You can also find my work on AO3. 🤍
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lucrativesoul · 5 months
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Divine Beings
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summary: your new job at the town's old mansion-museum is a dream, but it's even more so to be working within its centuries old library. this building is fueled by the ancient lore of the undead walking the halls. it's all just tales, right? your archive master and new boss, Leon, knows all about those divine beings.
pairing: leon kennedy x female reader
word count: 13.0k
warnings: smut, borderline public sex (no voyeurism), blood ingestion
a/n: i can't begin to tell you guys how excited i am to be posting this. consider this my halloween gift, but we all know the darker genres are not just for the season! I had so much fun writing this. diving head first into this has really helped me through this rough time in my life situationships are hell and if no one got me at least leon got me :') (and u guys ofc) thank you so much for stopping by and reading, i really really hope you enjoy, and I promise to be back soon with another one. <3
“It won’t be too much of a challenge.” The soft voice coming from the woman in front of you bounced off the walls and high ceilings, making her even harder to decipher than she was in the first place. “All questions about the archive can be redirected to the master archivist, and I’m sure sooner or later you will be retaining all of that important information.”
You said nothing as you followed her down the hall, the click of your heels ever prominent amongst the deserted expanse. For a mansion built hundreds of years ago, they did well to keep it tidy and up to standard. You were impressed.
At the end of the long hall, yellow from the lamps glittering in intervals in the hall, you could see a grand set of large mahogany doors, intricately carved with inlays that you can only imagine must have taken just as long to complete as the residence itself. The initial nerves of the morning were gone, and now you were just more excited than anything to be able to enter one of the oldest libraries in a hundred mile radius, and now you work here. 
The smaller lady who was guiding you, whose name you have already forgotten, leaned all her weight on the doors and pushed both of them inward, the two slabs of wood swinging open revealing possibly your most anticipated sight of your life.
The entryway was one tiny landing, with large staircases birthing off the sides to your left and right, making a gentle curve to the main floor. The walls, well, simply put, there were no walls, rather everything that would have been a wall was lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, each one packed with differing widths, heights, colors of books, paperback, leather, hardcover, fabric. In the middle of the room were more free standing shelves, still packed to the brim, and the occasional long wooden table with seats scattered about the room. Directly opposite the entryway was a large window, facing the front of the mansion, and it served as the main attractor to the building. Rectangular at the bottom, it shaped off at the top, nearly fifty feet high, in a gothic style pointed arch, nestled gently in between two, much skinnier, similarly shaped windows, which were fixed off at the top with stained glass, giving the brown room rays of color on the sunny days.
You stepped forward, and having seemingly expected this reaction, your guide didn’t say a word for a moment while you took in your grand view. You almost couldn’t speak. It was more than you were expecting. It was everything.
Though it was a sunny day, you already found yourself anticipating the oncoming bad weather, knowing the treacherous drive through the rain would be so worth it to be here on a rainy day.
“Let’s go down to the archive office.” The woman’s tone was gentle, knowing you most likely would not have moved from your spot if she didn’t push you along. You followed her down the left staircase.
There were a few stragglers in the grand room. The manion’s open hours were not near close yet, but you were surprised there weren’t more people here at this hour. You doubted that it had anything to do with the age old rumors about the estate, there was no way people truly kept away because of those tall tales. 
After coming off the staircase, you craned your neck up high, reveling in the surrounding papers and scrolls adorning the walls. You tried your best to keep up with the woman while also having your attention diverted, but had to fully look down when she ducked into a corridor below the main landing. 
This hallway was plain and simple, and you felt your resolve slowly crumble away as you remembered why you were here–a job. 
“The furthest of my knowledge is to bring you into the archive office and wait for the master archivist to meet you here. If you want to take a seat, he should be here shortly. Welcome to the museum crew.” She smiled at you, and after a thank you, you pulled out the seat in front of the desk and sat down. Alone in the room now, you turned your head to look at the surroundings, trying to gauge what type of environment this would be.
Despite your history in the field, you were still surprised when you got a call back wanting to have an interview, and when that went well and you were hired a week later, shock still warmed your body, paired with the growing excitement when you realized you would be working in the epicenter of your old town’s rich history museum and archive, and the home of all the town’s tall tales.
With all your years of studying classic literature spinning the yarn of mythical creatures, it was a no brainer when you saw this opportunity present itself. 
You jumped in your chair when your name was spoken in a low rasp. You turned around briskly.
“I’m sorry, you startled me.” You stood in an instant, extending your hand, ready to introduce yourself, but it appeared the stranger already knew who you were.
“It’s alright, many say I have that effect.” You sat down at his gesture to do so, and he walked around the opposite side of the bland, deep wooden desk. This man, instantly captivating, wore a simple white button down with a crisp black vest over top. He had a wiry pair of glasses tucked into the collar, where the top button lay opened. His hair was a dirty blonde, browning at the roots. The sharp contours of his face showed years of experience, and you caught no air of uncertainty from the way he presented himself. Intrigued would be an understatement.
“Did our lobby host introduce you well? I know one walk down the foyer isn’t nearly a fraction of the time needed to look around, but, maybe it gave a taste to what’s to come.”
You nodded gently, your eyes still trained on his face. “Oh, yes, she most definitely let me take it in for a moment. I can’t wait to know everything better.”
He nodded, shifting through a folder and some papers. You were almost embarrassed at how you couldn’t take your eyes away from him, not even for a second, hoping the staring would come second to whatever information he was about to share with you. 
“What drew you here? It’s quite tucked away.” He was still not looking at you, so you made no move to avert your own gaze.
“Well,” You began, taking a second to form a proper sentence. “I’ve always wanted to work in a grand archive like this one. It is just so full of new opportunities, new experiences. I’ve always loved this place.”
He nodded. “I felt the same as well. I wish I could tell you how swelled I was when I walked in here the first time, but it was so long ago, I barely remember it. Anyway,” He studied the paper intensely, then looked back up at you. You felt heated suddenly. “You had a pretty extensive background in literary culture, criticism, and classic studies. You were with a publishing branch for a few years?”
You nodded. “It didn’t pan out to my hopes, and I jumped at this chance when I saw they were on the hunt for a new archivist.”
He hummed. “I was. I was looking for someone new. Our last had left us suddenly, we had a vacancy.” You nodded again, the innate curiosity taking over about the ex-archivist. “So, you understand the majority of your job title, yes?” Nodded again, but said nothing so he could continue. “Basically, working side by side with me, the better half of our tasks will unfortunately be rearranging once the public comes through, they tend to leave things everywhere, I’m sure you know, and the other half is once our doors are closed, we do many of the repairs on the classics, restocking our souvenir books, and the tedious paperwork that comes along with the museum establishment.”
For a final time, you nodded. “I’m greatly looking forward to it.” 
Now, he looked into your eyes, and he tilted his head gently forward. “I’m greatly looking forward to you joining us. As of right now, it’s just me and one other, so now it’s three.”
You smiled, then it faltered a moment once you remembered something. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if you said your name.”
His lopsided grin painted a picture in your mind that you knew you would be seeing even when you closed your eyes. “Leon Kennedy. Master archivist.”
You hadn’t imagined you would live to see a day when you were looking forward to stepping into your place of work, but this had proven you wrong. You were motivated by the mere thought of being surrounded by all the books and pages, all the knowledge you could possibly dream about, learning something new every day.
But, you knew secretly since starting, you would be lying to yourself if you denied the effect that Leon had on your willingness to come in everyday. He greeted you with gentleness, and you couldn't help but always match his energy when you walked into the office in the morning hours. Always spotting the grin on his face at the sight of you as well. It grew to a blazing heat in your chest to see this reaction.
There was a routine you followed with great ease after only a week. It truly was the most of what Leon had said it would be, and to your own surprise, when curious visitors asked about the archive’s collections, you picked up on the correct answers faster than you had expected.
One of your favorite end of day tasks, oddly enough, was replacing the books that visitors had taken off the shelves to browse. It exposed you to so much literature and titles that you had or hadn’t heard of, and gave you a better idea of the archive itself, and its shelf locations. There was nothing more relaxing in your life than admiring the centuries of artform adoring these bookcases.
Here, you found yourself sliding leather bounds back into their places, reveling at every cover for as long as you could get away with, feeling the slick material slide under your fingers as you pushed them into their homes on the shelves. Taking two steps forward, looking down at the engraving in the cover, embossed in golden letters, you startle when you knock into something hard, grip hardening on the book so as not to drop or damage it.
“I’m so sorry, Leon. I didn’t even hear you coming. Very quiet.” He looked down at you, his deep black shirt sucking the color out of everything around him. An amused expression danced on his features.
“So people have told me. I was trying to find you earlier for a question, but you’ve eluded me for the last thirty minutes.”
You smiled gently, but had to avert your eyes down to the books you were still caressing, lest your eyes should wander over the fabric stretched thin over his upper arms. You did not need this mental image lasting with you for who knows how long.
“Sorry for that, but, here I am. What’s up?” 
Leon, so you have come to the conclusion, is much different than any overseer of a job you have had in the past. HIs gentle authoritative style pushed you in the correct direction he wanted you to take as an archive employee, but he never became harsh or strict with any of his guidelines. In fact, the way he approached conversation felt much more like a casual coworker rather than a boss. 
“I had an opportunity you may be interested in. Finish your tasks here, and come up to my office. We can discuss it, I think you’ll be intrigued.”
You nodded, but grabbed his attention quickly at the notice of a small piece of information. “Wait, Leon,” He turned around at the sound of his name. “Your office? I don’t know where that is, I don't think I have been there yet.”
He nodded slowly. “Of course, I forgot. I’ll wait over by the information desk for you to finish. Don’t rush.” 
You nodded, though he had already turned around. You took an extra second to trace his path with your gaze, wondering what this tight, breathless feeling in your chest was every time he was in your presence. 
With empty hands, you stalked over to the center of the room, finding Leon’s back to you, hands shuffling through a stack of folders. He disregarded them when he heard you approach.
“Follow me.” Then, with a small impressed gesture on his face, “Faster than I expected.”
You said nothing as you followed him through the library, watching his back intently as if something were going to happen any second. Surely he could feel the way you were staring, how could he not? If this were you, you would have felt someone looking all over you.
He presented you to a discreet door tucked into the back wall of the archive, a mere few feet away from the large windows, now letting the dying sunset light in to paint the room orange. He stepped aside to let you in first, but what you were expecting to see was nowhere in sight. Instead of an office, a room, even a closet with a desk, chair, and maybe even a computer, it was a staircase. A spiral staircase at that, and it looked like it went up at least thirty feet.
“Your office is up there?” You couldn't help but ponder out loud while staring listlessly, yet amazed, above. You heard him snicker behind you.
“It is. How could I not have taken that one when presented to me? Go on. They won’t get any shorter.”
You shook your head to snap yourself out of the sudden daze, and carefully took the steps. This location was painfully plain compared to the rest of the archive, and part of you understood why, but also wished you had something to look at on the way up.
The tall, dark, wooden door presented in front of you looked like an import from the homes of the finest wood slabs of ebony, intricate carvings on each of the inlays. Not even the doors of the archive looked like this, it seemed such a waste to be hidden up these stairs, guarding Leon's private office. Maybe he personally requested this door to be here. What an interesting design choice, if so.
You pushed it open, not waiting for further instruction as there would have been nothing else to do. This office held far more personality than the one you were used to seeing on the ground floor, and you were positive you could spend just as many hours dissecting the shelves in this little room as you could on the main exhibit.
It was clear this room was built out of what might have been a buttress back in the gothic ages, the ceiling was high, circular and pointed, raw wooden beams were exposed to support the cone roof above you. The shelves were rounded, contrasted with the straight edge ones below. Books that looked as old as the dawn of time were cluttered on these shelves, a thought that almost made you panic, the treatment of them would make their casings fall off their backs faster than usual.
Leon didn’t miss any of your observations. “These are from a collection that I couldn’t possibly put down on the main floor, obviously they have seen better days. They don’t need more of the public’s touch to wither them even further.”
You swallowed, and forced yourself to face him. He was taking a seat in a grand maroon velvet desk chair. Even that looked ornate. “Aren’t you worried handling them like this is even worse?”
He gestured at the seat in front of the desk, then shook his head. He spoke only when you sat down. “They have been with me for years, I know how they behave by now.”
You had nothing to say in return, so you simply affixed your gaze onto his, waiting to hear the reason he brought you up here.
“You’ve found a passion in this place, I can tell.” His voice was low, and it made you shiver. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone treat this place like a living entity.”
“It feels alive…” You started, but had no way to finish. He was drawing the words right from your mind. 
“I do believe so as well. What brought you here? Besides what you studied making this a readily available opportunity.”
You looked down for a moment. Truthfully, it was a little childish why you were here. You knew that much and you could at least admit that to yourself. But, could you admit that to Leon? It had turned out that you loved this place as much as you would love a home you had been in for years, this place never became a burden to walk into, and you doubted that it would ever become that. You didn’t know what kind of answer he was expecting to hear from you, but Leon could be trusted. You knew that well enough by this point. He expressed his gratitude to your presence to the archive many times and surely, don’t you owe him the truth for that?
“To be honest with you…” You started tentatively. His face showed no shift in expression. “I have loved this place since I was a child. Something about it, maybe the aura, drew me to it. That’s why I think I feel it… why it feels so alive to me.” He nodded, not interrupting your thoughts. “This town’s folklore is something I loved for all my life.”
This time, he closed his eyes and nodded slowly, as if finally understanding why you had come here. And, he did, as that once sentence, you knew, would explain to any local why you chose this mansion. This archive.
“Maybe that’s silly of me,” You shook your head at yourself slightly. “But I think I owe it to the child who directed my path in life.”
He smiled at you, no sense of mockery on his face. “Let me ask you this, though,” You sat still, waiting. “Do you believe?”
You did not need to think this time. “Yes. I do.”
Leon leaned back in his chair and let his forearms lay on the armrests by his sides. “I think you are wise for that. Many choose to stop believing in folklore once they hit such an age where they know stories from historical recounts, but, don’t you think the two meld together at some point?”
You nodded. “I have always believed in that. And as soon as I stepped in here… the minute I came here to get this job, and even as a child, when I saw this place, I knew the stories were true. There’s no way that this place doesn’t have its hidden secrets.”
“Hidden in plain sight. Everyone talks of the vampire roaming the halls.” Leon added.
You quirked a smile– you couldn't help it. “What’s not to believe about that? I can feel it when I'm here.”
Leon nodded, his smile not fading. After this conversation, you knew you made the right choice in choosing to trust Leon. How could you not?
“People are drawn here on the idea that they will spot him somewhere, but look far too closely. They think every staff member could be him in disguise. They look down every dark hallway wishing to see him slinking around the corner, trying to hide. They look in every window from the outside, thinking he is hiding from the sun. But, there comes the melding, and the separating of truth and fiction. Why should he be doing those things, because they believe it to be true, or because they were told to believe it?”
You had nothing to say to this at first. You knew Leon would be holding a plethora of information on the mansion-museum’s lore as being home to the city's resident vampire from centuries ago. You couldn’t consume enough information on the idea, and yet, Leon still stunned you with what he had to say about it, simply because he had been here to see the behavior of those who believe in him. You wished he would keep talking about it, but knew that the premonition of a mythical being lurking the hallways was probably not the reason he brought you up here to talk about in the first place.
“Your candor is appreciated here.” He held his smile, and his eyes were sincere along with his spoken words. The windows didn’t allow an incredible amount of light into the room, the lamp sitting by his side on the desk casting a yellow haze over the space, the red lampshade drenching everything above in a blood tint. Even through this distortion, you could see how blue his irises were. Icy. A tingle ran across the skin of your arms.
“Now, for what you are actually up here for.” He broke the gaze, and you involuntarily released a sigh of relief. Looking down at his desk, in nothing in particular, you noticed there was nothing of importance on its surface, he continued. “Every so often, for no reason other than to bring variety in, we have a few shelves in the center of the floor that we rearrange to bring in new displays, or to shift the attention to something else.” You nodded, and you were sure you knew he was going to ask for your assistance in moving everything. You didn't mind. “Right now the table has displays of books on the history of witchcraft and others of the sort, quite fitting for the upcoming season, but quite the insult to the monument they’ve decided to promote within.” He sighed. You couldn’t help but smile. “But, I think we can get even better.”
“I have ideas. I think I could help with this.”
Leon smiled wider. A gesture he doesn't often show to the general patronage. It made you feel warm. “That’s what I was hoping you would say. Now, though, an unfortunate part.” He sighed, and his smile disappeared. More shivers took place in your body of the heat. “I would prefer it to be done by the end of this week, and because the mighty institution is using the Halloween season to promote museum ticket sales,” Another sigh. “They’ve extended our opening hours. Now, we, as the archive, do have the liberty to close our area before they close the museum’s doors, but I've been strongly advised against doing so.”
You nodded again, listening. He shrugged, looking at you, as if waiting for an input you didn’t know you should give. You squeaked out an agreement.
“I would like to shift two days of your hours to overnight. Would that be a problem?”
“It’s not. This is my full time job now, so I'm at your expense.”
He chuckled softly at your words. “Not an expense, just… assistance.”
Nonetheless, even if Leon did agree to your words of expense, you would be agreeing. He told you the guidelines, don’t come in for the day shifts, just come in for the nighttime. He handed over a key, an old, brass one that he told you would unlock the large archive doors after hours. You agreed with no hesitation, of course.
You had discovered soon after this, that fear could exist in the same plane as excitement. Really, isn’t fear just an overwhelming excitement of something unknown? Standing in front of the mansion, you craned your neck as far back as your body would allow. The looming building was dark, save for a few spotlights, but other than that, it was as dead as the night around you. The suspicious lack of insect and animal life noises was eerie, but you swallowed that lump of nerves, and walked up to the front.
As Leon instructed you, flashing your badge to the night guards let you right through, and you followed the path you have come to know so well that led right to the archive doors. 
It was a strange aura that surrounded you, one that made you hesitate briefly before unlocking, and relocking yourself inside. The air was so still, and that life you felt pulsing through the corridors on a daily basis was missing now. There was nothing, no one, no noise to fill your ears, so the blood pumping through was your only solace now. Before you could sit on this any longer and unease yourself further, you moved on.
The lock slid cleanly into place, and the resounding click that was heard resonated throughout the hall. You pushed the door open, wanting to get away from any undead lurking eyes that may be watching you. 
Not turning to shut the door behind you, you stared out into the vast expanse of the dark archive. The shelves were still, though shadows flitted in between them as if dancing with the moonlight. Every time you blinked, dark figures appeared at the edge of your vision, teasing your brain, making a shudder do its rounds throughout your nervous system. Though you loved this place, the nighttime gave it a whole new personality you weren’t sure you were quite ready to uncover. 
Turning to your right, you flipped the first two lightswitches, casting a spotlight down onto the center of the floor, and one at the door where you stood. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you turned back around.
“Leon!” You cried out.
Said man was in the center of the floor, as if coming out to greet you like it was the middle of the day. He had on a white button down, the first two loose around his neck, and his hair falling lazily over the left side of his forehead. It took even longer for your breath to still.
“You’re here?” You gasped out.
“Yes, I was wondering when you would get here. I guess you are right on schedule, though.” You carefully fled down the stairs, not taking your eyes off Leon, curious if he would disappear again. 
“Here with all the lights off? How could you see?” He didn’t answer your question until you were now face to face with him, having placed your belongings on the staircase, figuring you would not be spending much time in the office.
He shrugged slowly. “You get used to it after a while. There’s something about this place at night, I don’t get many chances to enjoy it with only myself.” You said nothing to this, just trying to digest his logic. There was no point in arguing it.
“Well, we should probably get started then?” He smiled softly at your words and flung instructions at you, making the night go by as if you were asleep through it all. 
With half of the display moved, Leon had stalked away to the main office, and you cleaned up the floor to pass until he let the both of you out. Standing next to the tall shelves, facing the window, you almost started to understand what Leon had said earlier. There is something about the place at night.
You had never thought you would get to experience that, though, of course. What other chance would you be wandering throughout these aisles all alone at night, with all the lights off? You were curious now, and jealous that Leon had been the one to experience that, and you might not ever.
You walked slowly towards the window, the lights behind you fading the further you went from them. Your fingertips grazed the edges of the shelves you walked along, as if picking up all the information held on them in one little touch. The night looked cold from where you stood, and you almost felt the temperature on your skin in that instant. The moon was full and bright, and it lit up your skin like the lights now behind you. Though these walls were thick and with plenty of objects in the room to muffle the sound, it could not drown out the roaring chorus of crickets perched in every branch right outside the glass. The chirps matched the beating of your heart, and soon the rush of blood was replaced by the insects' whispers, a cacophony of life, your vessel was the audience.
You saw yourself in the glass. Your skin lit up by the moon's graces, the hollows of your face carved out in deep shadows, you became painted into the history within these mansion walls, and you looked as if you always belonged. Eternal.
“The moon is bright.” 
You gasped and startled again, turning swiftly to see Leon peering over your shoulder, looking at the same illusive mirror that you were. “You should stop doing that Leon, I’m going to have a heart attack one of these days.” You breathed out a laugh. 
“I thought I was obvious enough, but I suppose not.” He looked past you back into the window again. “The moonlight makes you look marvelous.”
Your stomach twisted. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, and couldn't help but turn back around to look again, and dare you say, you agreed. Your airbrushed skin, even flawless in the reflection of the glass, a gentle chiaroscuro against the vast emptiness behind you. Except for–
“Full moon nights are when I feel the most company here. I think she wants to be alive here as well.” You turned again, seeing Leon having unmoved from directly behind you. The cool blue light sitting atop his cheekbones, highlighting strands of blonde hair, contrasting the blaze of his hazel eyes, which were unrelenting on you. He, too, was a relief sculpture under the coalescence of the moon and the shadows. Where was his portrait to be viewed next to yours?
“Yeah, I… I agree now.” Though you felt a shiver crawl through you, you couldn’t make yourself turn around again to look. Your body was preventing you from doing so. Simply, you could only walk past Leon, back onto the main floor.
The ride home along in your car proved no more solace than you were hoping. You could see the silhouette of the mansion grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, and it felt like departing from a friend who did nothing but tell all their troubles. It was hard to believe how quickly your image of the place shifted, though, you still felt so drawn, and so attracted to the premises. And, not to mention, the man within its walls.
What you saw puzzled you. Simply, it had been a trick of the light. You knew that there was no way the light from the moon was able to reach every point of the floor, so he was standing in the shadow. But, how had he approached so silently? Leon was always so silent. This wasn’t the first time the man has snuck up on you. A few others have said he gives them a fright as well, but it seems to happen to you much more often.
Leon was an enigma, in more ways than one. He spoke in riddles, or it felt like it. You read plenty of classics in your time studying literature, and it was as if he had taken his vocabulary straight from works published a century ago. With a borderline transatlantic accent, it always took you a moment to decipher his sentences. It wasn’t as if he read too many of the classics, it was like he came from one. 
As silly as the idea might sound to others, you believed it fully. It was just a tall tale from times past, warning people of a monster that didn’t exist. They kept the legend going to fuel tourism and sell museum tickets, but some still believed, and one of those some was you. You felt this answer in your heart fully and truly, and while it scared you to a degree, it awoke an excitement as never before felt in you. That almost scared you more.
There was no way that Leon wasn’t the vampire roaming the halls of the old mansion and archive.
His aura was one you had never felt in a person before. You have been attracted to people in the past, but you never felt someone so physically radiant that it was almost tangible. His gaze cut right through you like the sharpest knife, bringing a stinging trail along your skin as well as the burning desire to feel it again. It was undeniable, you had never felt such an insane attraction to someone you barely knew, yet, knowing that plus your newfound discovery, which you fully believed in, you wanted to dive headfirst into this unknown territory to explore. 
All day this weighed on your mind. You couldn’t rid Leon’s image from your thoughts. You couldn’t deny, even without the personality that occupied your thoughts, he was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. He was picturesque in form, a painting made by the most skilled hands. You were ashamed to admit, only slightly, that you were dying to know more about the maps of his body. He always hid under button up shirts, but none that were ever too big that you couldn’t tell he had large biceps, most of the time the sleeves rolled up so the veins in his forearm protruded with movement. The sight always made your mouth dry.
You had to assume, only based on these facts, that he must have been fit, and if he was, which you had no doubt of, paired with his stunning profile, you weren’t sure how you made it so far into this job without making an attempt to pass out in his arms.
As expected, you could think of nothing else leading up to the hours you had to join him back for the second overnight shift. You honestly forgot the whole purpose of you going at this time, all of that having been pushed to the side in favor of thinking of the man in charge of the place. You were nervous, yet anticipated your arrival, hoping to gain more clues to back up your (unwavering, in your mind) hypothesis.
The guards let you in without the flash of your badge. You slinked quietly through the main hall, footsteps bouncing off of every surface. There wasn’t a soul in sight, yet you felt life all over your body. 
The key slid into the lock with ease, and the tell tale clink of the turn mechanism followed.
“Leon?” Your voice echoed through the archive as you shut the door behind you. The lights were off, once again.
You bound down the steps, dropping your belongings on the same stair as the previous night. This time, instead of heading right to the center of the floor to converge with Leon, you stood still on the last step.
“Leon?” You asked again after the man did not do his magical appearance trip at your entry. You felt a cold chill run over your skin. Now, you feel more alone than before. For the first time since becoming involved in the archive, the aisles and books were more sinister than inviting, and every dark corner had a spirit watching you.
You slowly left the stair you held solace on, and walked forward into the center of the room. It felt like every shelf and spine were staring at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to make a wrong move. You wanted to get to work, but you could barely will yourself back up the stairs to the lightswitch. You looked around again as if begging for help from a bystander who was not there.
There was a sudden shift in the air. You weren’t sure now if it was real or if you were hallucinating, but you felt a constricting sensation in your chest, and you felt not alone anymore. Leon was nowhere in sight, but you knew someone else was here.
Suddenly, you couldn’t take it anymore. The silence was enveloping you like a thick rope, and your breath was coming out sloppy. You had to leave.
You took one step backwards and hit a wall behind you. You yelped, not remembering stepping anywhere else besides the center of the room. You turned, and nearly jumped higher out of your body at the sight of what, or who, was behind you.
“You were down here with the lights off. Is something wrong or are you trying out my methods?”
Leon stood before you, in his usual uniform of a white button down shirt and black pants. His hair looked longer tonight, not pushed back with gel, but soft waves were falling across his face, pushed aside to let his sculpted face show through. Here, in the dark, he was much more brooding than he could have ever come across during your typical shifts. That gaze was not the friendly one you had seen in times past.
“No, no I just…” You swallowed, the words falling right out of your mouth. “I thought you would be here. Well, you are, now, but…” You gestured behind you, still feeling the presence of non-existent bodies. 
Leon slowly nodded at your words, not moving towards you, but you felt his presence getting closer. 
“I have been here. I was in the office.” He gestured behind him lazily, to the office you were used to frequenting as an employee. The door was closed.
You shook your head. “I didn’t hear you, though.” You looked again at the door, and when you looked back into his eyes, he knew what you were thinking. He was lying, and he knew you knew that. 
“You know I’m quiet.” His tone felt like a surge straight from your head to your feet, rooting you into place no matter how much you urged your brain to send movement to your limbs.
“Well…” You pushed words out of your throat. “I guess let’s finish this, then.” You broke eye contact and finally felt your body moving forward, but you knew he was still looking at you. You could feel it. 
The moon, if it were even possible, was even brighter this night. It’s full face projected into the windows like a spotlight, and once you were able to put your body into motion and further the project of moving book displays, you barely paid note of how Leon never turned the lights on for the both of you. Maybe he could see perfectly well.
It was nearing one in the morning at this point, and you had one last stack to move. You made gentle conversation with Leon throughout, refusing to put on a strange facade solely off of your own thoughts. He reverted back to his normal state, though normal is a generous word to use for a man like Leon. 
You walked back to the table being used to house books while they are moved, and picked up the last stack. Bram Stoker, Dracula.
This made you snap your head up. You were sure this hadn’t been on the list set to display, yet, here it was. You looked around, trying to search out Leon to question him about this last minute addition. But, as expected, you realized, he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, you don't remember what he was doing last.
“Leon?” You looked back over to the office door, still closed. You would have heard if he went in there and closed it behind him. You put the stack of books down and walked (slowly, you now felt that desolate aloneness again) over to the back right corner, towards Leon’s private office.
You could not make yourself walk any quicker than the snail pace you currently set. It was odd, and you knew if you were afraid you should be walking faster, but for some reason, surrounded by these books and shelves, you felt as if the faster you moved, the quicker you would be caught. Caught by what? You couldn’t answer that question, yet the word suddenly appeared in your head to describe the situation.
You were distracted on the way to the back. You thought, again, you saw a drift of black smoke waft by as if it were another hallucination. You stopped in your tracks, heart in your throat. You shifted paths, only momentarily, you were now desperate to be back in the company of Leon, your supposed vampire master archivist.
The carpet below you muffled your footsteps, but still, you noticed they were loud enough to be heard, unlike how Leon had been appearing from behind you out of thin air. You almost had to squint as you walked by the windows, the moonlight a sudden burst of fireworks in contrast to the dim workspace you had been habiting. As expected, after leering around the corners, hoping to sneak up on the entity, there was nothing but empty space.
There was a light pattering at the window, and you turned your head to see the sky spitting down on you. The window, slowly becoming stained with raindrops, still held that brush stroked image of you, forever intertwined within the archive. It was a hypnotizing image, as if you no longer recognized yourself the more the rain came down. It was a comforting sound, the taps of the drops on the glass filling the void. It felt like another presence, and it calmed you down to a degree, as calm as you could allow yourself to get.
There was a creak from behind you, as if someone had opened a door, or stepped on a stair. You whipped back around, hoping to see Leon at this point, but still, he was nowhere to be seen. The room was still, everything untouched, but your eyes still scanned every crevice, convinced you were going to miss something if you weren’t careful. 
The rain was still sounding off behind you, and you could see the bending of the light as it cast onto the floor. It was the only thing moving. You were far too on edge now.
You turned back to the window…
“Leon!” You took a step back, now more afraid than surprised at his sudden appearance. “Where did you come from? I’ve been looking for you.” You took a huff, trying to catch your breath from his genuinely scaring you. He was standing in front of the window, the moon behind him casting into a deep silhouette, face barely available. 
“I’ve been here the whole time.” His voice was lower than before now, and you could barely piece together thoughts. He turned his head to the side, as if surveying the room that you were just inspecting. His eyes caught a glimpse of the light, and you saw the deep yellow in them. It sent a sudden pit to your stomach, and a memory to flash in front of your eyes.
The day he had taken you up to his office, and you spoke about the legends of the vampire, and why you were drawn to the house. You remember the look he gave you when he had said he appreciated your honesty. 
Leon had blue eyes that day. That color was nowhere to be seen now.
You swallowed, trying to moisten your mouth in order to speak. “No… no you weren’t. I looked for you. You disappeared. And you just came out of nowhere. What is going on with you, Leon?” As hard as you tried to suppress it, you heard the trembling sounds that came out of your mouth. It was audible that you were panicking, and he knew it. 
He stared at you for another moment. His arms were clasped behind his back. “What are you afraid of?”
The rumbling of his voice shot straight through you, to your dismay, and you forced all your composure together to face him without folding.
You gave him a once over, trying to find… something, that might give him away. What you were looking for exactly, you couldn’t say, but you couldn’t stare into his eyes any longer, especially having realized they were not the same eyes you saw a few days ago.
“You’re just… being odd, Leon.” You looked back into his eyes, or what you could see of them from underneath the shadows. Being this close to him, you felt like you were suffocating, and you needed air. “I would like to finish this now.”
You slowly side stepped him, Leon still unmoving in his position against the window. You sighed and turned your head, catching your rain-distorted reflection once again. It was you, a mirror image of someone suffering the same mystifying scenarios as you were in the present moment, standing ever alone against the bookshelves, not offering the comfort they usually do. 
You stopped short in your tracks and did a double take. Now your body was fully turned toward the window. 
Your reflection stared at you, looking just as perplexed as you did. Without shifting your eyes to the side, you saw the equally distorted reflection of the wooden shelves, illuminated under the lunar glow. You saw your empty hands, you saw the dark hallway behind you, and out of your peripheral vision you saw that Leon had not moved from his spot yet… yet you could not see him.
Leon was not present in the reflection. 
You could do nothing but stare in shock and slight horror as you watched the whole scene unfold. A part of you was now realizing, though you had put two and two together in the comfort and safety of your own home, now in the presence of the man and seeing the evidence with your own two eyes, your veins ran cold, and you could not will yourself to move. Not until Leon did.
He shifted, you couldn’t even turn your head to watch. Now he was out of any point of view you had, but you felt his presence press himself against your back, staring into the same image you were. It was the most disorienting experience, feeling Leon’s body behind you, yet not seeing him peering over your shoulder. It didn’t take an expert for him to know how you were feeling in this moment, and you were also sure he knew exactly what conclusion you had just come to.
“What are you thinking?” His deep voice presented itself directly in your ear, and you felt the featherlight graze of his lips on the shell. You could feel the strands of his hanging blonde waves hit your cheek, and while your eyes stung like you wanted to cry, a blaze set itself alight within your body at his proximity.
You could only shake your head slowly at first. “You…” You fumbled over your words, unable to take your eyes off of the glass. The mysterious image of only you and not the person directly behind you will forever be burned into memory. “What are you?”
You heard him inhale slowly. You felt the heat from his face lift away from yours, but it only moved up a fraction, his mouth now pressing closely into your hairline. 
“Don’t you know already? You’re a smart girl.” He was condescending with his words, most surely using what you had told him a few days ago against you now. All that talk you did about you believing the legend of the mansion’s vampire, yet here you were, standing right in front of him and refusing to say it out loud.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice was barely louder than a tremble. “You let me run my mouth like a fool in your office, and you didn’t even tell me that I was right this whole time.” Your tongue was so dry, speaking became a task. Your fingers were growing numb, but you still found it hard to move.
He snickered, and you felt the air from his breath fan your face. “And ruin the surprise? I’d much rather see the look on your face after you put it together yourself than having told you right then and there. There’s nothing I love more than when I see someone realize the reality of their convictions. Quite especially someone like you.”
You closed your eyes. It was all you could stand to do at this moment. You shot them back open, however, when you felt his broad hand at your back, pushing you forward, closer to the glass. 
Walking closer to the window with the rain now coming down steadily against it, he released where he had put his hand, but did not remove himself from your closeness. 
“What do you see?” 
He said nothing more, waiting for you to find the composure to be able to speak properly again. As hard as you tried to look past your bleary visage to the outside world, it was nearly impossible. It was dark as ever out there, the moon unrelenting in her radiance. 
After a few more seconds, “Myself.” You heard Leon hum from behind you. 
“And?” He egged you on.
You shook your head. “That’s it. I can see the moon. The rain.” Your voice grew softer, body relaxing slowly, but for what cause, you weren’t able to find. You involuntarily let out a low sigh when you felt the tips of his fingers crawl up the right side of your neck, settling on your jaw. He pushed your head to the side, enough to expose the canvas of flesh in the reflection.
“Curious… Don’t you think?” His hand flitted lower, raising a trail of goosebumps along the tender skin. A finger pressed inward, right underneath the crook of your jaw, feeling the pulse of your bloodstream. “How much of yourself you can see, the first thing you always notice, for the living must look and be vain.”
Chills spread quickly throughout your body. His hand felt shockingly warm, the opposite of what you would have expected from the typical vampirical lore. 
“You… you don’t know what you look like?” You whispered.
“How should I? I’m not able to unless someone lets me know, but even then, do I want to?”
You said nothing for a moment, trying to breathe through the weakness in your abdomen at his touch, which was still laid over the tender place on your throat.
“I’d like to think you still look the same as the day you stopped aging.” He hummed again at your words. Despite his remark of not knowing if he would like anyone to tell him what he looked like, he let you continue in your description. “You’re like a sculpture. Rough around the edges but so blended out, only made by hands whom the gods approved of.” His hand left your pulse, settling on the crook of your neck and shoulder, slightly squeezing. You couldn’t see, of course, but you felt that he still held his face close to yours. “You’d almost be better fitted walking the main halls as a work of art than hiding in these books.”
“That is very affirming to hear from a woman like you.” A breath of silence, then he continued. “You’ve always known, you always believed, and you know what I am. I’m quite drawn to you, I am long familiar with the feeling of someone who is covered in fear, it’s nowhere present on you.” He brought his lips down back to your ear, and you felt his left hand sneak around your waist. Your knees almost buckled. “You’re captivating… I cannot bring myself to keep things professional at all times.”
You were now, truly, at a loss for words, however he did not take your silence as resilience. The hand that was not around your waist was now pushing down the shoulder of your top, revealing the smooth skin. You shuddered again, letting your eyes close once more, and you gave in to the physical feelings over trying to rationalize anything verbally. 
“I can’t stand here and deny myself from trying to get to you any longer. I have to know… I must know…” His voice was a borderline growl in your ear now, and you shocked yourself with the smallest whimper that poured over your lips. It only fueled him. 
You were pushed forward by a sudden force from Leon, both hands coming up to brace yourself against the window. You were glad no one had ever turned the lights on, if any of the guards decided to walk the perimeter, surely you would have been seen.
Interestingly enough to you, despite being in the current position you were, you no longer felt any anxiety from being in the presence of your manifested form of Leon the vampire. Though he did stand there and confirm it all to you, no part of you felt like you needed to run away any longer. In fact, the contrast between the cold window and his warm body was all the convincing you needed to stay.
“I would never do this on an ordinary day, if it were anyone else I would fight these urges, but with you… I just find myself succumbing to something I wanted so suddenly.” His mouth moved against the skin of your neck, and you arched back into his body behind you. “I will not continue unless you tell me not to, but you should know I need more than just the one thing from you right now…” 
The deep octaves of his voice had your thoughts swimming, and any rational mind had flown far out the window. There was nothing to argue with when there was nothing you felt the need to refuse. 
“I…” A gasp from you, collecting breath you had not known you were holding. “I can’t let you do this then let you loose. This is too far beyond simplicity now.” Your breath fogged the window, and you couldn't help but notice once more how you could only see your bare shoulder in the glass, and not his large hand around the bone.
“I would never,” His lips were tucked up under your jawline, the vibrations from his voice being felt all over your body. A kiss would be less intimate. “You’re mine.”
At once, his hand on your waist tightened and he opened his mouth, his sharp fangs pierced the flesh right underneath your pulse and you gasped loudly, the pinch making you stiffen at first, then making your legs lose balance.
Leon’s hot mouth on your throat was like a painkiller compared to his teeth sunk into you, and his hand held you steady as you slowly felt the need to fall to your knees. He removed his right hand from your shoulder and wrapped it underneath your right arm, crossing over your chest to hold you steady against him, and the more you gasped and writhed at him feeding, the closer he pulled you into him.
He was groaning into your neck, his tongue swiping over the stinging wounds after he had retracted his fangs, and every time more blood pulsed out of the surface, he rocked his hips into you, and you could tell he was enjoying this in more ways than just the one. And, something you never would have believed you would get to admit, you were growing more excited with every passing second as well.
“Leon…” You whispered, unable to find strength to raise to your full voice. You clenched your eyelids shut, a burst of white filtering through the darkness. Your limbs started trembling. “Please…”
With a gasp from the man, he pulled his mouth off of your neck, the cold air stinging the once warm location. He pulled you close into his body. He was breathing heavily.
With his still low and raspy voice, he spoke again, his body twitching against yours from the rush of adrenaline. “With one taste now, I’m not sure I will ever be able to stay satiated without your blood again,” You tilted your head back, resting it on his. He held you up. “You remind me of a time when being alive meant something greater than just a state of being to me. For as long as I can…” He adjusted his head, and you felt the tip of his nose grace your jaw. It made you jump at first, afraid to feel those piercing teeth again, but he let you revel in the soft touch. “I cannot let another claim you to be theirs.”
Leon brought his left hand back upward on your body, caressing your face and directing it sideways to look at him. His eyes were burning bright with gold, and your hazy vision locked onto it like a target. 
“Tell me yes,” He whispered now, his mouth grazing yours. You were barely hanging on, the blood loss creating more of a haziness than you were expecting, but you would have been able to say this answer even if you could barely speak. You had made your mind up about this with Leon a long time ago. 
“Yes, Leon,” You breathily replied, and the grip on both of his hands intensified, capturing your body even closer to his if it was possible, and came down onto you in a heated kiss.
He held the side of your face to keep you upright, and it only made you melt further. His strong hands and arms were the sole reason you hadn't fallen to the floor by now, your mind was swimming and all of your nerves were aflame. You were barely paying any attention to the dull throbbing coming from the two pinpricks in your neck. 
Leon, you could tell immediately, was a passionate lover. He made sure to keep you close to him at all times, afraid at any moment you could run away, from him, from this archive, from this experience. You knew you could never do that, not after such a bond had already been created by letting him feed off of you. His arms were solace in this moment, and his mouth a lifesaver, ironically.
He gently bit at your lips, and when he pulled away for you to catch your breath, you could taste blood. It was your own, you knew, but some sick inner part of you loved the thrill it sent through you. You wanted more.
His mouth was back on your skin in an instant, this time by your cheek, ear, down to your jaw and neck. You flinched when he landed on the bite mark, but he only trailed over it with a light kiss, he didn’t intend on reopening them. One of your hands came down off of the cold glass, now fogged from the heat from the two of you, to wrap around his wrist. You could barely stand, and wanted to stay in his embrace, but needed to look at him.
At your touch, he slowly let you go, and when there was enough space for movement, you turned carefully, purposefully not leaving his contact.
You shuddered at the cold window on your back, but felt heat flood your senses again when you looked into his eyes. Leon loomed over you, gaze full of lust, chest heaving with having spent energy on you, but you knew he had more to give. And you had more you could take.
You grabbed the front of his shirt by the middle and pulled him closer to you. He wasted no time in coming where you had beckoned him, hand slithering around your waist to draw you in again. 
After a breath, you spoke, “I can’t… I don’t think I can stand for long,” Your eyes fluttered shut for a few seconds at a time, and you couldn’t help but to let them. 
The other hand that hadn’t worked its way around your waist trailed down your side, over the curve of your hips and thighs, and took solace underneath.
“Don’t worry about that,” It took only a second at most for him to lift you, settling himself in between your legs, back still pressed against the window. Leon’s hand was gripping your thigh, and the other was still behind you. Your own arms wrapped around his neck suddenly, and it brought you face to face with him once again. “I’ve got you. I won’t drop you.”
You sighed at his words, thankful he was now holding you, as that surely would have been the breaking point, and you would have been in a puddle on the floor by now. You let your head roll back, hitting the window with a dull thud, but any pain that might have happened due to it was nowhere to be felt, with other sensations at the forefront of your nerve system.
Leon had pressed himself against you again, the hardness of his cock through his pants pressing incessantly against your heat, he reattached his lips to your throat, nipping and sucking at the soft skin, eliciting mewls from your mouth at his touch.
Your hands explored ceaselessly along his strong arms, his biceps flexing from holding you, from the excitement coursing through his own body, and you couldn’t help but arch back into him, trying to get even closer than possibly allowed. You felt him pull away again, and you wrapped one hair through his soft blonde locks and pulled him back, connecting your lips in fervor, kissing him like your life source was dependent on you staying alive.
HIs lips were soft and hot, you were addicted to the taste. The tang of your blood mixed on his tongue danced with the shared saliva between you, and with every kiss you wished you could get even closer to him. You tugged on his hair, but it was as if he couldn’t even feel it, he was too wrapped up in you.
His tongue roamed your mouth, both soon becoming slick with spit and sweat between your bodies, and you couldn’t take the heat anymore. 
You pulled away, only by an inch but with enough space to whine out, “Leon, please,”
No more communication was needed, he understood your words. Maybe if you let it go on any longer, he would now just by whatever your body was telling him.
The arm he had around your waist snaked back to your side, and dipped down in between the two of you. Leon kissed your neck once, your head still relaxed against the window, unable to conjure the energy to move. You shivered with his touch along your thigh, the casual sweater dress you had on now becoming a good idea. You thanked your past self.
“If I continue will you let me,” He spoke into your neck, close enough to your ear for you to hear the low rumble of his voice. “I got a taste of you, but I know it won’t be enough.” His hand was already caressing the tender skin of your inner thigh, causing waves of chills and heat though your body and straight to your core. He was mere inches away from pulling aside your panties and running his fingers along your wetness, and you didn’t know if you could wait for that any longer.
“I need you Leon,” You whispered, and tried to turn your head to face him as best as you could. “I’ll let you forever.” 
He sighed, but it was closer to a growl. He thrust his hips forward, creating a delicious friction in between the two of you, and you couldn't stop the moan that escaped. Your hand was still laced in his hair, and he inhaled sharply, in pleasure rather than pain, every time you pulled hard. 
You whined out loud when he withdrew the hand that was so close to putting fingers inside of you, but you quickly quieted down when he utilized it instead to work apart the clasp of his belt and button of his pants. He had no intentions of wasting time, though this was a man that had all in the world. 
You lifted your head with the surge of energy you found at the sound of this and attempted to look down, needing to feed your eyes before he fed your pussy. He caught you before you could make the move, smashing your lips together once again, but you didn’t mind the distraction, it was a better way to pass the time rather than have your mouth empty. 
Leon wrigled himself around for a moment, attempting to pull himself out with one hand. He sighed after he accomplished this, pulling away from your mouth, but instantly was back on your neck. This time, he gave you what you wanted.
With his other hand still supporting your thigh, and showing no signs of getting tired of this action, he replaced his hand back inside your dress skirt, but skipping right over its previous position. Instead, he placed the pad of his thumb right onto the gusset of your panties, pressing with enough force to give you the friction you were desperate for. You gasped out loud, and he only continued this action to make you writhe against him.
The hand that was not tangled in his hair traveled down his chest, feeling the hard ridges of his muscles and bones, toying with the buttons of his shirt to pull them apart. When he felt your hand touch his bare chest, you could feel the muscles flex for a second. 
He decided he had had enough of the teasing, though he was the one doing it to you. He roughly pulled aside your panties, and your mouth dried up at the action. Your breath hitched, and you knew what was coming.
He pulled away from your skin for a second to look into your eyes. You could feel yourself slowly slipping away, the dizziness from the blood loss slowly fading, but that strength was whisked away instantly by the arousal pooling in every crevice of your body. Leon’s eyes were half lidded, pupils blown, mouth slightly parted. You could tell just by looking at him that he barely had anything else on his mind. Just the few sips of your elixir gave him enough energy to last the whole night, most likely.
“I’m sorry if I get rough,” You felt the vibrations of his words through his chest, which you still had one hand firmly planted on. “Everything is heightened now and…” He swiped through your clothed pussy again, making you buck your hips forward. “You are irresistible, and it’s doing something to me… That I haven’t felt in a long time.”
You said nothing, or rather, didn’t have the time to, as after he concluded speaking, his fingers breached the threshold of your panties and he slipped a finger through your wet folds, making you inhale sharply and press yourself further against him. He leaned forward, pinning you fully against himself and the window, using his teeth to gently bite at your neck again. 
He proceeded to stay buried in your neck for the next minute or so, his fingers going back and forth from teasing your entrance to applying pressure on your clit, making you whine and wiggle around in his hold. Every time you moaned breathily right next to his ear, he growled lowly.
The rain continued to pound on the window behind you, mirroring the feeling of your dripping heat, tightening around nothing as Leon continued to tease you, the feeling of his twitching head would occasionally press against you, and you desperately tried to rut forward to put it in, but he held you in place. 
Finally, when he did decide to show mercy on your state, you whined so sharply your voice cut in and out of audibility, his thick fingers stretching you in a way that felt like bliss, no matter if any pain occurred. He thumbed your clit while slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you, feeling yourself grow slicker with every stroke, the movement becoming less and less resistant as he worked you open.
Surely he was able to feel your thighs trembling in his hand, your legs twitching with the feeling of his fingers, paired with the tongue against your pulse, the non-bitten side, you were almost at the edge without anything major happening.
He pulled away, putting himself once again in front of your face, searching you for signs that he shouldn’t continue. Tears were brimming on your lower lash line, though not from pain, but from the lack of pleasure. He saw this as it was, knowing what you were feeling in this moment, knowing you needed more, needed him. 
Leon held one second of eye contact, then dipped into your mouth to kiss you chastely, and at the same time, sheathed himself inside of you. You gasped into the kiss, deepening it as you tried to thrust yourself forward to take more and more of him in. He held your hips firmly in place, not letting you take any of the control. Your fingers were tugging so harshly at his hair now, you would be surprised if you pulled away with no strands stuck between your fingers. He welcomed the sting of it though, pushing himself forward into you until he completely bottomed out, the feeling of his twitching cock in your walls made your whole body shiver, and you felt yourself pulsing around him, begging for some action to relieve your aching.
Your breath was stuck in your throat at this. The fullness you were experiencing made it difficult to inhale anything, and with Leon not only filling your insides, but still keeping his mouth connected to your neck, everything was making your head spin.
“Leon…” You breathed out, and you received a grunt in return. He pistoned his hips forward again, making you whine sharply, before pulling himself out and repeating the action. You quickly became loud.
There was nothing rough about the action. He was slow and thoughtful with every stroke, hands gripping your ass where he held you up, pushing bruises into the skin where his fingers made contact. He groaned with every other thrust, enjoying the feeling of you around him as you were of him inside of you. 
You could barely make any more noise at this point, just heavy breathing was coming from the both of you, a whine occasionally making its way out from your throat, but too many sensations were happening at once, it was all so overstimulating.
Your hands were roaming, trying to find any surface on him possible to steady yourself. You were clawing at him desperately, feeling a little sorry for the marks you were creating along his chest, but every line of pain was being pushed into his performance, and he was not relenting on his power.
“Fuck,” Leon moaned into your ear, and he took one second to collect himself before resuming his pace. You could feel how wet the both of you had become, as well as hear it. “You feel amazing…” Your head rolled back once more and thudded against the rain stricken window, but it was not loud enough to drown out the incessant squelching happening. Leon began to pick his pace up slightly, most likely your sign that he was getting close.
He thrust hard and stayed seated inside of you, making your legs tense up, and pleasure shoot throughout your entire body. Your hand had finally let go of his hair at this, squeezing with as much strength as you could muster up in your body on his thick shoulder, where you could feel every muscle as he struggled to hold you up and keep himself together.
“You’re too much for me,” He gasped into your ear, “I can’t hold on much longer,” 
You lifted your head off of the window and leaned down, he met you halfway and sealed his words with a deep kiss. Moving away from other spots on his body, your hands traveled back up and cupped both sides of his face, kissing him with passion as he tried to split focus between kissing you and fucking you.
You could feel his breath on your face as he began stuttering, and his sounds made your stomach tighten, and you clenched your walls around him, making it even harder for him to continue.
He pulled away by a mere centimeter, saliva stuck between you two in a string, the look in his eyes soft yet strong, he admired you in a way that made you forget he had seen a thousand other beautiful things in his lifetime. It made you feel like you topped the list. Sweat was beading on his forehead, it was catching the moonlight behind you, making his skin shine like silver. His eyes were blue again.
He furrowed his brow together, his hips losing its steady rhythm. “I–I can’t,” He almost whimpered, and you took pity on his state. It was arousing to see this man fall apart under you.
You tried your best to speak, voice cutting in between heavy breaths. “So don’t.” These words elicited a sob-like sound from the man in front of you. His mouth dropped open, eyelids scrunching together, letting the last of himself loose that he had been holding together barely at all. 
With broken gasps and groans, you felt Leon push himself for just a moment more, the pleasure on his face driving you right to your orgasm, and the knot inside of you came loose. Solace was found on his chest again, and your nails dug into him as you rode it out, knowing the feeling was going to push Leon over as well.
You felt it before you saw it on his face. You felt the throb of his thick cock inside of you, his hips unable to do anything steadily at this point, and he let himself go inside of you.
He was looking down between the two of you, though you were sure his eyes were closed as you were still pressed together. He groaned once, twice, and when he eventually looked up, in between his panting lips and huffs for air, you saw his shining fangs that had come out to play again.
You almost invited him to bite you again. Surely it would have allowed him to continue.
You blinked and they were gone. His facial features softened as he looked at you, your skin was on fire from the warm air settling in around you two, and your lungs wouldn’t fill efficiently enough.
He gulped, trying to wet his mouth. You were experiencing the same. “Are you alright to stand?”
You removed your hands from his chest and placed them on one of the panes of the window. “I think I will be, maybe… eventually.”
He huffed a laugh. He gently maneuvered his hands to let your feet plant back onto the ground. After being held up for so long, your knees felt like jelly. You stumbled.
He still loomed over you after you had regained your balance. He discreetly put himself away while you were busy controlling the rush of blood back to your head, and now he was keeping a watchful eye, scared, like you were fragile.
“I’m just unsteady. I won’t break.” You remarked. You pulled the hem of your dress down.
Leon smiled. It warmed you. “Of course I know that. I just…” He looked away for a moment, as if ashamed. “I drank a lot more than I should have. And then proceeded to heighten your heart rate, which was not my best course of action, but at times, I tend to get ahead of myself.” You stared at him as he talked. You felt endeared by his worries. 
“I feel fine, right now. But I was hazy. But…” You bit your lip, wondering if you should continue your train of thought. Why not, you concluded, the most intimate act was already water under the bridge. “I liked how it felt.”
You couldn’t help but smile, a slight difference to the tone of the moment, but you noticed his hair, which he hadn’t yet patted down from your fingers running wild in them. It made him look rugged, playful. Human.
“I…” Leon said nothing else for a few more seconds. You observed each other. Reveling in the events that just transpired, and exactly what this means moving forward. There was no more strictly professional relationship. You could feign it to the public, but you will always want him. He will always crave you.
He continued. “I meant what I said. I had a little too much just for a first taste, and it heightened every nerve ending in my body, you allowed me to continue, and I fear… Well, now I need to see where this takes our relations. I would like…” Another pause for humility. “I would like you to stay. Stay here, not for the building, but with me.”
You were the one to gulp this time. Even just his words had a sweeping effect like a wave, and you were desperately trying to breathe through the undertow. 
You walked forward, grabbing his shirt by the half undone buttons and pulled him into a kiss. You let the passion take over in place for the lust a few minutes prior, and you could feel the difference all over your body. You knew your answer.
You pulled away, both of you slightly dazed. You whispered into his lips, “That was already my plan.” 
The moonlight hugged you both goodnight.
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mew-ya · 5 months
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hello everyone! i'm proud to share my halloween-themed fic for raven's (@swampstew) event, where writers all incorporated a costume + a character into a fic! at the end of the month on October 29th, there will be a vote to see who wins the costume contest! check out the other fics and get ready to vote when the time comes!
character: Charlotte Katakuri
warnings/notes: no warnings (SFW fic), so fluffy it hurts, non-gendered reader, gender neutral reader, reader is average human sized
length: 4,016 words
summary: Your employer, Charlotte Cracker, Minister of Biscuits, gives you a last-minute invite to the Charlotte family's yearly Halloween party. As a newer resident of Totto Land, you'd not yet been to one of the Charlotte family's reputed parties, so your curiosity led you to the foot of Whole Cake Island on the night of Halloween.
You’d heard the Charlotte family threw a party for every occasion. And based on your arrival at the foot of the great Whole Cake Island, Halloween was certainly no exception. Hosted by Big Mom herself, every candied and frosted structure was painstakingly decorated by Streusen and his team of chefs. The cakes lining the horizon were decorated in the colors black, orange, red. Creepily smiling bats, balloons in deep red, and cotton candy clouds of a deep blue filled the darkening sky, contrasted brightly against the orange sunset. Fake blood oozed from the frosted fences lining the cracker-laden paths that led you to the delicious town of Sweet City. The singing, dancing homies you’d grown accustomed to seeing were eerily silent, silence a rare and disturbing thing in the archipelago you’d come to reside in. You spotted a few homies who took the shape of gravestones, attracted by the only sound in the whole area beyond the plodding footsteps of other partygoers. The gravestone homies sang a dark dirge as they sullenly watched a shovel homie dig up a fresh grave. Even the juice river had been dyed red to look like blood, deep red reflecting on the horrible grins of the trees peering from the edge of the Seducing Woods.
Having once glimpsed the true darkness of Totto Land, you couldn’t help but wonder if its morbid, Halloween-themed makeover was the truest reflection of its nature. Memories flashed back to your initial arrival to the archipelago. You watched the man in front of you die as Big Mom’s Incarnation swiped the final months of his life as payment for his residency. Vivid memories of him collapsing to the floor with a final breath danced in your brain, followed by the hollow smile of the creature with its white glowing eyes. The creature you’d come to pay twice a year for your ability to live here.
You shuddered at the thought, shaking away the uncomfortable memories. You’d lived here for about 3 months, happily, but saw the hints of darkness creeping behind the picturesque frame of the candy-encrusted landscape…
--
Inside Whole Cake Chateau, the highest of extravagance was on full display. The smell as you stepped inside the massive cake building was perhaps the most memorable—powerful, luscious notes of candy corn, lollipops, gumdrops, marshmallow, chocolate all tickled your nose in unison yet each distinct. The large buffet table to your right was a mountain of confections modeled after zombie parts, skeletons, bat wings. The serving dishes were massive and well-stocked, an army of chefs and rook knights replacing every calorie taken from the table with finesse and speed. To your center, a red velvet chocolate fountain so large that it rivaled an Olympic swimming pool. Guests dotted every corner of the ballroom to your left, dressed from head-to-toe in expensive costumes of classic horror creatures, characters from the latest trends, jokes, and other displays of amazement and fantasy.
You recognized some of the partygoers, primarily from your work as a baker in the cracker bakery housed on Biscuits Island. Visitors from across the entire archipelago came to your workplace to place orders for customized cracker flooring—the area’s edible replacement for tile flooring. While most often you’d seen the Charlotte family’s aides and assistants placing orders at your workplace, some of them preferred to complete the work themselves. Charlotte Katakuri was one of them—an ominous figure he painted against the colorful showroom, tall, dark and quiet. But his attention to detail and patience with ordering the perfect set of cracker floors for each of his projects made you come to realize that there was more than meets the eye with him. He was a figure that intrigued you more than you’d care to admit, but you’d only ever seen him in a work setting. He was a person that you looked forward to seeing, though you held your feelings about him deep within—he seemed too perfect, too unobtainable.
Until today. The most extravagantly dressed you recognized as members of the Charlotte family, who were both the children of the land’s queen as well as its appointed politicians. Charlotte Smoothie stood out immediately, tall as ever, effervescent in a red and blue princely outfit, epaulets encrusted with rhinestones and a beautifully detailed sword laying at her hip, her hair in a low ponytail like a fairytale prince. Charlotte Compote was next to her in a vampiress costume, signature bowl hat filled with a deep red liquid like blood, hair adorned in a slick black wig, fangs poking from red lips, and a beautiful blood red gown, and they appeared to be discussing the décor in detail. Young children in a rainbow assortment of costumes swarmed around their feet, and given their appearances, you could only assume those were younger Charlotte children as they ran in circles at Compote’s feet. From a distance, you spotted a tall figure dressed as Frankenstein’s Monster chatting with a woman dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein, though most of their outfits were obscured by the crowd.
As you approached Compote, another regular of your cracker establishment, you heard Smoothie call out: “Katakuri!” and the Frankenstein’s Monster turned his head. You immediately saw that Katakuri’s skin was painted a pale green that made his pink hair, irises, and tattoo pop in contrast. Steel bolts were attached to each side of his head, and his mouth was covered, as usual, by a scarf, although this one was tattered and worn to fit the outfit. Before she could say anymore, Katakuri was there, crouching down and saying something to the children with a gentle, yet stern look in the eyes peering above his tattered scarf. The way they stopped and listened to him so intently was telling of their respect for him—could these be his own children? Ah, well. After he spoke to them, they became quiet and orderly, walking single file towards the pink candy spiral staircase leading up to the second floor. The woman dressed as his bride showed up behind him, cooing, “Oh Katakuri—you’re always so good with them.” With a nod of acknowledgement, he stood back up silently, and noticed you standing 15 feet from them, staring directly at him. He looked at you up and down, and blinked.
“You’re the one from Cracker’s bakery,” he uttered at you with the gentlest hint of a furrow in his brow. The woman dressed as Frankenstein’s Bride next to him grimaced, the wrinkles in her face scrunching to her brow as she failed to hide her frustration. You felt an ounce of hostility from her, and wondered if she had somehow noticed your fascination with Katakuri…
You nodded coyly in response and approached the group of large individuals, but before you could try to politely continue the conversation, you felt a smack on the flat of your back. A large figure leaned in next to you, grin penetrating a hole in the side of your face. “You made it! I’m so glad,” Cracker exclaimed a little too loudly in your ear.
Smoothie groaned, “speak of the devil…” and Cracker gave her a smirk as he acknowledged his siblings standing before him in a circle on the ballroom floor. You noticed Cracker wore a bordering childish lion costume with a mane created from craft paper. Compared to the other costumes, it didn’t make sense to you until you saw him later on in the evening next to the rest of the Wizard of Oz cast…Mont-d’Or in a scarecrow costume, Moscato in a tin man costume, and Poire in an adorable and well-crafted Dorothy costume. You had learned their names because they all stood together in a line to be judged at the costume contest you watched later in the evening.
The siblings bantered around you, discussing each others’ outfits, nearly forgetting you standing there, small in stature and already quiet to begin with. You craned your neck to follow the conversation going on in the air above you.
It struck you as a bit odd that Cracker invited you, one of many employees of his, to this party. There was no one else from your workplace you recognized. On top of that, the Charlotte family all in a single room was a party entirely on its own, without any need for additional guests. This party appeared to be much the same, thick with Charlotte blood, common folk mostly appearing in (Halloween-themed) serving garb, some friends and in-laws dotted between the unusual shapes and sizes of the Charlottes.
--
You mostly enjoyed yourself throughout the party, learning everyone’s names and becoming more familiar with Cracker’s close siblings. The woman Katakuri was with was named Brulee, though you spent most of the night averting your eyes from them, feeling awkward for having ever had a crush on him. Of course he had a wife, or a girlfriend, or whoever she was.
Instead, you paid attention to the costume contest put on by Perosperos and Charlotte Linlin. The contest’s comically large scroll full of rules that’d been penned throughout the years of their lives together as siblings was read through at the very beginning like a very boring educational speech. Poire explained to you that it basically boiled down to: “make your costume yourself, don’t use devil fruits, and anyone discovered cheating on either of those rules would be banned from participating in the costume contest forever.” After learning that, your eyes opened to the absolute craftsmanship of this family’s dedicated costumers. Even the worst costumes such as Cracker’s childish lion seemed less bad after considering the amount of work he had spent at a craft table, hot gluing whiskers to his hand-sewn furry hood.
You had come wearing a mummy costume, but it was store bought and nothing special. Just something cobbled together last minute in preparation for the party, so you had no reason to enter the contest.
There was no real prize beyond the ability to brag—but bragging rights were an incredibly important prize to the Charlottes, and doubly so when a party was involved. Even a cool woman such as Smoothie was swayed by its power, giving her all to craft the most beautifully detailed prince costume this year in the hopes of winning. A teenaged girl named Flampe was swarmed with chess knights all dressed up in the theme of her costume: a musician with all of her adoring fans. You weren’t really sure what popstar she was supposed to be—her skin was painted like a skeleton, hair curled densely, a large crown upon her head, heart shaped sunglasses resting on her head with an orange feather boa around her shoulders. She held a green guitar shaped like a shark that she never actually tried to play. Given how nearly everyone in the room watched her entrance and participation on the stage, you guessed it was someone famous.
Later on in the event, you noted that Katakuri and Brulee joined as a team with their matching Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein outfits. You wouldn’t have pegged Katakuri as the type to want bragging rights for anything, but the crowd’s response to them was incredible—for Katakuri in particular. Oven noticed your surprise. He leaned down to you and explained, “he’s been voted the most popular brother, after all. He’s cool, perfect, and utterly undefeated in battle.”
In the end, the costume contest voting boiled down into a popularity contest, as things so often do within the family’s politics. Charlotte Linlin, dressed in the most expensive and extravagant Queen costume, sat at the large chair behind the judge’s table and laughed her signature “mama-mama” when she counted the results. Flampe’s skeleton musician-themed group was the winner and she accepted the honor with the smallest amount of grace, followed by Katakuri and Brulee’s Frankenstein pair in second.
--
The party came to a close, its music dying down, the youngest children all retired to bed or gone home. You’d been invited upstairs into one of the many candy-rococo rooms in the upper echelons of the Whole Cake Chateau by Cracker, and sat on the floor with a grouping of older Charlottes and friends sitting in a circle, all laughing and chatting. Katakuri and the woman he was with were there.
You’d chosen dare. A bottle was spun in the middle of the group. Whoever it landed on would be the second player of 7 Minutes in Heaven—a game typically played by hormone-ridden teens looking to make out in a closet. But you were adults, joking around. You’d been recruited as the first player in a game of 7 Minutes in Heaven, which made you feel a bit uncomfortable—this was a party your boss invited you to, after all. You weren't usually a dare person either, but you’d never gotten to play spin the bottle growing up, so you figured why not. The gentle haze of an alcoholic beverage helped, too.
The bottle stopped. Of all the people in the circle, it pointed at Charlotte Katakuri. Brulee looked uncomfortable, but didn’t say anything—why would a married couple play this game? You thought to yourself. But in the single night you knew him, Perosperos was the one making up the rules, and he was a stickler for those.  You decided not to protest. Maybe you’d stand silently in the closet for 7 minutes with the perfectly terrifying Katakuri as he gazed down upon you in the darkness.
Words were exchanged, and you were both sent to the closet for 7 minutes of heaven.
You entered the dark closet, shuffling in and out of a multitude of large dresses belonging to Charlotte Linlin, the fabric nearly engulfing you. The door shut behind you both, and a voice rang out, “timer starts now! Don’t get too naughty, you two!” followed by Brulee’s audible groan.
You heard Katakuri audibly gulp above you. The feelings of shock and nervousness had blinded you to his expressions, so now that you were smashed together in the dark, you had absolutely no read on him whatsoever.
So you quietly asked, “Katakuri…?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Why did you—aren’t you married? Isn’t this weird?” but you were interrupted by a large gloved hand on your shoulder, sending a wave of nervousness in a whirlwind through your body.
“I am not married,” he responded, simply.
You gulped, biting your lip.
“But, Brulee…?” you responded in your head, but the words didn’t come out. Somehow, he heard you anyway.
“Brulee is my sister. She likes scary movies a lot, so we dressed up for the contest.” He changed the subject. “I think your costume is nice,” he gestured, withdrawing his hand on your shoulder to touch the fabric with a respectful tap of his finger, unable to point in the darkness.
“Wait, then whose kids were—well...Okay. Thank you,” and you laughed a little as you went along with him. “If you’re wondering, I didn’t make it. The mummy wraps came pre-stained.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t know you guys had all these rules. Hell, I didn’t even know there was a contest. I just grabbed something from one of the shops last minute. You did such a great job on your costume, I feel embarrassed for you to even have to look at me! Cracker didn’t even tell me about this party until the day before.”
Katakuri sighed. “Sorry.”
“What’re you apologizing for?”
“He invited you because of me.”
You didn’t understand what he meant. Katakuri continued.
“I…mentioned you once...” That revelation piqued your interest. He talked about you? Why?
Katakuri shifted his weight from one foot to another, causing some of the dresses around you to move. “Because I thought you were…cute.” The words choked out of him, you could almost feel the heat of his blushing cheeks radiating from above you as he spoke. He cleared his throat.
“Let’s talk about something else.”
An awkward silence filled the closet—he’d stunned you twice in a row, first with the truth about his relationship status, and second, that he’d requited your attraction. What to do?
Katakuri cleared his throat again, uncomfortable and trapped in a closet with his head nearly touching the ceiling, stuffed awkwardly against the shelf with the person he’d just admitted he liked. You wanted to respect his request to drop the subject, so you didn’t push it.
Following his earlier lead, you offered a compliment. “I like your costume too.” You lightly touched the thick canvas fabric of his baggy pants where they tucked into his heavy platform boots, outlining a patch stitched with wide embroidery thread. “You really made all this yourself?”
The leg under your hand shifted in its pants as Katakuri kneeled before you, pushing Big Mom’s hanging clothes surrounding you out of the way by sheer size of his frame. A protective arm rested on the floor next to you, and he uttered, “Yes. The rules are very explicit. You can incorporate basic, store-bought items such as shirts, pants, but they must be modified in some tangible way.”
“Is it okay if I touch?” you asked, not wanting to be too presumptuous. You continued, “I didn’t have much of a chance to look at your costume too closely, but it must be good if you won second place.”
“I worked hard on it, but I am not sure it was deserving of second place. You’re welcome to touch it.” The air felt less thick between you as the awkwardness simmered into a cool comfort.
You explored the details of his costume in the darkness, your hands small against the 16’ man’s frame. The large arm resting on the ground next to you was adorned in the sleeve of a thick blazer, artificially weathered by his own hands, its threads exposed and rough with rips and tears near the seams. Thickly woven patches were sewn into his entire suit using embroidery thread. The blazer was opened at the center to reveal his shirtless chest, and although you couldn’t feel it, you remembered how his skin had been carefully painted green around the pink tattoos, and how the juxtaposition of those two colors created such a bright and engaging contrast on his skin.
“Did you sew the patches with a machine? The detailing feels so even,” you asked as you felt the perfectly squared stitching, betraying the imperfect nature of the Frankenstein Monster.
“I sewed all of the modifications by hand, though the jacket and pants were something I had already owned. Have a couple of injuries on my fingers to prove it.” Katakuri replied as he twisted his wrist, opening his palm next to you.
“You? Injuries? One of your brothers told me you were undefeated. To think you’d been bested by a needle and thread…” Reaching down to his hand, you ran yours against his palm to the ends of his fingertips. He let out the lightest flinch when your hand pressed against a small needle injury at the end of his pointer finger.
“How the mighty fall,” he answered with a spark of amusement.
Resolving not to waste this private moment, he made a move.
Katakuri wrapped his hand around yours, and with the softest motion, pulled you in towards his body as he leaned his head down. You were close enough to him to feel the warmth radiating from his core. You swore you smelled a hint of fried dough. The ruggedly tattered scarf wrapped around his lower face tickled your skin as electricity grew between you and the seconds stretched into what felt like minutes. You were so close that you felt his breath on your nose, but the scarf stayed put as a barrier between you. You looked into the eyes you couldn’t see in the darkness, and yearned for the touch of his lips against yours.
Both yourself and Katakuri imagined the feel of each others’ lips pressed against skin, the taste, the touch, the smell—although you had no idea what his mouth looked like. He always covered it, so your imagination ran wild in the dark. You kissed the scarred and torn lips of the face you imagined in your head, then you kissed a mouth with sharp teeth so pointed that your own lips were cut in the process. Maybe he had big cute buck teeth under there that stuck through a pair of swollen lips. You kissed that too. Your imagination ran through the possibilities like a rolodex, and each was good, wonderous, and electric.
Meanwhile, Katakuri’s rolodex of imagined scenarios was not so idyllic. He imagined the multitude of ways in which you’d reject him, how you’d take his scarf from him and embarrass him, how you’d reveal the secret of his mouth to the entire world, painting a target on the backs of all his siblings. He remembered all of his past relationship failures, and most of all, he remembered the great bloody wound across his sister Brulee’s face as he stood there powerlessly. He froze.
The hesitation began to hang thick in the air like a fog, and you were nearly able to feel the discomfort circulating from his body. You weren’t sure what changed. Time had been dilating and you wondered how much longer the 7 minutes would last.
You took your chance.
You grasped his hand which held yours so gently but stiffly, and pulled it close enough to plant a sweet kiss upon the top of his painted knuckle. Underneath your lips, his body notably relaxed. The gesture brought him back to reality.
Katakuri’s eyes glinted with the color of the future, where he saw the moment the door opened to light, just moments away. In a flash, he pulled your hand through his scarf to his lips and returned the kiss so quickly that you could hardly process what might be under there by feel. He then stood straight up and gave you both a once over that lasted no more than a single second, any hair or mummy wrapping out of place put in its proper configuration by the quickest swipe of his finger. As if nothing had happened.
The door opened.
His siblings joked, poked, prodded, and laughed at what they thought may or may not had happened between the two of you. He spent the rest of the night avoiding your eyes, as if nothing had happened. Eventually, his siblings dropped the subject. Deep down, they were rooting for Katakuri—most of the older Charlotte children had already been married, through virtue (or iniquity) of arranged marriage. But perhaps the strongest and most perfect Charlotte, intentionally held from the world of political marriage, would be allowed to pick his own partner.
The party moved on. Other games were played, other topics broached, other siblings bullied and jested and the family was having a great time. Katakuri thought he’d gotten away with keeping up his perfect illusion that he’d kept his distance during the closet game, but sometime later, his eyes widened at you like plates, face turning red under his scarf, burning through the green face paint. He observed his hand and saw a hardly noticeable kiss mark on his knuckle. It’s already too late, he thought to himself.
Seconds later, Cracker’s burst of laughter turned the entire room to your face.
“Hold on, hold on! Your lips are GREEN!”
“GREEN?!”
“What did those two get up to…?”
“Katakuri! You DOG!”
Brulee looked concerned and attempted to play interference by standing between you and Katakuri to block the line of sight. She’d grown to be very protective of him, knowing that his hidden heart was kind and undeserving of the expectations those had thrust upon him. While she knew he was truly not the perfect being the world had decided him to be, she would do anything to help him protect that because it is what he had chose.
Despite Brulee getting in the center of it, the chatter raged on, the rumors spread, and you gained some kind of reputation. Your eyes met Katakuri’s as he leaned over Brulee to look at you. You furrowed your brows at each other.
The start of a beautiful relationship…
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