#hey there it's v babbling

[popponn]

isagi ranking 21 is ngl way higher than i expect him to be BUT BABBBBBYYYYY also RIN BEATING THAT CONAN GUY THO??? WOW OKAY AND HI WRIO HI NANAMI

cred & full chart:

[yukippe]

I love love but wow ! Ppl rlly don't perceive lesbians

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. bragging about your oh-so-perfect boyfriend to your friends certainly has its (welcomed) consequences. . .

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff & smut. p in v -> unprotected. missionary. sweet but also nasty and condescending. creampie. body worship. size difference / - kink. nicknames ‘(little) princess, baby’. name calling once. not proof read bcs im sleepy. wc. 2k+

“right! he’s so thoughtful,” you sigh dreamily as you chat with your friends over the phone. you’re laying on satoru’s bed, kicking your feet up while you remove your make-up. of course, you had to call your girls to tell them all about the little date you just had with your boyfriend.

satoru’s in the shower, so you’re taking the time to relive the experience.

“here she goes again y’all,” one of your friends sighs dramatically, to which the others follow with giggles of their own. they know that you can go on and on about your partner. they’ve heard all of it before.

you grin and roll your eyes, rubbing the cleansing wipe over your lips, removing the light pink gloss you had on. you’re all giddy as you recall what satoru has done and given to you this evening. you’ve been pampered—spoiled rotten.

“hey! don’t blame me,” you retort with a chuckle. your friends laugh and urge you to go on since they’re only joking. the stories you tell are always either adorable or heartwarming, and thus they’re happy to listen. plus, debriefing you on your love life is free entertainment.

it’s not unusual for you to stray from the main story. you ramble about the restaurant you’ve visited, the pretty green scenery you’ve walked past, the museum you’ve visited, the way satoru paid for everything and how he made sure to pick activities you’re interested.

you get an occasional ‘aww’ or ‘cuteee’ when you mention your boyfriend’s loving gestures. from the enormous bouquet of flowers he’s gotten you, to the fact that he carried you back into his apartment the moment you told him your feet were hurting.

walking in heels wasn’t the smart move you thought it was, though luckily you had a thoughtful lover by your side.

“he’s just so handsome ‘n stuff. god—“ you squeal, not even bothering to dampen your excitement. you hide your face behind your hands for a split second, gaining a few fan girling squeaks from your friends as well. they’re happy that you’re being treated like deserved.

you don’t hear the door of the bedroom open since you’re too busy gushing about satoru. you’re focused on your small pocket mirror, careful not to forget a spot on your face. you notice that your friends have gone quiet, but you don’t question it.

“his gentle personality is honestly such a turn-on,” you mumble as you rub off the concealer from under your eyes, “and his subtle yet possessive touches? phew, don’t get me started.” you continue to babble on about how hot satoru is when he gets mad, unable to point out a flaw.

you’re about to comment on your friends’ sudden silence when a hand lands on your shoulder. you freeze and finally make eye contact with no one other than satoru—hovering over you from behind. he’s smiling down at you and mumbles a quick, ‘hey, baby’, before kissing your forehead.

you try to explain the situation, yet have no idea where to start. you can hear a friend of yours snickering and another faintly whisper an ‘oh, girl. . .’

before you have the ability to get another word out, satoru cuts you off, waving at your front camera for a second. his smile reaches his eyes and his dimples show;

“hey ladies, mind if i steal my girl from you?” satoru asks as he puts an arm around you. he places his cheek against yours, awaiting an answer. your friends are left speechless at the sudden turn of events.

the white-haired man appears extremely good on screen. he’s basically blessing them with his handsome looks. the towel hanging over his head indicates that he just came out of a fresh shower. there’s a visible vein running down his neck—nearly bulging out of the skin—as if satoru’s holding himself back.

once your friends snap out of their daze, they greet satoru and nod, exchanging quick ‘see you later’s. your boyfriend thanks them with another one of his charming smiles. he waves at the camera again, “bye bye, thank you.”

the call ends and the bedroom falls quiet. you stare at your screen which fades to black, completely dumbfounded. you quickly sit up—your mind a chaotic mess full of thoughts.

“satoru, i uhm, i didn’t know—“ you attempt to form an explanation, though you realise that it’s likely futile. satoru’s probably heard every word that left your mouth. you look up at him, your voice a quiet whisper, “how much did you hear?”

the sorcerer grins. he’s so enamored with you; everything you do is adorable. he grabs your hands and holds then into his larger ones—thumbs gently rubbing your skin. he pulls them up to his lips so he could place chaste kisses on your knuckles.

“everything, princess,” satoru hums, rotating your hands to place kisses on the inside of your wrists. there’s a subtle blush on his cheeks that even reaches his ears. no matter how calm and collected he may seem, he’s still but a complete sucker to your love, “talking about me to your little friends, hm? how cute.”

a shiver runs down your spine. you feel your tummy turn as you’re slowly guided onto your back. multiple kisses cover your body—from head to toe—like a canvas getting painted on. satoru’s taking his sweet time, admiring the art that’s your physique.

every piece of clothing that comes off is a step closer to the grande revelation. the masterpiece that is you. moving from one empty spot - filling it with his kisses - to another. sighs of content leave your lover’s mouth with each reveal, as if he hasn’t seen the sight of your naked body before.

“does this turn you on, baby? my ‘subtle touches’?” satoru mutters against your breasts, remembering your earlier words. his blue eyes stare up at you through his white lashes. not wearing his blindfold may overstimulate him due to his abilities, but he’ll risk anything if it’s to admire you the best he can.

he chuckles when you nod. your boyfriend kisses your hard nipples—taking his time to swirl his tongue around both of them just to feel your back arch off the mattress. your hands holding onto him for life is extremely thrilling. “it turns me on too,” satoru confesses quietly. his slender fingers reach the hem of your panties, “you turn me on so fuckin’ much.”

your breath hitches when your underwear gets tossed somewhere across the room. you’re dripping, obviously. there’s no way you couldn’t get turned on by the way satoru’s been worshipping your entire being.

you can also see the effect you have on him; he’s sweating. the vein on his neck seems to grow more visible when your cunt is revealed to him.

“there she is,” satoru grins in satisfaction. he seems to be in a daze for a second before he regains composure. he looks at you for a quick check, needing to know if he has your consent before he continues. the moment you nod, your lover separates your legs.

you sniff and try to hide your embarrassed expression behind a hand. satoru’s quick to pin your wrist above your head so you wouldn’t have the chance to do any of that. “keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he leans in to place a swift kiss on your lips.

“mhm,” you nod after returning the peck. the white-haired man utters a small ‘thank you’ and undoes his sweatpants with his free hand. he fumbles with his boxers—unable to keep himself from trembling in pleasure from the view alone.

your small body underneath him is a sight he’ll never get tired of. that face of yours morphing into one of pleasure whenever you’re intimate is one of his favorite things to witness. thus why the missionary is his go to position.

“c’mon,” satoru kisses your cheek as he manages to pull his erected cock out of his underwear. it’s standing tall, the tip pointing right at the place it wants to be buried at—your wet, warm and inviting pussy, “you were so loud when talking with y’r friends ‘n now you’ve gone quiet on me.”

satoru pouts, “it’s not fair. i wanna hear my princess too.”

you almost choke on your spit because of how whiny yet demanding satoru sounds. you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, firmly holding your hand down above your head. you’re still flustered by the entire situation. you open your mouth as tears gather in your eyes, “i’m sorry, i’m jus— ngh!”

you can’t even get your words out. the lewd feeling of satoru rubbing his tip between your folds completely catches you off guard. he grins, as if he planned on doing that the moment you tried to speak. he’s such a tease.

“shh, shh, i know,” satoru coos mockingly, acting like he’s not doing it on purpose. you can’t blame the man; he’s been rock hard ever since he heard you praise him so openly through the phone. your lovely voice speaking so highly of him was driving him nuts.

you’re so appreciative for all he’s doing and it makes the sorcerer want to spoil you even more. to give you the love and affection you deserve because of how precious you are—even if you don’t realise it.

he wants to give you more. more, more, more.

without thinking, satoru pushes his cock right through your tight cunt. he shudders at the sight of your poor, small pussy struggling to take his fat dick. he can’t hurt you, he knows. especially with the amount of times the bulbous head of his cock nearly bruised your cervix.

though, it’s difficult not to go all out. you’re so accepting of everything he does—satoru can see that by the way your eyes stare at him. it’s all love. the light reflecting in your pupils makes them sparkle beautifully. he cusses under his breath, “y’re so pretty, baby. fuck, fuck, fuck. y’re making it so hard.”

satoru tries his best not to plunge his cock all the way to the hilt. he reaches halfway with each thrust, the thwacking sound increasing by the second. your legs automatically wrap around his waist and your fingers squeeze his.

“toruuu, fmhh, so big,” you babble, the drool forming in the corners of your lips threatening to drip down your chin. each soft yet firm thrust seems to resonate within you, evoking a sense of pleasurable contentment.

satoru lets out a haughty chuckle at the sight of you going cockdrunk already. he’s still trying to hold his urges back by focusing on your satisfaction alone. “i’ll give you something else to brag ‘bout to y’r friends,” he pants with a confident smirk, kissing your jawline as he ruts into you,

you’re embarrassed by your current predicament. despite that, you find yourself enjoying every consequence that your actions have caused. your moans echo in satoru’s ears, each slap of your bodies connecting sounding twice as loud.

his thick cock is stretching you out so well. your cunt is working overtime to make space for every inch. your boyfriend gently bites your bottom lip, his breath faltering when you clench around him in response.

“‘re ya gonna tell them?” satoru asks through a guttural moan. his hips move non-stop, aiming to please you until you lose your mind. he’ll live up to the expectations set no matter what. he kisses the swell of your breasts, “are ya gonna tell ‘em how you let your ‘lovely’ boyfriend fuck you like this? how y’re a complete slut for his cock?”

you don’t know how to react to his dirty talk. it’s getting you wetter, that’s for sure. your thighs shake around his waist and your tummy feels like it’s doing flips. satoru doesn’t leave it there, “gonna tell them about how good i fill you up, yeah? dirty little girl telling all her friends about our private life, tsk tsk.”

it’s overwhelming. the sudden increase in dirty talk makes you want to cum on spot. you feel like you’re being degraded, however satoru’s touches make you feel appreciated and loved. his hand holding yours above your head never leaves you—a sign that this is still him making love to you.

“am—am not gonna,” you hiccup. the words simply roll of your tongue without much thought. you’re mindlessly responding to your lover. “am not gonna tell them anything,” you continue before cutting yourself off with a string of whiny moans when satoru plays with your clit.

satoru shakes his head, increasing the pressure and speed in which he’s pumping into you. he loves the view of you being so helpless—succumbing to the pleasure he’s granting you. “sureeee, i believe you,” your boyfriend snickers and pushes his pulsing cock in further. his tone is soft but condescending, “i’ll trust my little princess to keep her mouth shut f’me.”

you’re getting so close. your nails dig into his skin and your noises get louder. you’re right on the edge of euphoria. the clit stimulation along with the feeling of being filled to the brim is enough to make you see stars.

satoru nods at your desperate whimpers that alarm him that you’re close to climax. “i got you, baby. cum f’me—i got you,” he places sloppy kisses all over your face and rams his cock in and out of you in a stronger rhythm. there’s nothing satoru wants to do in this world more than to flood your insides with his cum.

his cock doesn’t stop prodding at your sweet spots and it’s making you approach that peak; the peak of pleasure that’s going to push you over the edge. you hold tightly onto your lover and he doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace. “it’s okay, do it f’me,” satoru encourages you once again through a husky whisper.

you’re thankful that you have such an attentive partner. he can go from teasing you to comforting you and it’s the most reassuring thing ever. you’ve never had a man hold you so intimately while he’s balls deep into you.

“g’nna cum,” a strangled moan leaves your throat when you try to speak. your chests are pressed together and your heartbeats match—like the perfect pair you are. satoru feels his balls clench with an aching feeling, needing to release every last drop they have stored into your tiny cunt.

just thinking about the way you were bragging about him again, is enough. “take it—fuuuckk—take it all, baby,” the white-haired man takes a deep breath in and can’t help but bury his entire dick inside of you, that one last thrust making you yelp.

you reach your climaxes at the exact same time. your fluids mix as you feel satoru’s thick spurts of cum coat your insides a sticky white. your body spasms and your boyfriend instantly soothes you by rubbing your back. his own legs are trembling a little, but you’re far more important.

you don’t utter a word and simply focus on regaining your energy. all that you can say are incoherent babbles. “easy,” satoru kisses the corners of your eyes and relishes in the fact that he’s fucked you full of his cum. it’s a reminder of just how much he loves you.

a few encouraging words and hugs later and you’ve calmed down. you don’t fully grasp the reality of the situation until the adrenaline and other hormones drop down to a normal level.

you’re suddenly reminded by your previous words and this time, you succeed in hiding your face into the crook of satoru’s neck.

it’s certain that he’s greatly enjoyed overhearing you talk about him to your friends, but it’s still a somewhat embarrassing memory you wish to forget. “not a word, please. j-jus act like you haven’t heard anything,” you mumble quietly now that you’ve come down from your high.

satoru laughs softly. he can’t help but tease you after that—it’s a given. you’re still so caught up on what happened and it’s endearing.

however, satoru wouldn’t be him if he didn’t tease you about your little comments. without pulling out, he tilts his head back and stares down at you with a faint grin, “do i have to act like i haven’t fucked you silly just now too?”

“satoru!”

[futurefind]

//Mara's funny bc yeah shes my Hottest MessTM muse and absolutely the biggest dick/unironic bitch (tsuntsun vs tsundere n all that) but also

But also

She's also the chillest/funniest as a result of all of that

10/10 would shout "BOO YOU WHOREEEEE" from back of crowded room yk ??

[komelrebi-san]

riding genshin men>>

ooooooof i'm down bad oh shit

tw: MDNI!, riding/girl on top, praise kink, degradation, size kink, squirting, p in v penetration, dummification, dacryphilia, tummy bulge, tell me if i should add more!

don't like, don't read.

they are mean, so mean. but then again, of course. you're their pretty little doll, their obedient little plaything, they can use you however then wanted, no? fuck, the sight of your cute cheeks stained with tear tracks as you babbled how it's too much for you is so pretty. they'd do anything to see you like this any day, everyday. your tummy bulged with his girth, whimpering when he laughed at you. he knew that your thighs were sore from trying to continue, and that this wasn't nearly enough for you to cum the way he can make you. but hey, where's the fun in that? he'd like to see you work for it.

HEIZOU, lyney, KAEYA, BAIZHU, wriothesley, CHILDE, alhaitham, AYATO

you're on top, ey? you think you've got control? nah, you can't be more wrong. gripping your hips with large hands, they are practically slamming you down on his cock, groaning at the way you whined, at the way your cunt sucked him back in, at the way you cried out his name when you squirted all over his lower abdomen and his pelvis. pointy canines grazed your neck as he sucked the supple skin of your neck, strong grip leaving behind angry red crescent shaped marks with his nails, hips rutting up into you. oh, and he won't be stopping anytime soon. but hey - he doesn't forget to praise you for doing so well and taking him.

ITTO, ZHONGLI, diluc, WRIOTHESLEY, TIGHNARI, wanderer, alhaitham, cyno

so...you wanna take control? oh honey, you have all the control over them, you've got them wrapped around your little finger! tie them up, blindfold them, choke them - go ahead, they'll let you do anything. go ahead and use them as you please. they are crying from how good it feels, because you've been going at it for hours, yet you weren't stopping. it's too much, they've cummed so many times it hurts, it hurts! but fuck, it felt so good, please please please don't stop. they can barely form coherent words, archons, they can barely even think from how good it felt. only broken moans left their swollen lips as they cried, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

NEUVILLETE, GOROU, VENTI, kunikuzushi, albedo, KAVEH, thoma, KAZUHA, XIAO

[laurabenanti]

Ah. It’s really impressive you managed to find them in any decent quality since the show had some record for bombing so fast the way they did (it gave a chance for Laura to show off her pipes and she (and the other female cast members) did look good in their costumes. But seriously WHY did they think it work on broadcast TV (and I’m not even sure it would’ve worked on a premium network)

honestly, i think the show failed for the following reasons:

it was promoted as one thing, but then shown as another. i remember it being like "LOOK AT THE SEX" but then they had the murder cover up in the first episode and it just didn't perform well.

plot lines weren't fleshed out, at all. like the murder cover up, they would hop back and forth between it actually being important, to just something to make carol jealous of the relationship she sees between maureen and nick. they built more tension with the lesbian side plot than what was shown in the first episode to be the catalyst for everything. i know only three episodes aired, but man, they killed and revived that plot line soooo many times within those few episodes it was whiplash.

it was on NBC. i don't know how much everyone recalls, but NBC went... nuts during this time. i can't recall the number, but they green lit a bunch of shows at once for the fall television seasons from 2010-2013, but proceeded to then cancel, a ton of them? from what i recall around this time:

go on (only 1 season then cancelled; seriously one of the best sitcoms i have ever seen) | the playboy club (3/7 of the filmed episodes aired) | dracula (only 1 season then cancelled; the one with a v gay kmg that i am so freaking bitter over) | happy endings (3 seasons; ended on a cliffhanger) | smash (2 seasons, could have easily continued)

that's just what i remember. i know many other shows were cancelled, across the board for other networks, but NBC is notorious for swinging the axe prior to a show's natural conclusion. i know there is stuff i, and many others, will never know about what occurred behind the scenes to lead to these decisions, but i am still pretty bitter about several of those i listed above. maybe it could've done better on another network, but i think it was a mix of what i listed, and many other things i don't know.

that said - as much as i would have LOVED for go on to continue (the one i am most bitter over), everything happens for a reason. i'm happy that laura's career is still going pretty strong, and i am eager to see her in the new season of the gilded age (aka: broadway does bridgerton, tbh), and in the two movies she has coming out. and at least she has a good sense of humor about it.

[rafesslxt]

What are friends for? | Theodore Nott

summary: y/n and theo are best friends. she need‘s a little help to make a boy jealous, who ignores her. so what are friend for if not for helping each other?

warning: smut, smoking, drinking, best friends to lovers, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral

words: 3,7k

notes: my first smut!! english is not my first language, tell me If there is something to correct, I don‘t speak italian I used a translator, request are open 🫶🏻✨

have fun reading <3

— ✨

" It's like I'm not even there anymore! " I huffed and let my body fall onto Pansy's bed. " Maybe Blaise needs a little reminder that you're not some toy to play with. Show him that there are plenty of boys who want a piece of you. " She was right, but I couldn't bring it over my heart to led one poor guy on just to make Blaise jealous. We ain't even official. We just went on some dates and I thought that he really liked me, but now he ghost me at every chance he gets.

" I don't want to break a heart just for that. He's not worth it. Maybe I should jut let it - " " No no no! I have an idea! Why don't you ask one of the boys?" Pansy asked, right on point because a second later, Mattheo came into Pansy's room. " Whats up? Playing all by yourselfs?" he teased and threw his bag into the corner of the room. " We need somebody for y/n to make Blaise jealous. He acts like a total ass!" He raised his eyebrows and looked at me.

" Why don't you ask Theo? Think he would be perfect for that." he smiled at me and then at Pansy. " Oh my god yes! That's a win win! You totally liked him a few months ago!" Pansy babbled out. " Pansy!" Mattheo's grin widened. " Really? Well, then I think he's more than perfect."

I sighed and stood up. " I can't ask him. What If he say's no? That would be so embarrassing and I don't want him to think I'm that desperate."

To be honest, I still liked Theodore more than any other guy. We were best friends since we first saw each other when we got sorted into our houses. It clicked instantly. And the older we got, the more of a crush developed inside of me for him. I'm just scared that he doesn't like me as much as I like him. What If he thinks this is weird and cuts our friendship? So I just kept it for myself, and Pansy.. and now Mattheo. 

" Hey why are you all in Pansy's room? I was looking for ya'll." All the hairs on my body raised when I heard his voice coming through the door. " Oh you know, we were just talking about the party tonight and how Y/n is looking for a date." Pansy answered him before I could even say something.

" A date? " he asked irritated. " What about Blaise? Thought you had something going on with him?" And again, before I could answer, Pansy did. " Oh he is a total and stupid ass! He ghosts her so we need a new one to make him jealous. But good you are here now." She smiled at her last own words.

" What do you mean by that? " he asked suspicious of her words. " Come on Mattheo, let's go I'm hungry."  Both of them left the room, but not before Mattheo winked at me. " What the hell are they talking about?" Shit, I can't do this. I’m already freaking out inside, how am I supposed to ask him for such a favor?

" Bella, what is it? Are you okay?" he asked and sat beside me on the bed. " Uhm you know.. like Pansy said I - I need someone for the party. " I looked up at him, he always looked so confident and handsome. " And Blaise is going to be there and Pansy thought - I mean you know Pansy - " I tried to laugh it off. " She thinks it would be good for me to show Blaise that there are other boys that want me." I cringed at my own words. Damn, but everybody in our friendgroup knew how I got a love letter like every week from a new boy. " Why don't you ask one then?"

" That's the thing, I don't want to hurt somebody just to get my way. And I don't think I would be that comfortable with a boy I don't really - " "Then let me do it." My jaw almost fell to the floor. " What? " " Yeah why not? We know each other since first grade, you're my best friend and I would love to see that pissed off look on his stupid face." " Wow, uhm okay - uh let's discuss this while eating with Pansy and Mattheo, yeah?" " Fine for me."

We found our friends at the table in the hall, already eating. I told them how Theo would help me and asked for ideas, cause to be honest, I didn't have one fucking Idea how to do this.

" But let me tell you, I'm not in for the soft shit, that won't work on him." Theo said to our surprise. " Yeah that's my boy!" Mattheo cheered and shook his shoulder. " Oh I got it! Listen up!" Pansy said and told us her plan.

At the party

To say I was frustrated was understated. I did everything Pansy told me. I was close to Theo all the time, his hands around me, all over me. Which gave me such a hard time to concentrate on the real mission. We danced closely, he whispered words into my ear, making me giggle, but nothing worked. And If nothing worked, I had to face Theo's Plan for the night.

But let me tell you, I'm not in for the soft shit, that won't work on him. 

The party went well, but it got later and later and more and more of the students went to sleep. Theo kept giving me looks that were supposed to tell me it was time, but I was way too nervous. Another hour went by and it was just Pansy, Mattheo, Draco, Enzo, Blaise and some girl he had brought from Ravenclaw, in the room. They all sat by the fireplace, spread out on the couch and floor. There where 2 couches, one with Blaise and his new girl and Draco on it. On the floor Enzo and Pansy. Mattheo sat on the second couch.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw Blaise close with a brunette, her sitting on his lap and giggling. My whole body got hot from anger.

I searched for one specific person in the room. And when I saw him, our final plan was set. Firewhiskey in my hand, i emptied like a pro the set my nerves free.

I rushed towards my best friend and grabbed him by his shirt, dragging him with me to the couch Mattheo sat on before he could even think about it. " Woah, not that I'm complaining or anything but what has gotten into you?" he asked.

" Do you see that?" I said and stopped. I nodded over to Blaise and the girl, who was whispering something into his ear. " What the fuck.." Theo said in confusion. "I know! That fucker has the audacity to ghost me all day and then this shit? No no no. Definetly Plan B."

" And how do you want to do it exactly?“ he asked. " I want you to fuck him out of my head If he‘s not talking to me." Yeah, that was 100% the firewhiskey. But Theo didn’t even protest. We arrived at the couch and sat down together.

Pansy lit up a J in her hands and started to smoke. " Where is Enzo? He wanted to share." Kiara asked Mattheo after taking her first big drag. " If you want to I share with you." I said before thinking about it. Theo‘s head shot in my direction. " You sure? That's the muggle stuff, hits a little bit harder. "

" I want some too." Draco interrupted. " Yeah I'm sure. Give me some after Draco. " Theo didn't stop looking at me. He knew that I tried smoking a view months ago but he also knew that I didn't like taking drugs. After Dray took his first puff, he gave it to me. He coughed a litte bit. After I took it from him he lets himself fall against the armrest of the couch.

I took one strong pull, inhaled it deep into my lungs and exhaled it after a few seconds without coughing. " Wow that was impressive." Pansy laughed as she saw how I smoked without one little cough. I gave it to Mattheo, knowing he liked to smoke sometimes.

We shared it for a few minutes until it was done. I felt a hand on my thigh, playing with the hem of my skirt. I looked at Theo who already looked at me and lowered his head to my ear.

 " You know I would love to have you all for myself but do you think that's a good idea? What If it does not work and you regret it?" I got closer to his face, almost touching his lips with mine. " Then I'm so done with him. I tried everything, and every time he finds a way to fuck it up, so yes Theo, I am sure. And If you don't want to take me upstairs and fuck my soul out of my body I will find someone else to do it, so? " He licked his lips and scanned my whole face to make sure If I'm 100 percent sure. 

" Distruggerò il tuo piccolo corpo perfetto, principessa. " ( I'm gonna destroy that perfect little body of yours, princess. ) he growled smiling devilish. "I still can speak italian, Theo."

He slammed his lips into mine and put his hands all over my body. I moaned into his mouth, which turned him on even more. He scooped his hands under my ass and sat me on his lap, where I could feel how hard he already was. " Did my words affect you that much huh?" I smiled at him which he just returned with pressing his hips into mine even more. 

" One part of me hopes it all works out and you get happy and shit, the other part of me hopes he stay's an idiot so I can have you to myself. " he admitted quiet, just for my ears to hear.

" You love the affect you're having on me right?" I just nodded with my head and started to grind painfully slow on him. To be honest after smoking that J with them, I kind of lost my shame, knowing they were probably knocked out already, which means they didn't give a fuck about me and Theo grinding on each other. I couldn't see Blaise’s face as my back was in front of him, but I hoped he would just feel as angry as I did. I swung my hair over my shoulder, where I saw Pansy and Draco getting out of the common room, Pansy winking at me.

" Continue doing that and I'm gonna fuck you right in front of him." " You wouldn't" I dared him, but I should have known better to be honest.

He grabbed me by my waist and crashed me with my back into the couch, getting on top of me. " What did you say?" I smiled sheepishly at him as he lowered his head to my neck where he started to place soft kisses all over my already hot skin. " Okay lovebirds, I'm gonna go and find Enzo." Mattheo said, being the only one left. " Have fun y/n. " he smiled and winked at me just like Pansy did. While Theo started to place his hand slowly under my skirt I turned my head in Blaise’s direction.

That son of a bitch started to make out with her, hands on her ass but his eyes concentrated on me. I moaned loud enough for him to hear as Theo's second hand wrapped around my neck. Blaise groped that girl harder, pressing her hips against his, never losing eye contact with me.

Funny thing was, I knew he didn't enjoy it that much, you could see it on his face. Me on the other hand, I really was enjoying myself. Theo knew all the right spots on my body, even tho a few hours ago I wished it was Blaise instead. I hissed when he sucked on my left boob, which was almost exposed due to my excuse of a top.

My eyes fixed on Blaise again, until Theo turned my head to his face. " How far do you want me to go ? Because I meant what I said, I would fuck you into this couch for hours while he's watching." he asked a little bit quieter. My breathing was heavy, clearly turned on. " Fuck I don't know. He's watching me the whole time I don't think he's gonna keep that facade up for long." " That was not my question, amore." " I trust you Theodore." For a moment I looked at him and saw my best friend again. " But If he doesn't stop it with her, I won't too. So do whatever you want." I smiled at his expression, completely turned on by now and ready to give it all.

" You're gonna regret that." he whispered against my lips before he took my lip between his teeth, making me moan and shake. I closed my eyes and tried not to think too much of Blaise anymore. If he wanted me, he would say something, but I'm not the one who's gonna back down.

"Sei proprio un puttana per me." ( You are such a little whore for me. ) I smiled at his dirty words.

His right hand was already under my skirt, his left hand now cupped my left boob under my top, playing with my nipple. " Fuck Theo, please." I whimpered, arching my back. My hands wandered under his shirt and over his hard abs. Damn, he really was made by the gods.

At that point Blaise was long forgotten and my longing for Theo got bigger by any second. " What do you want, principessa? " His right hand left my skirt to pull my top completely down, so anyone who would pass by, could see me half naked. His lips wandered just above my right nipple. " What do you want, y/n?" he asked again. " Y-your mouth.. want your mouth o-on me - oh yes." I groaned as he wrapped his plump lips around my nipple, sucking and licking it. He was so good at what he did, I almost didn't notice Blaise standing up und leaving the fireplace. 

Theo did too and stopped to my dismiss. " Do you want to stop?" he asked, out of breath, clearly turned on too. " Hell no, I want you to fuck me Theo, please." " Shit I love it when you beg, beg more and maybe I'm gonna give you what you want."

I swallowed all my pride and let go. " Please fuck me Theo, I want to feel you. I wanna feel your lips all over me, please. I'm so hot I can't take it anymore. Just do something." That was all he needed to hear from me. He janked my skirt down my legs and threw it across the place.

His face now in front of my throbbing pussy. " Fuck, you're all wet, just for me huh?" He pressed his lips against my clit, covered by my panties. My brain stopped working from there on. " You smell so fucking good. Such a little slut, letting me touch you in the middle of the common room. You like that? You like the risk at getting caught? " He teared my panties apart and threw them to my skirt. " Theo! They were new!" I frowned.

" After that we're gonna sneek out tomorrow and I'll buy you everything you want as long as you wear it only for me." I nodded and whimpered again as his head came closer and closer to my heat. I wiggled in his grip, crazy for some kind of friction. Finally he started to lick my pulsing clit in a fast rhythm, making me scream his name. " Shit, just like that! " I gripped his soft hair, pressing his face harder into my pussy.

" I wish you would have asked me sooner to help you, your pussy tastes so good I never want to taste something else in my entire life." he mumbled against my hot skin. My heart throbbed too at his words. Not long after that, he started to suck hard on my clit, fingering my hole to prepare it.

My stomach twisted and I felt a strong feeling inside of me. He must have felt it too 'cause he moved his mouth and fingers even faster now. " Are you coming? Fuck, come on my tongue baby, please." he whimpered slightly which gave me the rest and so I came hard, my whole body twitching snd shaking again. He groaned at the taste and pulled himself up again, smiling at me. " That was good?" he asked and kissed me before I could answer, making me taste myself on his lips.

I felt him again against my leg. " I want to make you feel good too." I whispered as my hand slid down his jeans, pressing it against him. He groaned and the feeling, letting his head fall down. With my other hand I opened his Jeans and pulled it down with his help.

" I'm so hard because of you. Can't even think about something else but fucking you into this couch all night long. " " Then do it, fuck me stupid." I said grinning.

He took off his boxer and positioned himself at my entrance. He looked at me to make sure I was ready. "Please, can't wait any longer too." He rubbed his tip against my clit, which was still sensitive from my last orgasm. "Hmm Theo, I need you inside of me, now."

"Turn around, I want to fuck you from behind. Wanna see that ass." I turned around and got on all fours. " Yeah just like that.. now ass up and face down principessa." I did as he told me and waited for his touch again.

" God I wish I could frame this sight right into my head forever." he mumbled and took his cock into his hands, rubbing it against my clit again, spreeding all the wetness. I inhaled sharply as he pressed his cock into me. I wrapped my arms around the cushions beside my head, moaning loudly. " Fuck yes, that tight little pussy feels so good, all for me, right?" he asked me but I was so knocked out inside my head that I didn't answer. Until I felt a sharp sting on my ass. He fucking slapped my ass, making me moan again. "Yes!"

" Shit, you like that? " he slapped my ass again, harder this time and started moving faster, making my ass slap against his hips. I screamed at the feeling of him reaching my g spot." Oh my god yes Theo, right there!" He fucked me like there was no tomorrow, wrapping his hand around my throat and pressing his cheek against mine.

" I want you to never look or even think of that motherfucker again, you understand? It's me who fucks you like this. It's me whose name you're screaming into the cushions which are laying on the couch, that I'm fucking you right now into. Every time from now on you come to me If you want your tight little pussy fucked. Do. You. Under. Stand?" he asked with each thrust. 

" Oh bella I feel you squirming around my cock, are you close again? Did that turn you on? You like being manhandled like that?" "Hmm y-yes please make me come again. I need it so bad." I knew I couldn't hold it for any longer. I was so close to my second orgasm.

" Beg me to cum baby, come on. Beg me and I'll let you come so hard you'll see stars." I was away just a few moment from my high, feeling it in my stomach again. " Oh my god Theo please fuck me! Make me cum p-please!" " Who is making you cum baby ? Tell me! Scream as loud as you can, that bastard shall hear  you coming on my dick." He started to draw circles on my clit and tightened his hand around my throat which pushed me over the line a second time. " It's you Theo, it was alway you, fuck!" I cried out.

My orgasm hit me so hard, that I in fact, saw black and little stars before my eyes. " Mgh fuck- I'm gonna fucking explode all over you. " I clenched around him which made him finally cum. " Fuuck.." he let his head fall in my neck und jerked his cock in his hand until he came all over my ass and back. He had cum on his fingers, holding it in front of my mouth. " Open up, amore."

I did as he told me to and opened my mouth, sucking on his cum covered fingers. His lips slightly parted as he watched me. " I am so not ready with you. Next round's in the shower. " he smirked as he wiped his cum off me with his shirt.

" I meant what I said, it was always you. " I said softly, hoping he would finally admit his feelings for me. " Really? Are you sure it wasn't just so Blaise would - " " No Theo - " I started to turn around, facing him again. " I liked you way before Blaise, I was just scared that you wouldn't feel the same for me. I tried to forget you and move on, so I started this thing with Blaise. But my heart always wanted you. "

"Allora lascia che io abbia il tuo cuore per sempre." (Then let me have your heart forever.) He kissed me softly, holding my face in both his hands. 

"Ti amo." ( I love you. )

"Anch'io ti amo, cara mia. " ( I love you too, my dear. )

—

hope u liked reading it, thankful for every like. 🫶🏻

My request are open If you‘re interested.

xoxo sarah 🤍

[peachesofteal]

Light on - single mom/neighbors fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: You ask Simon to babysit for you last minute. For @that-fangirl-1106 and three anons

“Thank you so, so much. I owe you.” 

Simon stops short at your door, brows raising in surprise. He expected to see you in your ‘house clothes’ as you call them, leggings, or an old pair of jeans with a t shirt. Instead, you’re wearing a skirt, a short skirt, swell of your breasts just visible inside the V of your shirt, and his stomach twists, confusion thrumming in his veins. What is this? Where are you going? When you called and asked him to help you watch Emma for a bit, he just assumed it was so you could run some errands or something, take some time for yourself. Not for… whatever this is. 

You’ve got Emmaline on your hip, waist curved to accommodate her, and she’s babbling at you with a happy smile.  

“Are you sure it’s not an inconvenience? My sitter bailed last minute.” The door lock clicks into place behind him, and he holds his tongue, stopping the flow of one hundred questions, biting down on the urge to pull you into his chest and tell you- you’re not actually going anywhere. 

Would you agree? Would you look up at him with that sweet, beautiful face, and tell him that you won’t? That you’ll stay here, with him, instead. Where you belong.

“Simon?” Shit.

“It’s fine. I’m happy to help.” Emma coos, looking up at him, little legs wriggling in her onesie and his heart thumps a little harder, the green poison of jealously cooling just slightly when he realizes it doesn’t matter where you’re going. You’ll be coming home to him, and Emmaline, at the end of your night. 

Still. He has to ask. He has to know. 

“Where are you going?” You hand the baby to him, clucking softly, rubbing your fingers through her wispy crop of curls. 

“Out with this guy I met!” You’re excited, practically beaming, and your fingers find the hem of your shirt, anxiously plucking at it. “It’s been a while since like-“ you stop yourself, embarrassment heating your face, and you clear your throat. “No one’s asked me on a date in a while. Single moms aren’t really… a hot commodity.” His stomach clenches at the idea of another man thinking you’re a hot anything, let alone even looking in your direction. 

“Where are you going? Who is he?” 

“To the little Thai spot on seventh.” You give him an odd look. “And he’s a guy I met at the library.” 

“The library?” 

“Yeah, during story time.” You’re pulling a jacket on, and he clenches his jaw so tight he could chew through concrete. “Alright, baby, love you.” You step into his orbit, dab of perfume still wet on your neck, heat pressing into his side when you bend to kiss Emma on her forehead. Your hand brushes his against her back, something clouding your gaze when you look up into his face, something hopeful and honeyed sweet, with just a glimpse of longing, enough that blood roars in his ears. 

He should ask you to stay, tell you he’ll take you instead. Or take you somewhere better, take you anywhere you want to go. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you slip out the front door, blowing the baby in his arms one last kiss goodnight with a wave of your palm.

An hour later, a key scrapes against the metal of the lock. He’s got Emmaline and her favorite stuffed giraffe in his arms, walking circles in the kitchen, bouncing her lightly to try to soothe her pre bedtime tears, a normal routine he’s seen you do more than once. 

You slip through the door with a whispered apology, tired eyes rimmed in red. 

“Hey.” You reach for Emma, giving her a big smile and holding her to your chest, little kisses from your lips dotting her head, her cheeks. Your eyes slip closed, tension sagging from your shoulders, and he frowns, 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing. He uh, didn’t show.” Oh, sweetheart. You shrug, brushing it off. “But that’s okay, isn’t it?” you coo at Emma, smoothing a hand up and down her back. “Yeah, that’s okay. Mum doesn’t need anyone but you, huh Emmaline?” You say something about putting her to bed, and he barely hears you, too busy thinking about finding the piece of shit that decided to stand you up and breaking every bone in his body. 

You reappear once you’ve got her down, and he still hasn’t made himself scarce, lingering in your kitchen, hands in his pockets. He feels out of place, heart panging at the dejected look at your face. 

“Fuck that guy.” He grunts, and you crack a smile, tucking your arms around yourself. “He’s an idiot.” 

“Yeah.” You’re sullen, rejected, and it makes his blood boil, rage coursing through him knowing that someone made you feel less than the wonder you are. “Thanks for… I guess hanging out with her for a little while, at least. It was really nice of you.” 

“Anytime.” The kitchen is silent for a moment, reflecting your somber mood, and just as he’s about to tell you how stupid that guy is, how much of fool he is to not see what he missed out on, how much he didn’t deserve a single second of your time, you sigh out a whispered confession. 

“I guess it was pretty stupid.” 

“What was stupid, sweetheart?” 

“Going on a date when I have a baby at home. Thinking someone would even want a single mom with a baby at home.” You roll your eyes. “You know, as soon I got out the door, I was thinking about coming back? Couldn’t stop thinking about her. Wishing I was hanging out with my own daughter, and you… instead of going on a date.” His heart latches onto your words, hoarding them close, trying to memorize them so he can recall every syllable when he closes his eyes tonight. 

“That’s not stupid.” He wants to comfort you, promise you that it’s the farthest thing from stupid. 

“Maybe. Either way doesn’t matter, right? I got stood up.” You wince. 

“Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve a minute of your time.” Your lips part, a little stunned by the steadfast vow, before splitting into a delicate smile, and your head ducks. 

“Thanks, Simon.” 

[gilbertscurls]

All Mine ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, softdom!matt, teasing, unprotected p in v

Matt sat in his chair, his mind already starting to wander after hours of going over endless spreadsheets, graphs, and data reports. He tried his best to pay attention, but the numbers and statistics were blurring together, and his focus kept shifting to the conversation going on between his brothers and Laura.

He zoned back in as Chris said something about their video views dropping. He glanced at his other brothers, noticing their tired and frustrated expressions. He couldn't blame them, this meeting was feeling like it'd never end.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. He couldn't help but yawn, his lack of sleep from the night before catching up to him. He glanced over at the clock on the wall, silently willing the time to move faster.

Matt felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and reached in, discreetly pulling it out to check the notification. He saw that it was a text, and his heart immediately skipped a beat.

You: hey, what are you doing?

He couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement when he saw your text. He quickly typed out a reply, trying to keep a straight face while still being in the meeting.

Matt: hey sweetheart, we're in a meeting right now. bored out of my mind. wbu?

In response, he received a picture. It was you dressed in dark blue lacy lingerie. You were smirking, and the added text said, “Thoughts and opinions?”

Matt's breath hitched in his throat as he looked at the picture, a wave of desire immediately washing over him. He swallowed hard, trying to discreetly position his phone so that his brothers and Laura, who were sitting nearby, wouldn't notice. His mind quickly went straight to all the dirty thoughts and opinions he had about you at that moment. But he knew he needed to keep his cool and focus on the meeting.

He typed out a quick reply.

Matt: i think we need to finish this meeting ASAP.

He sent the message, already impatient and eager to finish up. His body was reacting in all sorts of ways now, his mind filled with thoughts of how gorgeous you looked… And what you could do once this meeting was over.

“And let's move on to the pressing issue of…” Laura babbled on, but he didn't really listen anymore.

He tried his best to pay attention to what Laura was saying, but his mind was preoccupied with the picture he had just received. He couldn't stop thinking about you and how badly he wanted you right now. He shifted in his seat again, trying to discreetly adjust himself and hoping no one would notice.

He continued to nod and give the occasional “yeah” or “uh-huh” whenever one of his brothers spoke, but his mind was completely elsewhere. He kept sneaking glances at his phone, desperate to see if you would send another text or naughty photo.

He could hear his brothers and Laura talking, but his thoughts were consumed with you. He was starting to get impatient now, wanting to leave this meeting and go be with you. He glanced at the clock again, willing the time to move faster. He knew he wasn't going to be able to focus until this was over.

And eventually, another text came. This time, it was a close-up of your tits, still clad in that lacy little bra that didn't leave much to the imagination.

He nearly choked on his own spit as he looked at the new picture, quickly glancing around to make sure no one had noticed his reaction. He felt a wave of desire wash over him, his heart racing at the sight of your body.

His phone was positioned at an angle where no one could see it, but he was still being careful as he typed out a reply.

Matt: holy hell sweetheart…

He quickly sent it before looking back up at his brothers and Laura, trying to act normal.

He could feel the heat building up inside him, and he knew he was going to struggle to keep himself together if you sent any more pictures. He shifted in his chair again, trying to relieve some of the tension in his body. He glanced at the clock again, but the minutes seemed to be passing by slower and slower.

You: i miss you :(

Matt felt a pang of longing in his chest as he read your text. He missed you too, so much. He wanted nothing more than to be with you right now, to hold you close and make love to you.

Matt: i miss you too… this meeting feels like it's never going to end. i just want to be with you.

He glanced up again, checking to see if his brothers or the manager were looking his way. They were still busy going over the spreadsheets, and he took the opportunity to discreetly sneak another glance at his phone.

The sight of the picture was still fresh in his mind, and it was making him restless. He couldn't take this any longer. He needed this meeting to end, or else he was going to go crazy. He shifted in his chair again, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it was no use. He was too worked up now, too consumed with thoughts of you.

You: i need you so bad

As he read your message, his heart raced and his body responded instantly. Your words were like gasoline on a fire. His thoughts went wild, imagining all the things he wanted to do to you, how badly he needed to be with you right now. He had to force himself to look up from his phone, his eyes darting around to check if anyone was looking his way.

Matt: i need you too sweetheart. so, so badly.

His body was alive with desire, his mind filled with images of you. He was on the edge, so close to just getting up and walking out of the meeting. But he knew he couldn't do that. He had to stay, even though every fiber of his being was screaming to be with you.

“What do you think, Matt?” Laura asked suddenly.

Matt's heart skipped a beat as he heard his name being called. He quickly looked up, trying to compose himself and act normal. He had no idea what Laura had asked him, his mind hazy with thoughts of you.

"Um… Sorry, could you repeat that?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

He could feel his brothers' eyes on him, and he knew they could tell something was on his mind. He tried to focus on Laura, but it was getting harder and harder. He hoped she wouldn't ask him anything else, or he might just lose it right here.

He tried to listen as Laura repeated her previous statement, but he was only half paying attention. His mind was still fixated on you and the pictures you had sent him. He couldn't shake the desire and need coursing through his veins. He felt like he was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode any second now.

He couldn't help but keep glancing at his phone, hoping for another message from you. The anticipation was killing him. He longed for your words, your pictures, anything that might alleviate this desperate need he was feeling.

You: when r u coming back?

He quickly read your message, his heart skipping a beat again. He was desperate to be with you, and the thought of having to sit through the rest of this meeting was torture.

He typed out a reply, his fingers trembling slightly.

Matt: asap. this meeting is taking FOREVER. i need to be with you now.

He felt like he was on the edge of a physical breakdown, his body was aching with the need for release and the need to be with you. He couldn't keep his mind focused on the meeting for even a second, his thoughts consumed by the images and the memory of your body. He just wanted this all to be over so he could go to you.

You: i might need to start without you ;)

As he read your message, his eyes went wide and he felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. The thought of you touching yourself without him was both maddening and arousing, and it only intensified his need to be with you.

He quickly typed out a response, his hands shaking slightly.

Matt: baby please don't… i can't take this much longer

He shifted in his seat again, trying to find some sort of relief but only finding more discomfort. His body was aching for release, for your touch. He glanced up again, checking to see if anyone was looking his way. No one seemed to have noticed anything, but he knew he was close to snapping.

His mind was a constant battle between the need to be professional and stay in this meeting, and the need to go to you right now. He tried to focus on the words being spoken around him, but all he could think about was you. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this worked up.

The meeting dragged on and on, and it seemed to be endless. He couldn't tell if time was actually slowing down, or if it was just his perception, fueled by the need for you. He kept sneaking glances at his phone, hoping for another message from you, something to help him through this. His body was on fire, every inch of him aching for your touch.

“I know you guys are tired, but there is one more, long matter…” Laura kept talking.

Matt felt a pang of frustration as he heard Laura's words. Another long matter? He couldn't take it anymore. He was so close to the breaking point, and now he had to sit through another long discussion.

He tried to keep his composure, but it was getting harder and harder. His thoughts were consumed by you, by the burning need to be with you. He couldn't stand another minute of this.

He was starting to feel a hint of irritation mixed with the desire. He tried to pay attention to what Laura was saying, but his mind kept drifting back to Victoria. He wondered what you were doing, if you had stayed true to your word and started without him. The thought alone was enough to make his body twitch in response.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it was useless. He was so pent up now that he was struggling to think clearly. The only word that kept repeating in his mind was “now”. He needed you, now and immediately. The thought of waiting any longer was almost physically painful.

“Hey, you good, man?” Chris asked quietly, leaning a little closer to him.

Matt jerked his head up, suddenly aware that he had been zoned out for a moment. He looked at Chris and quickly plastered on a smile.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm good. Just tired, you know.”

He tried to sound casual, but he knew Chris could read him well. He wouldn't be fooled by a simple fake smile.

He shifted in his chair, hoping to subtly adjust his crotch which was now visibly tenting against his pants. He avoided Chris's gaze, knowing that if he looked into his eyes, his brother would know something was going on.

He tried to focus on the meeting again, but his mind was in a loop between the need for you and the need to pretend everything was normal. He knew he was treading on thin ice, and all it would take was one more message or picture from you to completely send him over the edge.

And as if on cue, you sent him a short video. It showcased your body, still clad in lingerie, and your hand was trailing down your skin.

As the video played, Matt's body reacted with intense need. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning. He was sitting at the table, surrounded by people, and he had to act like nothing was wrong. He felt like he was going to explode any second now.

He kept his face neutral, trying to look disinterested. But inside, he was going crazy. He wanted to get up and go to you right that minute, not caring about the meeting or anything else. He watched the video again, drinking you in, his mind replaying your words, your touch, your scent. He was so lost in the moment that when you sent him another text, he almost dropped his phone.

His heart raced as he saw the notification. He quickly picked up his phone, careful not to show the screen to anyone else. He opened the message and read your words.

You: i can’t take it anymore baby, i need you.

Matt's body responded instantly to your message. His need for you grew even stronger, and he had to fight the urge to just get up and go to you.

He quickly typed out a message, his fingers shaking slightly.

Matt: i need you too. so badly. you're driving me crazy.

He sent the message and waited for your response, his body thrumming with need and desire.

Vee: fucking laura

He read your message and couldn't help but let out a small huff of laughter. He knew how frustrated you were because he was equally frustrated. But the fact that you were thinking about Laura right now… It was both funny and incredibly arousing.

He quickly responded, his thumbs flying over the keypad.

Matt: i know baby. i feel the same. she is taking forever. i want to leave and be with you.

He tried to keep his focus on the meeting, but it was getting more and more difficult with every message from you. He was on the verge of losing his mind, his body on fire with need for you. He wanted to go to you, to touch you, to taste you, to make you scream his name.

The meeting was entering its second hour, and Matt wasn't sure how much longer he could take this. He could feel his composure slipping, his need for you growing more intense with each passing minute.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the meeting adjourned and everyone was getting up to leave. Matt quickly packed up his things, eager to get out of there as soon as possible. He glanced at his phone, checking for any messages from you, and thankfully, there was none. You seemed to have enough self-control to not send him anything more while the others were still in the room.

Matt took a deep breath and tried to compose himself as his brothers approached. He was still feeling frustrated and pent-up, but he couldn't show it. He forced a casual smile.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

He led the way out of the room and towards the parking lot, his steps brisk and purposeful. He had to get out of here and to you as soon as possible. The need for you was like a physical ache inside of him, demanding immediate attention. Every step further away from you made the ache worse.

He tried to make small talk with his brothers, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't focus on anything but the thought of you, of the way you would feel in his arms, the way your body would press against his, the way you would gasp and moan his name.

They reached the car and Matt quickly got into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. He kept his eyes on the road, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of you. It was taking all his self-control not to speed, knowing that the faster he got to you, the better.

His brothers chatted amongst each other, but Matt was only half listening. All he could think about was the images he had received earlier, the sound of your voice, the need he felt for you. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, praying that he would get to you before he completely lost his mind.

The drive felt like it was going on for an eternity. Matt's knuckles were white from the tight hold he had on the steering wheel, and his jaw was clenched shut tightly. He tried to focus on the road, but his mind kept wandering back to you, to the things he would do to you when he finally got there.

He was aware that his brothers were talking, but he couldn't make out the words. The only thing he was aware of was the aching need in his body, the need to be with you, to feel you, to make you his. He had never felt this level of desperation before, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

He finally pulled the car onto their street, and relief washed over him, mixed with the intense need. He parked in the driveway and turned off the engine, then turned to his brothers, who were gathering their things to get out of the car.

“I'll see you guys later,” he said quickly, trying to sound casual.

His brothers nodded, not noticing the edge in his voice, the urgency in his movements. Matt quickly got out of the car and made a beeline for his front door.

He fumbled with the keys for a moment, his hands shaking with excitement and anticipation. Finally, he got the door open and rushed inside, shutting it behind him. The house was quiet, and he knew you were waiting for him somewhere, probably in their bedroom.

As he walked towards the hallway to the bedroom, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He was so close to getting what he needed, what he had been craving for hours. When he reached the door, he didn’t even bother to knock. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

You were already laying on the bed, a teasing smirk on your face, and you were wearing that same damn lingerie.

As soon as you came into view, Matt’s breath caught in his chest. Seeing you there, waiting for him, wearing that lace and silk, was enough to drive him over the edge. He closed the door behind him and locked it, making sure they wouldn’t be interrupted this time.

“Hi there,” you greeted him teasingly.

He couldn't find words to respond to you, he was too overwhelmed by your appearance and his own need. He simply continued towards you, his gaze fixated on your body. When he got to the bed, he reached out and touched you, his hands gently tracing over the lace of the lingerie.

His touch was gentle, but the fire inside him was anything but. He ran his hands up your sides, feeling your soft skin under his fingers. He was so close to losing control, but he forced himself to maintain some semblance of restraint.

“You like the new set?”

His eyes raked over your body, taking in every inch of you, every curve, every dip. He could feel his control slipping, but he managed a strangled reply.

“You're killing me.”

He moved to lie down beside you, pulling you close to him. He couldn't resist touching you, his hands roaming over your skin, taking in the feel of you under his touch. You were warm and soft, and you fit against his body perfectly.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugging at it to bring him closer. He allowed you to pull him down, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. As soon as your mouths met, all his restraint went out the window. He kissed you deeply, hungrily, his body pressing against yours. One of his hands found the bare skin of your thigh, and his fingers traced small circles on your flesh.

His other hand tangled in your hair, holding you closer to him, his tongue exploring your mouth. He was drowning in your kiss, in the way your body felt against his, in the way your scent drove him wild. His free hand started to wander over your body, tracing the lines of your curves, his fingers teasing the edge of the lace fabric.

He broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. He could feel you shiver under his touch, and it only fueled his need. His mouth traveled lower, down your collarbone to the valley between your breasts.

“God, I need you so bad,” you whispered breathlessly.

He moved his mouth from your chest to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. He placed a small kiss on your earlobe before whispering back.

“You have no idea how much I need you right now.”

His hand on your thigh slid upwards, under the hem of the lingerie. His fingertips grazed the edge of your underwear, and he could feel your body respond eagerly to his touch.

He continued to kiss and nibble at your neck and earlobe as his hand moved further up your thigh, his touch growing more possessive. He was losing himself in the feel of you, in the way you responded to him.

“I need more,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with desire.

He gently pushed you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs. His hands ran up your arms and pinned your wrists to the bed, his body pressing against yours. He lowered his mouth to your ear again and spoke in a low, rough voice.

“I need to feel you. All of you. Now.”

“I'm all yours,” you whispered.

Those words sent a wave of heat through his body, and he let out a low growl of satisfaction. His hands released your wrists and began to explore your body again, this time with more urgency. He slid them under the fabric of the lingerie, slowly peeling it off your body.

As more of your skin was exposed, his lips started to follow. He kissed and nipped at your chest, your stomach, your thighs. He was like a man possessed, driven by a primal need to claim you completely. His hands continued to wander, exploring every inch of your body as he made his way back up to your face.

When he got there, he looked into your eyes with raw hunger. He had almost completely lost control now, his body on fire with desire.

When he felt your hands on his skin, his body reacted instantly. He lifted his arms so you could pull the shirt off from over his head and toss it aside.

As soon as his chest was bare, your hands were back on him, running over his skin and igniting a fire in his veins. He kissed you again, his mouth hot and demanding against yours, his body pressing your back into the bed.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every contour, every curve. He was drunk with the feel of you, the way you responded to him, the way your breath hitched and your moan echoed in his ears. His lips moved back down your neck to your shoulder, his teeth lightly biting at your skin. He needed you closer, needed to feel all of you, to possess you completely.

His hands slid under your body, cupping your backside and pulling you up against him. He could feel your bare skin against his, the heat of your body driving him wild. His mouth found yours again, his tongue demanding as it invaded you. He was consumed by you, lost in the feel and taste of you. He wanted more, so much more.

His hands moved up your back, tracing your spine. He could feel the heat in your body, the way you arched against him, craving his touch just as desperately as he craved you. He started to lower his body in between your legs, positioning himself against you.

“I can't wait any longer,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I need to be inside you, now.”

You had to surpass a moan. “Please…”

Your plea only heightened his need, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He reached down, unzipping his jeans and quickly pulling them off. He was fully exposed now, his body taut with anticipation. He positioned himself between your legs again, his eyes locking onto yours.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice ragged with desire. “And you're all mine.”

He paused for a moment, looking at you intently, taking in the sight of you lying there beneath him, your body waiting for him, completely open and vulnerable. It was a sight that always took his breath away, always filled him with an overwhelming sense of possessiveness.

He reached down, his hands moving to your hips, holding you firmly. He started to press into you slowly. He watched as your eyes fluttered shut, your head falling back against the bed. A gasp escaped from your lips, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

He started moving inside you, his body and yours finding a rhythmic dance that was both familiar and new at the same time. His hands were still on your hips, his grip strong and sure, as he began to move faster, deeper. His mouth found yours again, claiming you as he took you, owned you.

The sound of your moan was like fuel to the fire burning within him. He moved his lips to your neck and sucked on your skin, hard, leaving a mark that would be there the next day as a reminder of this moment.

“You're mine,” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “All mine. I'm never letting you go.”

He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust and the moan that escaped from his lips.

He needed to hear you, wanted to know that you were as lost in this as he was. He moved his lips back to your ear, his voice low and ragged.

“Tell me you're mine. Tell me you're mine, and nobody else's.”

“Yours,” you choked out in between the moans. “Only yours.”

Your words sent a wave of possessiveness through him, and he claimed your mouth in a rough and hungry kiss. He had you. Completely, utterly. You were his, and no one else's.

His body moved against your, finding a furious pace. He needed you, needed to claim you completely, to make you his in every possible way. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of you, as if trying to memorize your very existence.

Every moan, every gasp, every breath that escaped your lips only served to drive him on. He needed to hear you, to know that he was giving you everything you wanted, everything you needed. And you were giving him the same, the sounds of your pleasure filling his ears and feeding the fire within him.

He moved his lips down your body, his teeth nipping at your skin. He wanted to leave his marks all over you, to brand you as his. He knew he was being rough, but he couldn't help it. The primal need to claim you was too strong.

“Fuck, Matt…” you moaned loudly, your hands finding themselves on his back.

The sound of his name on your lips, the feeling of your hands on his skin… It only fueled the fire inside him. He wanted to hear that moan again, to feel your body shaking under him, lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

“You're so beautiful when you moan like that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I love hearing you say my name like that.”

He continued to move inside you, his body moving against yours in a fevered rhythm. He could feel himself getting close, but he needed you to be there with him. He needed you to come undone completely, to completely let go.

“Matt, close, I… Please… Don't… Don't stop…”

He was getting closer, and your pleading words were like an accelerant to the flame. He moved his lips to your ear again, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

“I won't stop,” he assured you, his voice ragged with desire. “I'm gonna make you come, baby. And I'm gonna come with you. But I need you to let go, I need you to give me everything. Can you do that for me?”

He could feel your body tightening around him, and he knew you were close. He picked up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

“Let go, baby,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a low growl. “I want to hear you, I want to feel you. Give it to me, give me everything.”

And with one last deep thrust, you came, his name on your lips, and your nails digging into the bare skin of his back.

The sound of his name and the feel of your nails on his skin, the way your body convulsing around him… It was all too much.

He didn't even have time to warn you before he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering violently as he found his own release. He buried his face in your neck, gasping for air and trying to catch his breath.

“Oh, god,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I love you.”

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice still unsteady.

He buried his face against your neck, inhaling deeply, the scent of your skin filling his senses. He was still breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. After a moment, he spoke again.

“You were so beautiful,” he said softly. “I've never seen you more beautiful than you were just now.”

He lifted his head to look at you, taking in your flushed face, your mussed hair, your breath still coming in short gasps. You were the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, and the fact that you were all his only made you even more perfect.

He gently pushed some loose strands of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin.

“You're mine, you know that?” he whispered. “You're completely mine. And I'm never letting you go.”

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air.  Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else. 

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

-

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

-

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't respected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[whoskimii]

I WANNA T★UCH ON YOU . . .

★ fuckin' with him and playin' ft. choso ! ★

˖˚₊ warnings ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ nsfw, smut, unprotected (wrap it before you tap it), p in v, mommy kink, subby choso, you pull on his hair, he's kinky overall :3

˖˚₊ wc ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 935. (kinda short, mb :3)

“hey...” you giggled as choso climbed on top of you, sucking on the sensitive skin of your neck. “what ?” he grumbled, his voice slightly muffled by your warm, tingly flesh.

“i'm still focusin' on the game, y'know.” you told him with a soft smile as you watched him tug on his pants. “focus on me instead.” he ordered grumpily, taking the controller from your hands to put it aside.

you smiled and slid your fingers in his soft, dark hair before gently tugging on his pigtails, which earned a whine from him. “don't do that... y'know i'm sensitive...” he tucked his head in your neck, embarrassed by the sound that just escaped his pouty lips.

“that's why i did that.” you said cheekily. you gently untied his hair, letting the full length of it fall down on his shoulders. “you should wear your hair down more often.” you remarked, planting a kiss on his cheek.

a tiny huff escaped his nose as he found himself in only his boxers. the thin fabric barely concealed the way his needy cock was beginning to churn up against his thigh.

“i need you...” he muttered as he left sloppy, lazy kisses on your shoulder. “i can tell.”

who were you to say no to your baby boy ?

with a heavy sigh, you lifted your hips and slid off your panties. you kicked them off your ankles and the mere sight of it made your lover perk up. “been too long since i touched you.” he remarked confidently. “it's only been two days, choso.” you giggled, shaking your head lightly as you feigned disappoinment.

his shoulders slumped. “isn't that a long while...?” he tilted his head, his bottom lip standing out in an adorable pout. the view caused you to coo at him. “aw, baby... if you think 's been too long, then i'll let you have it.” you kissed his forehead.

at your lovely words, he beamed happily.

before you could climb onto his lap, choso took off his boxers, freeing his painfully hard length. “it really wants you, y'know...” he stared at his leaky tip, already spurting droplets of precum just from the simple sight of his own dick.

you straddled him and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “you ready, honey ?” you gently whispered.

as a response, choso nodded vigorously, which caused a giggle to erupt from your pretty lips. “aw, good boy.” with that, you finally sank down on his hard length. his fingernails dug into the fat of your plushy hips before he let his forehead fall against your shoulder.

you bounced up and down and let choso guide your lazy movements.

he was in his own little world.

here he was, whimpering, jaw slack and eyes rolled back as the heavenly feeling of your warm, sloppy hole around him overwhelmed his poor body.

you took the occasion to sneak your hand behind him and grab the controller he had snatched away from you just a few minutes ago.

you continued riding him, although not really making an effort to speed up. “that's it, baby...” you praised quietly, pretending to focus on him when your eyes were actually settled onto the screen behind your lover.

sure, he was needy but you wanted to keep playing.

“mommy...” he babbled, a short trail of drool decorating the corner of his lips. “mhm,” you hummed absentmindedly. “that's me. 'm here, angel.”

you decided to finally look down at your pretty boy, appreciating the sight. “you gonna cum for mommy ? you gonna cum for mommy, sweetie ?” you gently whispered, repeating yourself almost as if he was too dumb to understand the first time.

in this situation, he was too dumb to understand both times.

at his lack of reaction, you tapped one of his cheeks with your hand. you didn't slap him, but the force of the contact was enough to make him twitch inside you.

what a dirty slut.

“ngh—!” he moaned at the contact and fluttered his hazy eyes open. he had a dazed, almost clueless expression. “huh...?” he swallowed thickly. “i said,” you whispered before tugging his hair backwards. “you gonna cum for mommy or nah ?”

he whined as you pulled on his hair, his hips subconsciously thrusting up into your cunnie to meet your movements. “mhm ! yes...!” he nodded vigorously, mewling pathetically as your meaty ass slapped against his thighs. “gonna come...” he allowed his lips to glide along your collarbones. “can i... can i come inside you ?pleasepleaseplease— wanna come in your pussy !” he babbled, on the verge of coming.

you cupped his cheeks. “oh, honey... of course you can. this pussy's yours.” he shivered at your words.

it only took him one, two, three, four thrusts to shoot his thick load inside your gummy walls. you sighed at the warm sensation, keeping him as deep as you could.

he moaned, his eyes rolling backwards as he choked on his own saliva. “mommy... so good...” he breathed.

you even had to keep your hand around his neck to make sure he was still breathing.

as he finally regained his senses, he clung onto you, burying his nose between your breasts. he lifted his head to look at you but— huh ? why were you looking behind him ?

he turned his head and whined softly as he noticed that you had been playing the entire time. “mommy...” he mumbled with a tinge of disappointment.

“oops. sorry, honey.” you offered him a sheepish, apologetic smile before planting a kiss on his forehead.

based on this ask.

[luveline]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 

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

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

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

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

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

He's looking at you, Bram Stoker. 

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

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

Eddie would know. He's tried. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t. 

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

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

"Hi, Eddie," you call.

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

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

"Hey," he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"God awful," he agrees sullenly. 

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

"You should get a bike." 

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

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

Eddie squints. "The o-zone?" 

"Is there another one?" 

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

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

"My chain slipped." 

"So much for reliable." 

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll do it for nothing." 

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

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

Or maybe you don't know. 

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

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

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

Kid, if I had the money…

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

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

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

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

No knife-like points. Normal teeth. 

"Are you thirsty?" you ask him. 

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

His heart fucking pounds. 

"I have grape juice?" 

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

Duh, you meant juice. 

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

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

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

It's everywhere. 

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

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

"You like Dio?" he asks excitedly. 

"Who?" 

He wilts. "Uh, your hoodie. Dio." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Learn to take a compliment, dude. 

When they aren't pity compliments, he might. 

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

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

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

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

"My services were administered charitably.”

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

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

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

"I'm twenty-two." 

Eddie squints at you. "Seriously?" 

"You didn't think so?" 

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

"A boyfriend?" 

"Just me and mister Porterson." 

"That your grandpa?" 

"That's my pet fish."

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

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

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

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

"You know what happened?" he asks.

"What happened?" 

"Two years ago. Chrissy… Chrissy Cunningham?" 

Don't say her fucking name. 

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

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

He stares. 

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

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

"You don't believe it?" 

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

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

— 

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

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

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

"I got sandwiches. Do you want one?" 

"What kind?" 

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

"Why?" 

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

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

"You're Eddie's new friend?"

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

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

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

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

You offer Eddie’s uncle a cookie.

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

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

"You don't say." 

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

"Thanks, kid." 

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

"Wayne is fine." 

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

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

"Are you ready?" you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel like a pearl," you say. 

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

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

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

"Yeah? Bring me another bracelet?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"For your eyes." 

"There's cheese on it." 

"I'll still work," you assure him. 

"M'not putting cheese on my eyes." 

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, definitely." 

"Discrimination." 

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

"She didn't budge?" 

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

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

"See my new one?" 

"What?" 

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

"It's nice." 

"It's surprisingly heavy. Wanna feel?" 

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

Right, you think. I'm talking a lot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He breathes out. "Thank you." 

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

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

He moves away slowly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow harshly.

"Seriously?" 

Your sad tone surprises him. 

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

His nervous itching makes you even more worried. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Chief," Wayne calls. 

Trailer walls. Basically made of cardboard. 

"Hey, Wayne. Where's the kid?" 

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

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

"Yeah, he- He's friends with Wayne." 

"Why's he wanna know where you are?" 

"'Cause I got into so much trouble." 

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

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

"What?" 

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

Something surfaces in his expression. An irony. 

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

He hates how good it feels. 

"Stop feeling guilty," Steve says. 

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

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

"Can you guys go home?" Eddie asks. 

"Shithead." 

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

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

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

"Ouch, what the fuck?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. 

"...Not really." 

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

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

"I have a friend," Eddie admits. 

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

"Hey. How are you?" 

"Eddie, I need your help. Badly." 

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

"Are you okay?"

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

"...What?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You want to?" 

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

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

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

"That's perfect."

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

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

"Be honest with me, kid." 

"I am!" 

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

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

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

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

"Jesus Christ." 

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

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

"Strange?" 

"Alternative." 

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

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

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

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

—

"It's so quiet," you whisper. 

For you, Eddie thinks. 

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

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

"Eddie?" 

"What?" 

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

If only you knew the trees aren't quiet. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, how did they get here?" 

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

"They fly?" 

A twig crunches under your shoe. 

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

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

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

"Not yet. Where'd you go?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"You have the mason jar?"

"You know I do." 

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

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

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

"Yeah?" 

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

"Who told you that?" 

"What?" 

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

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

"Everybody tells me that. All the time." 

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

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

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

"You're not." 

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

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

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

"Hey, I have something for you." 

"You do?" 

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

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

How embarrassing. 

"Eddie, what happened?" you question loudly.

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

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

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

"Steve found it." 

"'The hair'?" 

"Yeah, the hair." 

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

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

"You're the best." 

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

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

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

"Okay. Do you want to come over?" 

His breath catches. "You want me to?" 

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

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

"What kind of pasta?" he asks. 

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

"How do you know?" 

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

"Try tightening the handle." 

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

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

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

"No, do you?" 

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

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

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

"Are you sure?" you ask again. 

"I'm positive." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

"Shit," you mumble. 

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

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

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

You hold your hands out. 

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

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

He doesn't sound the same. 

"Eddie, we can't see." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

His second hand is in his pocket. 

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

Restrained. 

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

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

You have a light bulb moment. 

"The hair," you say.

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

"You're Steve?" 

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

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

"Trust me, you're new." 

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

He tucks it under his arm. 

You meet his suspicious gaze. 

"You want coffee?" 

"No." 

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

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

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

"What?" 

"Are you initiating me into your cult?" 

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

"Club where you chew on each other?" 

You look pointedly at Steve's wrist. 

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

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

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

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

"It's really not that kind of club." 

—

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

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

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

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

"You like him when you tell me stories." 

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

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

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

"He's like that." 

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

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

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

"M'gonna sneeze." 

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

"I'll tickle you back," he warns. 

"Promise?" 

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

"You're not a cannibal, are you?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"No, not- Not that one." 

He doesn't say anything. 

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

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

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

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

"Okay." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about you?" 

"What about me?" 

"Who do you like?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smile abruptly ends. 

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

"A good secret," you amend. 

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

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

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

"Just the one." 

"Save any princesses?" 

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath mingles. 

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

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

—

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

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

Eddie blinks. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, what was that about?" 

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

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

"Since always, dipshit." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He feels kind of great about it. 

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

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

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

How can he want to do that to you? 

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

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

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

"Go play with your nerd squad, please." 

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

"No." 

"Where's Y/N?" 

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

You will most likely choose Blondie. 

"What does she like?" Dustin asks curiously. 

"Everything, kind of. Why?" 

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

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

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

"I mean, yeah. What else do you do?" 

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

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

"It could be." 

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

"Why not?" 

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

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

I'm just glad you're alive, Eddie. 

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

The loss of choice is suffocating. 

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

"Eddie, are you okay?" 

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

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

"Eddie-" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I honestly wouldn't expect any different." 

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

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

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

"You can have it." 

You lean against the sink. "I can?" 

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

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

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

"There's an upstairs bathroom." 

"Two bathrooms? That's-" 

"Audacious?" 

"I was gonna say overkill." 

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

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

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

"You look very handsome today." 

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

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

He wants to pull it up. 

"C'mere," he says. 

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

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

"Thank you. Do you like my t-shirt?" 

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

"Like Madonna." 

"No!" he bemoans. 

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

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

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

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

"R.E.M?" 

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

"The radio." 

"Tuned into the wrong station." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gums sting. A click. 

It's a compulsion. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie can't feel his hands. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart hikes again. 

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

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

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

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

"I don't think you could." 

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

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

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

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

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

How could she not?

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

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

"I know." 

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm fine." 

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

"I'm fine all the time." 

"Liar." 

"Nuisance." 

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

"Mike was really nice," you say. 

"He has a bleeding heart." 

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

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

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

"What?" 

"Wanna stay the night?" 

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

"Just to sleep. It's late." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can't hear his response. 

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

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

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

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

You debate your pyjama pants considerably. 

There's a lot happening. 

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

He's something out of a science fiction book. 

Well, nobody's perfect. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have tattoos," you say. 

"They were better, before." 

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

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

"Mh-hm." 

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

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

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

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

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

You reach for his waist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure?" you whisper to him. 

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

"And you're okay?" 

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

"Yeah. More than anything." 

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

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

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

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

He pushes your thigh flat to the bed. 

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

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

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

His face presses further into yours in reaction. 

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

"Teasing," you utter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slow, slow circles. "There, huh?" 

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

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

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

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

"I can." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For what?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?" he asks, smirking. 

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

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

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

"Does it hurt?" 

"Not anymore." 

"Can I kiss it?" 

He snorts. "Prefer you kiss something else." 

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

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

"Please." 

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

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

"What way?" 

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

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

"Will you spoon me?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He says your name like the syllables alone are appraising. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Will you kiss me?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Eddie-" you start. 

He pulls away, stops every movement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile softly. "Fuck," you mumble. 

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

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

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

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

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

You touch your index fingertip to his lip. 

"Can I see?" you ask. 

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

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

A fang. 

Blood oozes at the gums. 

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

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

"How often do they come out?" 

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

That is a dizzying thing to learn. 

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

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

You find yourself leaning forward, unafraid. 

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

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

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

"Yeah, I think so. Don't you?" 

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

-

Your first time watching a blood sate is weird. 

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

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

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

His kid laughs. 

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

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

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

You nod at him faux-seriously. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm almost twenty three." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take it without thinking. 

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

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

"I read about a new blood-sucker." 

Eddie raises his heavy head. "Another bug?" 

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

He squeezes your hand, this time on purpose. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Deep breath," Wayne says. 

"Fuck, Wayne." 

"You're aces. Deep breaths." 

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

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

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

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

"You okay, handsome?".

"Tired." 

"You want a hug from me?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you thinking about?" he asks. 

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

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

"Least it wasn't Snoopy." 

"God forbid." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe I can shower with you." 

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

"I'll lean out." 

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

Wayne clears his throat. 

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

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

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

"I am." 

"More than that." 

"There's no room." 

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

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

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

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

"For shows." 

"Really?"

"Is it hard to believe?" 

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

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

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

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

You wring the water out of his hair and search in the steam for his conditioner. It's mostly empty. "You could put on a show for me. I never got to see you play," you say, shaking it really hard. A dollop collects in your hand and you work the dregs through the ends of his long hair. 

"You want that?" 

"I think you're the best guitar player in the world." 

You're not joking. He's the best, and he plays guitar. And he's pretty good, semantics aside. You love sitting out on the porch with him and listening to him play old rock songs off the top of his head. You could watch his hands move over the strings for hours. 

"If that's the case, I can definitely put on a show. Make-up, costume, stage dives. The whole nine yards. Anything for my girl." 

You roll the ends of his hair between two coated palms and step back. "There. You have to let it soak in for a couple of minutes." 

Eddie turns with a grin, angling his chest and hair forward, away from the stream. 

"Whatever will we do?"

You wipe an escaped streak of blood off of his bottom lip and smile. "I have no idea." 

You kiss. Eddie leans down and you move up, damp noses glancing off of each other. You're used to short kisses, never enough to make his heart race in case it prompts an unnecessary appearance of his fangs, so when Eddie encourages your lips apart to wade in deeper you pull back questioningly. 

"Blood sate. I'm 'sated'. They won't come out." 

Your jaw drops. "For real?" 

He shakes his head with a pleased smile. "For real. Kiss me sick, sweetheart." 

You throw your arm around his neck and drag his face to yours, kissing with an ardency that both surprises and amuses him. He laughs into your open mouth until suddenly he's not laughing at all, only breathing, pushing against you with the same urgent force and the same adoring smile. 

"Does this mean you can give me a hickey?" you ask enthusiastically. Eddie has yet to give you a proper love bite.

He leans back under the show spray and pulls you in with him, laughing when you dissolve like rice paper in his arms, finally warm. There's never been a sweeter sound. 

/\^._.^/\

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | my halloween party

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[tojipie]

BABES i love ur writing sm ugh can i request a how prisoner toji met the love of his life? mwah thank you

prison bf series linked here !

content: (p in v smut, car sex, fluff, angst, fem!reader)

you met toji on a weeknight during the short time you worked as a waiter in the city.

the restaurant was empty, save for him at a table in the corner. it was 30 mins before closing time, and the older man showed no signs of leaving. whether that was to your chagrin or your delight was still unclear.

“so that’s the foie gras and the bottle of La Grande Dame?” you ask sleepily, setting the meal down with a shaky hand.

“that’s right.” the raven haired man tells you, pouring himself a glass of the ridiculously pricey wine. “thanks kid.”

to say that you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified. the man in front of you was gorgeous, broad with raven hair and a deep scar running the height of his lips. you’d be blushing if it weren’t for the fatigue that’d settled throughout the length of your body. 9 hour shifts were no joke.

toji glances over at you, taking in the tremble of your hands. you’re a sweet little thing, probably new to the college you attend, working past midnight to pay off whatever you still owe from last semester.

“hey.” he whispers, motioning to the table, “sit down for a little.”

you glance around the restaurant in horror, he’s not talking to you right? he can’t be. you slowly let him lead you into the chair that lies opposite to his, sighing at the relief you feel in your thighs and shoulders.

“thank you.” you mumble, laying your head down on the cool wood of table. he chuckles at that, watching you rub the aches from your neck and shoulders. you don’t care who sees, much less if this interaction costs you your job.

“tired?” he teases, pushing his plate towards you.

“have some, pretty girls need to eat.”

“mm no thank you. i don’t like duck.” you mumble, letting the deep bass of his laughter lull you right to sleep.

you were fired within minutes, that much is obvious. doomed to hand in your little name tag and apron while the raven haired man bickers with your manager at the door.

“you call yourself a businessman? you work her like a fucking dog and you think that makes you a pimp or something? i told her to nap. she fucking needed the sleep!”

you tug on the sleeve of his suit jacket, urging him to follow you out the door. toji sighs, running hand through his hair.

“it’s ok.” you tell him, “i was gonna quit before spring break came anyways.”

sleeping on the job at a Michelin star restaurant probably wasn’t the best course of action. though it wasn’t all bad, you did end up receiving the best fuck of your life that same night.

“oh my god—fuck! oh my god.” you pant, digging your fingernails into the driver’s seat headrest. the raven haired man ruts into you from below, wrapping both hands around your waist to use as leverage.

“shit, you’re a nice piece of ass kid.” he mutters, reaching down to rub your little button with the pad of his thumb. you feel your stomach erupt in flames at the crude compliment. why hadn’t you tried fucking customers before?

you hang onto the back of the seat for dear life, wailing as you drip all over his thighs.

“look, that’s all for me?” he asks, pulling your cheeks apart to see where the two of you connect. the older man leans forward to suck on your neck, voice shaky with the force of his impending climax.

“you’re gonna make me fucking cum, you know that? fuck.” the way he holds you so sweetly deeply contrasts the filth he spews right into your skin. you’ve never been this cock-drunk in your life, babbling nonsense in the back of a horrifyingly spacious bmw while a man you met an hour ago pummels your cunt open.

it’s quiet as the two of you drive back to your place. toji’s suit jacket is draped around your shoulders, shielding you from the frigid night air. the windows are cracked to let the cold in, no doubt to try and get all the glass in the car to unfog.

jesus. you just want to go to bed.

“this is me.” you tell him, gathering your bag from the floor to enter your apartment. the raven haired stranger slips you a card with a number on it. you pocket it and thank him, giddy at his implication of seeing you again.

“i had fun tonight.” you tell him shyly, leaning over to peck the scar on his mouth. he groans, pulling you towards him to kiss your forehead.

“you take care of yourself ok? no more dead end jobs.” you nod, kissing him again.

“here.” he says sternly, slipping a rubber-banded roll of cash through the opening in your purse.

you pause, stomach turning sour at the gesture.

“i’m not a hooker, you don’t need to pay me just because we had sex.” you mutter, digging in your bag to give the money back.

“you know that’s not why i gave it to you.” he tells you plainly. tucking a loose strand of your behind your ear.

“do what you need to do, pay off what you need to pay, and then call me so i can take you out on a real date.”

you pause, looking at the ground shyly.

“ok?” he asks.

you nod, reaching to intertwine your fingers.

“ok.”

tag list ! <3 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies

[futurefind]

//oc challenge: design a character based on a ygo archetype / a ‘player’ of that archetype--

GANG WAKE UP (<- NEVER SLEPT) IM YELLING OVER ACCIDENTALLY DISCOVERING REA (N ESP FE3H REA’S) ARCHETYPE... ITS SO. WIBBLES. IN AESTH /AND/ THEMES ARGHHHHHH

[shotgunbunny]

*•.¸♡𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐩♡¸.•*

[𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫!𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

pinboard│playlist│dividers│word count: 7k+│not proof read│𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤?

warnings: weed/ oral f and m receiving/ public oral/ exhibition (slightly.)/ degradation/ praise kink/ smut/ p in v sex/ pure sweetness and fluff

The first thing you noticed was that he was leaner, cooler than the others, better than how he was described. Dressed in his dark navy blue compression top and black combat pants. His pink lips were full with a blunt between them and his beautiful blue eyes had a red haze in them. The way he was sat was just so casual and dominant, his legs spread and his back slouched against the ugly red sofa with his muscular arm resting around the back. His phone was waiting on the sofa’s arm rest and he ignored every notification that pinged at his phone. He was far more interested in you, in how you didn’t seem to fit the scene. You were in your friends basement, Claire. Her bother Chris was sat in the single chair with his head tilted towards the ceiling. The couple, Ethan and Mia, was sat in the corner kissing and cuddling while in their dazed state. Then sat on the floor was Carlos and Jill, best friends but one was pining for the other. Claire had told you all the gossip about these people, including the fact that she had a huge kiss on Jill and as you look at her it’s easy to see why. Her hair looked soft and her eyes charming, a clearing of a throat breaks you away from your analysis. You gaze back up and see it was the pretty boy who had first caught your eye, he was demanding your gaze back on him, your attention in the subtlest of ways. This was Leon. The guy you had heard so much about, how he hid his sweet side beneath a personality of sarcasm and coldness.

“Who’s this?” Leon’s gruff voice says as his eyes observe you, admiring your cute trainers and white leg warmers before letting his eyes trail up to your cute lilac skirt and your long sleeve green top that clung to your body. His gaze stuck on your hands for a moment, noticing your scrunching the material of your sleeves up in your hand. You were nervous. Claire smiles, “This is the sweetheart I’ve been telling you all about!” Claire chirps before she glares down at Carlos, “Hey! That’s my spot and you sparked up early, loser.” As Claire continues her bickering with Carlos about who sits next to Jill, Leon clears his throat catching your attention again. When you finally look up to him, he pats his thighs and moves his head to usher you to sit down and you follow the silent command immediately.

Just as you reach the sofa, his big hands gently cup your hips and he guides you to sit on his thigh, you plop down onto his thigh and swing your legs. He keeps an arms around your waist before he moves his other hand to tilt your chin to face him. “So what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ in a place full of losers like this, Buttercup?” You heart hammers at the sweet pet name he slips in and you look around the room, observing the people around you. You turn back to Leon with a pout on your glossed lips “Hey, I don’t think anyone here is a loser, you’re all unique and cool in your own way.” You mutter to which Leon chuckles, his thumb rubs against your bottom lip. “Cool? How are we cool, Buttercup?” He practically purrs to you. “Well, Chris is strong and his music taste is awesome and fun plus he’s a biker, his motorbike is so coo. Claire is just fun and she has an awesome red leather jacket, Carlos has awesome fashion sense. Claire always shows me the belt buckles he wears. Jill is pretty and super relaxed. And Ethan and Mia are a great couple.” You babbles and Leon hungrily eats your words up, hooked on your every word in his high state.

He smirks, his eyes turning mischievous, “And what about me, Buttercup?” He whispers against your ear. You blush and when you try and turn your head away, Leon’s move his hand to grip your chin making sure you can’t turn away. “Ah-ah-ah Buttercup, c’mon you can tell me.” He continues to purr at you. You shyly glance back up into his eyes, “Well, of course you’re cool. You seem so mysterious but nice, ‘n your handsome, and so chilled out.” You mutter out in a small voice and within seconds a grin is plastered on Leon’s face. “What’s your number, Buttercup?” He coos and you shake your head. Leon tilts his own at your refusal, “Why not?” You bite your lip and play with the ends of your sleeves again. “Well, you’re attractive ‘n stuff. I just don’t wanna be played or get attached.” Leon snorts before throwing his head back laughing. You watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as you listen to his melody of joy.

His half lidded eyes stare at you, “Buttercup, that’s not gonna happen.” He says firmly but the hint of a smile still on his face. He grabs his phone and opens it, he grimaces it. “Y’see Buttercup, if I just wanted to use you I’d ask for your social media. But I wanna know more about you. Wanna take you out and buy you pretty things. So, what’s your number, Buttercup?” He was so dominating but soft with his words you couldn’t help but pull your phone out and give him your number. Within seconds of adding your number to his phone he texts it to make sure it’s you. He hums happily. “So why are you here, Buttercup? You don’t seem the type to get high.” You rest your head on his shoulder as you settle into his la. The ambience in the room is so relaxing, some music plays in the background while everyone has their own conversations. “Claire invited me, and I was just curious y’know? Just wanted to see the gang.” He hums in response. “Well, I’m glad. Feels more complete with you here Buttercup, feels balanced out. 4 guys, 4 girls. But you’re gonna be my girl, right?” After a few second of you not responding, he cranes his neck to gaze down at you, “Right, Buttercup?” You blink out of your little stupor of admiring the group and return to looking at him. “But ‘m Claire’s girl.” He tuts at you. “No, she’s Jill’s girl. Just like Carlos and Chris are too. Mia is Ethan’s girl. But you? You’re my girl.” His voice leaves no chance to deny or squabble with him and you just nod. “Good girl.”

You and Leon stay cuddled up on the sofa getting to know each other for the next few hours. You babble to him and he listens intently making notes about you in his head. He was love struck, you were his absolute opposite but instead of shying away or avoiding him, here you were sat on his lap swinging your legs while idly playing with his fingers telling him about your family and your hobbies. And in return Leon would tell you about his life, how he’s a cop and how he didn’t have a family as they passed away in an accident when he was young. You hugged him tightly when he spoke, pulling his head to your chest so he was left resting his head against your breasts as you stroked his hair cooing to him and he revelled in the attention and the soft touches. A pretty girl taking care of him with tender touches and sweet words, he could get used to this. He could get used to you.

As Leon is coddled against you, both of you rambling away happily to each other, his high was wearing down but his feelings for you didn’t. He felt safe and content here, like you were made to calm him down, like you were becoming his new drug. Something he could be addicted to without having to worry about his health or getting into trouble with. His eyelids flutter open as he gazes up at you, “Please take a chance on me, Buttercup. It feels right when you’re here. Don’t let my looks deceive you.” His eyes are pleading, begging you to not overthink him and instead keep him safe in your arms. You run your hands through his hair, “okay.” You whisper and a soft grin spreads across his face and he cuddles back into you.

He listens to your heart beating and the gentle lull of your breaths mixed with the sweet sounds of your voice as you talk to him. He could drown in you, in how magical this moment was to him. He adored you within the first meeting and he didn’t want to part with you. But sadly the time did come and when you shifted Leon from your embrace he growled. “No, Buttercup I’m comfy.” He rumbles to which you giggle. “I have to go home, I have curfew, sadly.” You murmur and Leon’s grump demeanour quickly shifts to a hopeless look. As you stand up, he follows suit and wraps his arms around your waist and snuggles into you neck. He was like a puppy, desperate for your attention and desperate to keep you. “Promise me, Buttercup. That you’ll call me up and let me take you out on a date.” He nuzzles his head into you neck and you laugh softly. “I promise my little puppy boy.” You tease to which he faintly bites at your neck leaving a small imprint of his teeth indented on you, marking you as his. “Call me puppy again and I might have to howl at your window until you let me in,” He smirks down at you. You pull away and kiss his cheek before heading to the door and flashing him one last smile, “I’d let you in.” You murmur and the door closes behind you.

You stuck true to your word and 3 days later, Leon was outside your house on his motorbike. He was dressed in his black pants, a tight black t shirt and a leather jackets, a helmet adorned on his head hiding his handsome face from your eyes. As soon as Leon sees you he pulls it off and reveals a bright a grin on his face, he shakes his messy blonde hair. You giggle at him and walk over to him, but he beats you to it by taking long strides towards you. “I hope you don’t find me too keen that I scare you off Buttercup.” He murmurs as he places his hands on your hips and mumbles down to you. You can’t wipe the smile forming on your face from his sweet confession, You places your hands on his forearms and gaze up at him. You stand on your tiptoes and nuzzle your nose against his, “I am just as keen.” You whisper to him and he chuckles in response. “Well ain’t I lucky.” He says with a smug grin on his face, he places a small kiss to your nose and pulls away.

“Damn, Buttercup! You look amazing.” He coos down to you, admiring your white summer dress that ad thin straps and stropped at your thighs. You smile bashfully at him and he quickly returns to you and holds your hand, “c’mon give me a twirl.” He murmurs and holds your hand up high. You giggle as you spin for him and he whistles. “I don’t know what you did to me, but I want you doll. ‘S like I’m sick and you’re the only cure.” He mumbles to you as his gaze is utterly transfixed on you. You bite your lip at how blunt he is, it was like he was your fever dream. “Is it a bad thing?” You ask tilting you head and he just responds by throwing his head back laughing at you. “Never. You’re a disease I’ve been waiting for Doll. I want you to leave me bed ridden with shaking bone and flushed cheeks.” He says it so easily, the innuendos easily seen but you can tell he means it in every way.

He coughs and walks to his bike, “Anyway, I said I’d take you on a date and um-” He hands you a pink helmet, something a man as grungy and dark as him would never have. “I um painted it, kinda hoping you become my permanent passenger princess.” He murmurs and you giggle. “Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.” He beams at you and his baby blue eyes gleam. “Yeah?” He asks almost shyly, “Yeah.” You confirm and place it on, you strut over to him. You pull up the screen of the helmet and gaze up at him, “Y’know, we’re definitely moving fast. Hold back the love confessions for a few months.” You tease him and he smirks and slings the screen of your helmet back down with a flick of his risk. He straddles his bike and you follow suit, wrapping your arms around his muscular torso, you can feel every abdominal muscle he hides under his tight shirt and you can imagine his smirk already getting even more smug. “Fast is what I do, Buttercup. But for you, I’ll take it slow. Don’t wanna love bomb you.” He says underneath his black mask.

He starts the bike and pulls off the side and soon you begin to drift with him on his bike. You flash through the streets with the sun beaming down on you and the purr of the engine rumbling between your thighs creating a delicious little tingle. Leon smirks already imagining the effect his bike is having on you, so he throttles it making the bike roar and he speeds down the road, focusing on his directions but his mind drifts off to the idea of how wet you panties are and how they were dripping all over his seat. He groans at the thought and changes his direction, and drives you both to the woods. As you stand off the bike and peel the helmet off, you gaze up and see Leon tearing his off and throwing it down. Before you can question him, he rushes to you and pulls you to a gathering of trees, barely any sunlight gets though and you doubted anyone could see you.

Leon’s large hand frame your hips as he pins you against a tree, he falls to his knees panting his once vibrant blue eyes now dilated and nearly black. He gulps as he gazes up at you, “Can I?” He whispers shyly and you blush but nod, “Words please, Buttercup.” He pleads, a vision on his knees before you begging and pleading to hear your voice and to let him take something that he’s desperate for. “Yes.” You murmur and Leon’s head disappears under your dress, You can feel his sweet kisses being littered on your thighs leaving little mark against your skin. His hands fall down from your hips and under your dress too. He grabs your panties and drags them down and you lift your feet up for him.

You let out a gasp as his hands slide to your ass and he squeezes it before he buries his head between you folds. He groans as you let out a whimper, he licks between your folds, tasting you. You watch how his shoulders slump and for a second you fear you’ve done something wrong but those thoughts are quickly silenced by him letting out his own moan of pure pleasure and he begins to eagerly lap at your pussy. Your cunt drenching his tongue, your thighs shake and shiver and he squeezes your ass again as he latches onto you clit, bullying it with his tongue lashes and kisses. He suckles on it desperately and you whine before moaning and folding over your hands landing on his shoulders to hold yourself up. You whimper and you feel his tongue exploring your hole. He licks against your walls before he moves back up to nuzzle his nose your clit.

You cry out as your thighs tremble again. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you cum hard and he laps up every drop, like a man who had been walking the desert for years without a drop of water. You whimper at every tender licks and he pulls away. His face is flushed and his eyes are still black, yet despite his lust he remained a gentleman and pulls your panties up. He stands to his full height and you rest your head against his chest and his arms wrap around your smaller frame. His hands gently stroke your hair. “Thank you, baby. Taste so good, could get drunk off your perfect, little pussy.” He whispers down to you, you whimper how crude his words are yet he said them so soft.

You can feel his bulge against your hip and your innocent eyes peer up at him, you bite you bottom lip as he looks down at you, “Can I?” You whisper and he crumbles, “Are you sure, baby? Don’t wanna overwhelm you or ruin your pretty makeup.” He mumbles his hands grazing your cheeks. “Please? Wanna practise and Learn.” His resolve snaps, he pulls his leather jacket it off and lays it on the floor, “Don’t want you hurting or dirtying your knees.” He mumbles. As you’re getting on your knees, he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his pants before pulling his zipper down. His pants fall to his knees and you gulp gazing up at him shyly. Your delicate fingers slide under the waist band of his boxers and you pull them down slowly, you watch in wonder as his cock slings out. He was painfully hard.

He leans against the tree panting already over how erotic this was, he lets out a choked gasp as your fingers gently trace the veins on his cock, from the base all the way to his tip. You gently pull the foreskin back and gaze at his thick, pink tip in wonder. “Fuck, Buttercup. I’m about to cum over your damn face with your soft, little hands.” He grumbles out. His eyes are focused on your solely, and you lean forward and place a small kiss to his tip. You can feel his cock throbbing in your hands from where you’re holding it from the base. His hands catch in your hair and pull it into a sloppy pony tail. “Wrap your lips around it baby, gently.” He mutter and your wrap your puffy lips around it. Leon whimpers and you wish you could bottle that noise up and repeat it in your mind forever.

You ben to work your mouth up and down his cock, using your hand to move up and down to meet where your lips don’t meet. And soon you’re in a rhythm of sucking his cock and tongue lashing his tip, just like he did to your clit. He pushes your head gently down your cock and you gag, but Leon lets out a delightful little moan at the feeling of your throat tightening around his cock. He repeats this action being careful to not hurt you or make you throw up. Your eyes are teary as you gaze up at him, all while your nose is buried in his pubes, your throat tightening around his cock. And the second Leon looks down at you, the noise that leaves his lips is heavenly. He cums down your throat before you pull off his cock with a wet ‘pop’.

You stand up and swallow his cum, grimacing at the taste and texture but you knew you’d get used to it one day. He tucks his cock away and pulls his pants up. Once he’s finished buckling his belt, he strides quickly towards you and cups your cheeks and kisses you. His lips moving against yours desperately trying to find a way to make you feel as amazing as he did. He breaks away for air but places his forehead against yours. “I don’t deserve you, pretty girl. Haven’t even kissed you or taken you on our first date and you’ve made me cum. To fucking good for me.” He mutters.

You smile, “Could say that to yo-” He immediately cuts you off, “No, doll. This is different. You’re innocent, baby. I’m not. And you just rocked my world. You want me to spoil you, yeah? Let me.” He begs and you shake your head. “Let me, Buttercup.” You sigh, “On one condition,” You murmur, “Anything, baby.” He whispers earnestly. “Can we get a bottle of water first? My throat aches.” Leon lets out a bark of laughter and wraps his leather jacket over your shoulders and then slings his arm over your shoulders. “Absolutely Buttercup.” He coos.

Hours later, The sun was coming own ad the evening darkness was crawling up the streets but it didn’t matter as you and Leon were tucked in an underground bar. There were a few other couples around but none paid any mind, you were all far too wrapped up in your own romances. And at the moment you and your romance were gathered around a pool table, the balls were scattered around. You lean against the pool que and pout at Leon, “This isn’t fair you’re like really good! This is our fourth game!” You whine and he walks over to you. His hips knock against your ass, he makes you bend over the table and he folds on top of you. He directs the que in your hands, his mouth breathing against the shell of your ear, “Focus, baby.” He whispers and you shiver. He draws the que back for you and pushes it forward and hits the white ball and you pot 2 other balls.

Leon stands up and beams down at your proudly and you squeal in excitement back up at him. He can contain himself but lean forward and press his lips to yours. He moves softly and slowly against you, trying to taste your joy in that moment, he wanted you to share that feeling with him so you did and moved your lips against his. He pulls away, “Haven’t I let you win all four games?” He muses, his lips brushing against yours as you giggle. You nudge him away with your hips and return back to the game. All while Leon directs you and holds you, any excuse he jumps at it. He was desperate to be around you.

When the games finished he pulls you to his side, his gaze scanning you. Trying to memorise every part of you, from how your pretty eyes flash with happinesses, to how amazing you look. He was hypnotised by you, completely and utterly at your mercy. He wishes he could have this memory as a drug, his forever moment, your first date together. You watch as his eyes are filled with contentment, how fast his heart beats under your small hand that rests on his chest. You two were completely and utterly in sync with emotions, how they rose up and crashed inside you like the ocean that was trapped in Leon’s eyes.

He rests his forehead against yours, “Tell me,” he mumble, “Tell me this was the best date you’ve ever been on and you want a lifetime more and I will happily provide it. I can’t give up this. You. I haven’t felt this happy- no complete- no- I haven’t felt like everything was so perfect...ever.” He whispers and your heart aches. You close your eyes and press your head against his, embracing this sentimental moment. “This was the best date ever, give me all your dates, and I’ll give you an eternity more. This feels like the universe is finally right.” He chuckles and brushes a lock of hair from your face, “Had to out do me, huh? A lifetime of dates versus an eternity of dates. Damn baby, you got me beat and begging on my knees just so I can be near you.” He confesses and you giggle. “This is just the honeymoon stage thou-” He presses a finger to your lips.

“Yeah, and it means that in the future when we’re not in this stage it is still going to be the most wonderful thing. Even if we fight, it will always be good. You said it, I’m like a damn lovesick puppy, I’d follow you everywhere even when we hate each other. I’ll always follow you.” He whispers and your heart melts. He pecks your lips, “C’mon lets get you home. I do actually wanna take you on an another date and I wanna be in your parents good books.” He chuckles as you both begin to run to his bike, an almost silent race between you that he would obviously let you win. Always.

Of course, after that Leon was desperate for another date, for more time. And within two days you were on your second date. Riding on the back of his bike again in the pink helmet he had decorated just for you. Your arms were tucked around his waist tightly again as you flew through the scenery. Old friends seeing you cuddled up on the bike of the brooding guy they had so often thirsted for, and here you were riding freely with him while he was obsessed with you. Leon was a well known cop in the area, a sweet guy that served his community and made sure peace was secure. Grandparents loved him, and parents did too it seemed.

You had heard your father speak of Leon’s good deeds, but only a few knew of him breaking the rules. Of letting a few stragglers go, smoking weed. But in all other means, he abided the law and adored his job. And you did too, especially when seeing him in his uniform, he was hot and dangerous with a belt looped around his hips and a gun attached. The threat was sexy but the man was so soft you could never comprehend him ever hurting a soul. Even though his hands were calloused and rough, the way his touch was gentle and almost shy made your heart flutter.

As you daydreamed you had hardly realised that Leon had stopped and parked. He hops off his bike and pulls his helmet off, he shakes his messy blonde hair and grins down at you and offers one of the very same rough calloused hands you had been thinking about. You slide it into his grip and are gently pulled off the bike, his hands leave yours for a moment and he places them on the helmet and gently tugs it off your own head before hanging them off the handle bars of his bike. No one would steal them because of Leon being a sweet cop everyone knew him and what e rode so they would never mess with his bike. His hands frames your face and stoke your cheeks, “Hey Buttercup.” He murmurs and you beam up at him like seeing heaven’s light. And at that moment Leon can feel his heart melt he leans down and kisses your nose. He soothes any stray hairs on your head before sliding his hand back into yours. “C’mon doll.”

He begins to tug you to a brightly coloured building where loud fun noises swell out into the car park you are walking through. You scale your eyes up to analyse the building, seeing pictures of coins and ways to win, it was like a candy fun land, as you look up at gaze at the huge neon purple and yellow sign your eyes go wide with awe, it says ‘ARCADE’. You squeeze his hand and squeal, he just kept out doing himself and all you could do is give heart eyes to the man. You begin to skip, practically dragging him along with you and he can’t help but chuckle as he jogs to catch up.

As you step inside you’re greeted by flashes of colour, teenagers and couples and children. A place where many went too gamble but in a safer way, you walk further into the arcade looking down at the navy blue carpet that had a disgusting design but in this environment it fit perfectly. Leon follows you and grabs the classic paper cup which you put your coins in and empties a small money bag of coins into it. Leon had come prepared, he didn’t care how much he spent today just as long as you were happy. The reason why was because he felt bad about doing sexual things so fast while you guys hadn’t even been on your first date. Despite you reassuring him that it was fine and that you still had fun, through texts, he wanted to make it up to you. He wanted to win you a big plushie in those scam grabber machines. He was determined to make it happen.

Soon you and Leon were playing Mario Kart and you couldn’t help but giggle at watching his tall and big frame tying to fit into the seat. When he did eventually you were red in the face from laughter then the games began. Whilst trying to play the racing game, you both had a smaller game going on, ‘Who could distract the other the most?’ It was simple at first, you’d poke his side and he’d tickle you back but it progressed to you playing footsie and kicking his feet off the pedals and then he back to squeeze your thigh and began to slide it under your skirt. Eventually the game ended and you were panting at his teasing, despite it all Leon had let you win. You had come in 6th while he came in 7th and your heart races with love and joy, He had let you win.

You continued around the arcade trying to shoot hoops to which you were terrible but Leon loved watching your tits bounce as you jumped. When his turn came he began to shoot perfectly getting hoop after hoop. He had on so many tickets for you and after his round you both decided to team up, Leon’s front was pressed firmly against your back and as he kept getting the balls through the net you would gather than and hand them to him, and when the time was nearly up his hands held yours and together you both scored the last hoop. You couldn’t help but squeal and kiss his cheek. Leon was now your ticket carrier and you decided you’d get something at the end.

You traversed to the air hockey game, but this time Leon wasn’t going easy. You couldn’t help the laughter that spilled from your lips when you managed t score a goal against him. But for once he had one and his prize was a kiss form you which he eagerly accepted, how could he not? Having your lips against his was close to going to heaven and he’d take every second of his religious moment that he could. Eventually you looped ack to the grabber machine and pointed at fluffy gold wolf plush. He raises and eyebrow and you flash him an innocent smile, “What? It reminds me of you. ‘m gonna called him Leo,” You coo and within seconds Leon is loading his money into the machine.

By the end of the day, Leon had won you your mini Leon Plush and at the counter you both decided on getting matching bracelets and a huge bunny plush. It was a perfect date and at the end you sat outside on a bench eating greasy fries and giggling together. This was beyond perfect to you both. The sun was settling and you were sharing and stealing fries from one another as you gushed about the day and joking around. You knew that this was inly the beginning and you couldn’t wait for this fairytale romance to continue. It would never end not when life could be as beautiful and happy as this.

Seven magical months had passed and you two were beyond close, You had confessed your love to each other while camping underneath the starry sky. It was no mystery now that Leon as no longer a bachelor for the town, he was head over heels for you. To the point you had began to sleep over at his place. You clothes were beside his in his drawers and your big bunny plushie he had won you was laid in the middle of his bed. He was always waiting for you, always eagerly wanting you at his apartment. Everyday after work he would drive by your house and on most days you’d join him and drive to his where you would cook dinner together and Leon was kiss you senseless. The man worshipped you and you worshipped him. Together you were a perfect pair, soulmates.

But the reason you had started staying more often at Leon’s was because of a lot of reasons, but the main one was due to many incidents of you and Leon getting frisky in you bedroom and a family member nearly walking in giving you a heart attack while Leon’s fingers were deep inside you rubbing and thrusting away, almost daring you to cum all over his fingers and your pink bedsheets with someone so close to walking in. He would do it so often, his lust was insatiable. But he was smart and every time just as you were about to paint his fingers with your sweet juices, he would kiss you hard silencing your moan, leaving you breathless and panting beneath him as you came hard.

But the most notable incident that stirred this change was when you and Leon had stated innocently watching a movie together. His hand was rubbing up and down your back soothingly as you were dressed only in one of his t shirts and he was dressed only in his loose grey joggers after along day of work. You gaze coasted up to him and you began to lazily kiss along his jaw, and he couldn’t help but groan. His hands shifted down to your hips and he tilted his head don and caught your lips in a sloppy kiss. His tongue swirls around your mouth and within seconds the beast is loose, he quickly turns you and pins you down on your bed. Your wrist locked above your head with one of his firm hands. You whine and he bites your bottom lip, “No buttercup, we gotta stop before I spear you on my cock.” He breathes out.

You can’t help but squeeze your plush thighs together at his words, “Wan’ that.” You whisper and any sense of control is thrown out the window. Leon sits up his knees and thumbs the waist bands of pants and boxers and slides them down with one quick motion. You watch as his hard cock springs loose and before you can even begin to drool, his hands slide up your thighs and grip the waist band of your panties, “Hips up.” He commands and you eagerly obey and he pulls them off and throws them on your floor leaving them a crumpled mess near the bed.

He pulls a condom from his pocket and you raise an eyebrow and as he rolls it down his cock, “What? Gotta be prepared for fucking your tight little cunt.” He mutters and lays his body over yours like a blanket, you wrap your legs around his waist as he rubs his tip between your folds before nudging at your entrance. He slides into your tight, wet heat and you moan while arcing you back and throwing your head back. He arms cage around you above your head, you watch as his muscles flex and he pants. “Fucking perfect. This fat little pussy takes care of my cock so well. You feel it don’t you? How your tight little cunt wraps around every fucking vein. You were made for this cock, my slutty little buttercup.”

You whimper as he gives a sharp thrust, he smirks down at you. “Eyes on me, understood.” He whispers against the shell of your ear as his hips grind against yours, you can’t help but obey again. Your eyes hazy with pleasure as Leon pants down at you “Look at you, dumb on my cock, Buttercup. S making e so fucking hard,” He groans out and then he leans down and kisses you eagerly and sloppily, your tongues are wrapped around each other as the tip of his cock rubs against your g spot and bullies your cervix. You felt so full and Leon showed no sign of stopping.

You mewl and moan beneath him your eyes closing as he pulls away from the kiss, the string of spit that connects you falls down all over your chin, you were drooling and panting, your body complying to every thrust and drag of his cock. “Painted with my spit, need to paint you with my cum like a good girl, because you are my good girl, right?” You nod desperately and he can’t help but groan as he gazes down at you, as the sound of skin slapping fills the room you both hear the front door open and you tighten around him to which Leon buries his head into your neck and bits down to hide the whimper that leaves his throat. You were both so close to cumming and so Leon gives a few shallow thrusts and clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up, be a good little slut and don’t make another noise, just cum around my cock. Fucking mark it as yours. This is your cock, what you were built for.” He whispers down harshly into his ear, adrenaline running through his veins. When you hear footsteps climbing up the stairs, Leon quickly begins to circle your clit and thrust faster, his balls slapping and he presses his forehead against yours. “My cunt. My girl. My buttercup.” He hisses and gives one last thrust and you both cum.

You don’t have time to clean up, instead Leon quickly pulls his boxers and pants up and pulls you tot sit on his lap, the blanket covering your lap as you watch the TV just as your door opens. You heart hammers in your chest as your mum enters she smiles and waves at you and Leon and quickly babbles about her day and what’s for dinner and you nod dumbly, a little out of from your orgasm a few seconds ago. Leon holds the conversation to seem less suspicious and when your mum leaves, Leon pulls you closer to his chest and showers you in kisses and praises. You couldn’t help but shiver in delight and soon Leon is cleaning up and throwing his condom away, putting your panties in the laundry, cleaning your thighs up and your pussy gently before he puts on some clean underwear on for you ad passes you a drink of water. The only things hat ran through your head was That was too close and from then on, you decided to have sex at Leon’s apartment rather than your princess bedroom.

And of course the dates only got better, from carnivals to quiet cabins. You had gone on so many wonderful adventures together. Your family had met him so many times that they adored him, he was part of the family. He was the most wonderful man, a provider and he supported your hobbies and even drove you to work at the nearby cafe where you were a waitress. Multiple times a day older customers would ask how it was going and you would tell them the truth- perfect. You were out of the honey moon stage and were well into jut being a comfortable and happy couple, but it never dimmed your love and obsession with each other.

And now here you both were, a year later. You had moved in with Leon now, and his apartment was now a perfect mix of you both pink and navy blues mixed with blacks and whites littered the apartment and it felt good. It was home. It was heaven. Nothing could compare to the feeling of walking home from work and into the apartment, having a relaxing shower and beginning dinner just in time for when Leon arrived home. He would pepper you in kisses and whisper words of adoration before telling you about his day nearly pleading at you for you to tell him about your day.

But it came back to now, sat in Claire and Chris’ basement. Claire, Chris and Carlos all sat on the floor surrounding Jill who was talking animatedly. None of them had managed to date her yet and you can’t stop the giggle leaving your lips. They would continue to try and You and Leon had a bet, You bet that Claire would win Jill’s heart whilst Leon said Chris was going to. Poor Carlos, but in both of your defences he was a well known ladies man, a player but he had the sweetest soul. Chris was dressed in black baggy jeans and a heavy metal t shirt and you noted his hair was Cut. Clair had a cute long sleeved red t shirt on and black leather pants and she looked amazing, her hair was in a claw clip and she had some eyeliner on. Carlos just had his grey sweats on and a black t shirt, he was definitely trying his best but you noted that he had started to take care of his curls and his hair was beautiful and healthy. The leader, Jill, say in navy blue jeans and a black print t shirt, she was stunning without even trying.

But your attention was quickly pulled away by a clearing of a throat, but it wasn’t from the sofa like the first time, instead it was from right beside you. You turn your head and there he is, his eyes already red and a dopey grin on his face. His hair his fluffy and despite the red and dilated eyes you can still see that beautiful ocean blue colour shining through. He was dressed in his black compression t shirt and some black jogging bottoms. And you were dressed in one of his t shirts, it had long sleeves and feel to your knees. It was a black, long sleeve t shirt that had a cool goth design of death on it. Matched with some white thigh highs and white trainers, you hair had little white bows.

Leon gently guides you to the sofa where you first ever saw him and he sits down first before gently pulling at your hips and pulling you onto his lap. You swing you legs and look around before you see Mia and Ethan again, both of them whispering sweet nothings and making you awkwardly before sharing a blunt. Leon pulls you closer and he rests his head on your shoulder. “We’re back, Buttercup.” He whispers. You nod and idly play with his fingers, “We are,” He hums, his eyes dazed from the weed and from sentimentality. “My girl,” He mumbles and you remember when he first staked his claim on you.

So much had changed yet nothing had, it seemed mundane but it was so peaceful. The plumes of smoke fill the air and Leon presses a small kiss to your pulse points. “I’ll never forget when you first walked in, dressed so damn cute, what else was I meant do baby? Not fall in love with you? And you were scared I’d play you-” He snorts and bursts into laughter, “Not ever gonna happen. Prettiest girl, with the best personality. Best pussy, Funniest girl, Sweetest smile, Kindest eyes. Ain’t another girl like you.” He rambles and you kiss his cheek, getting your lip gloss on his cheek. His eyes light up and the dopey smile grows wider. “You’re the best man I’ve ever met. Thank you for letting me date you.” You whisper.

He nuzzles his nose against yours, “Don’t thank me. Was never gonna say no. That’s just dumb, only wanted you. Now I have you and I’m never letting you go. Gonna marry you, have kids anything and everything. ‘S me and you,” He coos and you kiss him slowly and softly as his hand creeps up your thighs and squeezes it. You smile and peck his lips again. “I love you.” You whisper. “I love you too.” He responds.

As you continue your idle babble together, watching your friends fight for affection and love you can’t stop yourself from repeatedly reflect on how it all started in this room. From a single glance and Leon being a stubborn and jealous pretty boy desperate for your eyes on him, after all he had his eyes on you from the second you walked in. You’re snapped out of your trance from shuffling and a clang, Leon huffs having dropped his lighter. You lean down and grab it and Leon puts the joint back in his mouth, “C’mon. Spark me up, Buttercup.” He mutters as the joint wiggles between his lips. You leave forward and light it up for him. “Anything for you, puppy boy.” You coo back, your first ever nickname for him and he smiles. Nothing could be more perfect than this.

[princessbrunette]

omg if puppy!reader EVER got injured, john b is instantly going into dad mode, trying to problem solve but also trying to keep him baby calm

he’d be so so so scared like it’s just a graze but obviously it would make you lose a lot of blood so it’s v intense :(( the way i imagine it is puppy!reader being the first to notice whilst all the pogues are just yelling over eachother once they’re in a safe spot, and she kinda goes into shock, touching the wound, her fingertips soaked in blood and she’s quietly just like “they got me” but no one hears cos they’re all arguing !!

and then ofc john b’s instincts kick in and he glances at her and sees and hes like “nononono— hey, it’s okay.” running to you and cradling you while you drop your weight onto him !!! everyone’s kinda frozen so he starts yelling at them to get help, holding back his tears whilst sitting you down and having pope apply pressure to the area, maybe using his bandana to soak up the blood :((

n poor pup is just crying and whimpering holding onto him babbling out “i don’t know what happened, i didn’t mean to—” whilst he just shushes you and tells u that it’s okay and that it’s gonna be okay :((((

poor jb would def break down n blame himself, even tho you’re totally okay and it was just a graze he rlly locks in and gets super serious about your safety, leaving you behind at the chateau for long periods if he has to because he’d rather you be mad at him than be dead