#i think i'm just really angry and frustrated and this has been building for a few years now

[sideshow-cellophane-blog]

Short rant. That moment when you realize how drained the people around you make you feel as the mom friend. It's hit me.

Not even just as an introvert. I feel like I'm never listened to by the people I surround myself with. I keep speaking my mind and I'm ignored, but I keep giving and they'll keep taking. I stop giving, and they'll find a way to take ("I think I'll help myself to *something I didn't ask permission for but I'm taking it anyway*" or "it's your fault for working these shifts so we can't hang out even though I know your schedule" or "oh you need a shoulder? Well I'm in more pain than you are and I'll tell you why instead of let you continue").

I feel like I'm taking care of children more than I am hanging out with friends. Like dang. I'm the mom friend. It doesn't mean you should treat me like your mother. I've been really hurt by these people and it's started to affect my self esteem and mental health. There are these little interactions that have built up over the years and snowballed into bigger issues because they do what they want without thinking of others. I've gotten a few apologies for incidents but it's only when I bring it up. Obviously I can't control anybody. But not willing to meet in the middle is a common theme within our circle.

A few instances have occured most recently that have made me seriously introspect.

[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

if you enjoyed reading his, please consider reblogging. i promise it makes a huge difference

[lovesickinbed]

best friend!ellie who is actually in love with you and hates every person you bring home

you do not have the best track record with relationships

in fact literally every person you date turns out to be a major scumbag

and ellie knows this

because more often than not she's the one picking up the pieces and consoling you

when really all she wants is to tell you to leave those idiots and be with her

“look,” she says to you one day, as you're about to embark on another date

"just don’t… don’t go with him, okay?”

"i'm gonna be fine. he’s not like the others, he’s - he’s really nice, els. and sweet. i think you’d really like him.”

ellie scoffs at this, jaw clenching

“and I really appreciate how much you care. i do. you’re - you’re an amazing friend-”

that's what did it

ellie's gaze flickers back to you, all ice

any evidence of her previously gentle demeanour has completely vanished

"i’m not gonna like him,” she snaps. "as a matter of fact, i’m not even gonna try. you know why?”

she takes a step forward and presses her finger against your chest, hard

"because they're all nice," she continues. "jake was nice. alex was nice. hell, even brady was nice to you at first, but that got pretty overshadowed by the other girlfriend he had the entire time, huh?”

she jabs her finger at you to enunciate every point

“Face it,” Ellie huffs. “None of these guys are good enough for you. They’re all just gonna hurt you, lie to you, cheat on you, whatever. And if you keep going along this road, someday you’re gonna end up married to some deadbeat that treats you like shit and screws his secretary, all because he was nice.”

at this point ellie has you backed up against the wall, the distance between you so little than you can feel her laboured breaths against your lips

at her words, something inside you twists, and a shot of laughter bubbles up your throat

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think that this is embarrassing enough for me as it is?”

“Don’t you think,” you spit, “that I feel like an absolute idiot every time I find out you’re right about the guy I’m seeing? That he doesn’t actually love me, that he’s just like the rest?”

“Because I do, okay? And the first thing I think of when one of these douchebags cheats on me or yells at me or lies to me isn’t even about how I’m feeling. It’s you!”

Ellie is taken aback by this, like a lot

"Me?"

“Yes, Ellie, you. I think of how your face gets all scrunched up, like - like this! Oh my god, you’re doing it right now.”

you grab her face with both hands as if to solidify your point

“I think about how you look at me like this, feeling all sorry for me and concerned and pitiful and I just…” your breath catches , a sob building in your throat

“I hate what comes after that, too. How angry you get, frustrated because you have to deal with this again and again and again.”

at this point ellie has to grab your wrist to stop you from jabbing the heel of your hand against your forehead repeatedly

she takes your wrists in her hands, concern etched into her features

"hey, hey. i'm not mad at you. i'm never mad at you."

you whine like a little kid when you respond

"yeah, you are"

"'m never mad at you," ellie assures you, pulling you into a hug. "just hate seeing you get hurt. it fucks me up, seeing what those guys do to you. and yeah, it makes me fucking pissed."

you're still really upset, choking back sobs as ellie rubs your back

"i know you think i'm pathetic," you say softly

and ellie's like what?????

because she doesn't think that, ofc she doesn't

"said it yourself. 'm never gonna meet a guy that's good to me. why bother, right?"

"no, that's not what i--" ellie cuts off, struggling to find the right words. "i didn't mean it like that."

"what'd you mean then?"

ellie's in physical pain trying to find a way to say this

because tbh she's been avoiding it for a while now

"just meant that... like, these guys, they're... they're idiots, because you're absolutely gorgeous and they don't see that"

"you don't think that guys find me pretty?"

"what? no! of course they see it. they just don’t notice the little things, you know? like the look you get when you aced a test and you’re about to tell me about it, or how you refuse to wear anything but a skirt even when it’s freezing out-”

what ellie's really trying to say slowly dawns on you

"ellie-” you cut in

“I mean, not that I’m complaining or anything-”

“ellie.”

“I just mean that there’s a million little things that make you who you are that these guys just don’t get. And I could spell it out for them, hell, I could even put it on like, a huge billboard and they still wouldn’t get it. Because that’s just who they are. And it makes sense that you’re shocked by it every time, because it makes no sense-”

“Ellie.”

“Fuck it,” Ellie curses below her breath, before grabbing your face in her hands and meeting your lips with hers

and it was one thing for her to kiss you, but God, it was another thing completely for you to kiss her back

it's completely electric, and ellie can't even believe it's happening

you pull away first, breathless

"you gonna let me talk now?" you ask, your words coming out muffled because ellie's hands are still planted firmly on your cheeks

"no," ellie says, and then dives into you again

when she finally, reluctantly, pulls up for air, you try a second time

"ellie," you whine, and she laughs and kisses you again quickly

"okay," she breathes, "talk."

you're just trying to make sense of the situation right now because everything is happening so suddenly

"you like me," you say, looking for confirmation

"i love you," ellie corrects, "i love you, and i swear that if that airhead comes into this room in the next five minutes to pick you up for that date, i'm going to punch his lights out"

"hey," you pout, "michael is nice"

ellie rolls her eyes and says "there you go again with the nice"

"fine," you laugh, "no more nice guys. i don't like 'em anyway"

"well that's a surprise"

you hum against the crook of her neck, "don't like nice guys. love you, though"

"good," ellie murmurs against your hair, "'m sick of 'em. don't wanna see 'em around my girl again"

"no more nice guys," you solemnly agree, "just mean, scary ellie"

"that's right," ellie agrees, before leaning down to kiss you again and again and again :))

[asterrx]

Lee Jeno x Male Reader

warnings: idol boyfriend jeno,blowjob,unprotected sex,bathroom sex,roughsex,etc.

The night at the concert, you were in the crowd, like any other person, with your lightstick and a banner to support your boyfriend, Lee Jeno who is performing.

Nobody knows that you're in a relationship with the idol that is on the stage with his members right now, the concert was mind blowing, it went so well, all the members gave their all, but Renjun couldn't be there because he was in a hiatus. And when they performed 'Smoothie' Jeno suddenly took off his shirt, shocking the members and all the people there, his well toned abs and his biceos, his mucles were all so manly, nobody could take their eyes off him.

Even though he's very hot and sexy, you were sonehow feeling sad, and jealousy starts building up deep inside you. You couldn't think straight, everybody, literally everybody at the concert has seen your boyfriend shirtless, you feel like something that has always been yours have been taken away from you. Seeing your boyfriend shirtless on stage having fun while everyone is drooling over him somehow makes you angry.

And after that he act al cute and innocent later at the concert, knowing damn well what he did.

After the concert, Jeno texted you telling you to meet him backstage, but you just ignored his message which confused Jeno, and eventually he calls you on the phone, "Hi babe, I was texting you but you weren't replying, can you please check your message..." he says, you just said yes and checked the message.

Then, you went to the backstage as Jeno asked you to, the members were there, greeting you with warm smiles and you could tell behind their happy faces they were really tired, it was such a long show.

Jeno hugs you from behind and says,"Hi baby boy, I've missed you",he pecks your cheeks, and you just stood stilk, not even reacting. Jeno was a bit confused, he can tell from your face that you were upset. So, he tries to lighten your mood, he asks you about the show, whether you liked it or not and you just ignored him which made Jeno wonder what he did wrong.

At the drive home, you stayed silent while Jeno talked about the show, how good it feels to perform on stage, you just listened without giving him any response.

Wanting to gain your attention, he kissed your lips softly, you just pulled away and told him to focus on the road and keep on driving. He was a bit sad, not knowing what made you upset, "Do you want to get ice cream?" he asked to which you replied,"I'm not in the mood to eat ice-cream", Jeno is now feeling bad.

You finally reached your shared apartment and as soon as you ckosed the door, Jeno pinned you against the wall, "Why are you ignoring me?" he said, "I'm not",you replied, "You were having fun right?" you added, Jeno had no clue,a look of confusion on his face, you rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

You entered the shower and took off your clothes, standing completely naked in front of the mirror, now you turned on the shower, the water was warm, it was really relaxing. On the other side of the door, Jeno was pacing back and forth, wanting to apologise, he snuck in tye bathroom and suddenly hugs you from behind, "Baby, please stop ignoring me...I'm sorry", he said, but you rolled your eyes, "Can you please get out, I'm not done yet...you can come back when I'm done", you said.

This time Jeno had enough, he sighed, then he suddenly turned you around to face him, manhandling you and he just started kissing you roughly, the kiss was rough, it was intense. So intense that you could swnse all the frustrations he was facing. "I've had enough", he said, then you mentioned about what he did on stage, then Jeno's eyes widened, "All I did was trying my best, and now you're complaining, it's frustrating...", he said, then he pulled you back in for another kiss.

His clothes are all soaking wet now, he ripped his shirt off, still kisding you, the kiss was driving you insane, all you could think of was how hot he was on stage, with all hos sweat dripping down his body.

Now Jeno finally pulled away, then he pulled his boxers down, revealing his big hard cock which sprung up in an instand, he took your hand and let you stroke it slowly, precum dripping from the tip of his dick, you kneeled down licking his precum clean, his dick was a bit salty and musky since he was sweating so much from the concert.

You are now bobbing you head up and down his big cock, taking it balls deep, Jeno throwing his head back, rolling his eyes back, he felt so good, you look up at him with teary eyes, Jeno looked down at you, the sight was like the hottest thing for him, he always liked to see you face while you suck him off.

After several minutes Jeno pulled back and lifts you up, he bend you down as you held on the sink for support, Jeno then stroked his dick and placed himself on your entrance, he suddenly thrust, balls deep, making you scream, it feels like your hole is gonna tear, even though you had sex with Jeno countless times, you're never able to adjust to his size. Then he started moving, his pace was rough and hard, your moans filled the bathroom, Jeno grunts, your reflection on the mirror as he was fucking you was making him more excited, then he started moving even faster, making you scream in pleasure, Jeno always loved it when you moan. Most of the times, you act all tough but when Jeno's in control, you're just a little hopeless kitty.

Minutes passed and you jave switched to different positions, you felt you orgasm approaching, Jeno xan easily tell from how your breath becomes faster, then he grabbed your cock and placed his thumb on your tip, "Wait for me", he said, you moaned louder, Jeno's thrust are now faster and harder, he was also about to cum, "Cumming", he whispered, just then, he released your cock, you came on the bathroom floof as Jeno buried his seed deep inside your hole.

After that you took a shower together, after care is what Jeno is a about, he is a monster when it comes to sex, but he takes good care of you as if he didn't just toom your ability to walk.

Then you walked out of the bathroom, changed into comfy clothes and then cuddled on the bed. "I'm sorry baby", he said, "I did it just for you", he added, "I was just jealous, that everyone got to see my hot boyfriend shirtless",you replied, Jeno was smiling, your words turned him on again, you can tell from his face. He was now ready for a second round, he's got that stamina of a fucking beast, then you just pretended to be asleep, knowing what wilk happen if you didn't.

[seventhcallisto]

Chapter IV — "mirrors."

Deep down.

Toc/cw; suggestive undertones, dialog, and themes. Pre-heat haze, san getting angry, ooc yunho and san. More world building, possessiveness. I'm bad with cw. COMMENTS PUSH MY MOTIVATIOOON Thank you♡

It's four days before your heat. Hongjoong, and you are trying your best not to be obvious about your affections, but it's getting harder the closer you get to your heat. Maybe it's the consistency of your schedule. Waking up at the earliest of dawn, writing down new lyrics as soon as you reach for your phone and then immediately getting up and beginning your day that had changed, which ended up with you feeling strange. However, today is not your typical schedule day.

You thought you'd have more time, really. Seriously. Now you're a heaving, writhing mess under your blankets. Not knowing what's going on because it's the first time you've felt this after your diagnosis. Too hot. Too cold. Never enough. Tossing and turning. Burning to be touched. It only lingers for an hour like a warning sign. The sense of being on the verge of heat. You don't know exactly what to do or what to say. Google is fairly helpful. You especially don't want to leave your room when all of your members are alphas. Even if they're taking scent suppressants, your smell is still extremely sensitive to them.

He hardly remembers you tucking him in a while ago now. Suddenly, your words echo.

"If you remember in the morning, then I give you full permission." To what? He doesn't know. All day- all week. As san gets ready, sits with wooyoung, does some more practicing, eats out with some friends. He still doesn't know what you meant, and he's grown frustrated about it. He's completely lost from the amount of drinking he did with wooyoung.

Maybe the over drinking thing is getting to san. Woo has got to stop daring him to drink more. He can't believe he still allows him to get away with it. As san arrives home around mid day from filming, he realizes it's time to settle in for the rest of the day.

Your scent lingers in the apartment, and it's a good thing that jongsik has told them to begin taking scent suppressants to prevent any of them from practically jumping you. It provides the self-control they need, but it doesn't prevent the thoughts that course through everyone's minds when they get the tiniest scent of you.

It may be thanks to the scent suppressants they have complete control over what they're feeling and doing currently. But it doesn't mean none of them want to knot you. Surely, san is speaking on behalf of his members that it would be heaven to do so. If they didn't have the scent suppressants.. well, san doesn't want to pop a boner thinking about it.

So, for now, they're just coping with your pre-heat scent all over the apartment. No one is allowed in other than the guys. Your pack. San definitely prefers it that way. He peels his jacket off when he steps through the threshold of the doorway, quickly closing it behind him to lock your scent inside.

Seonghwa prepares another meal for you, considering you're still cooped up in your room. And san wonders if hongjoong has been in and out of there, based purely on the smell of him lingering in the hallway. There's been talk about you and hongjoong. Gossip amongst the guys. The papers san found a while ago proves so.

He slaps the paper down in front of wooyoung. Taping his pointer finger against the signed line. "Look! She let him sign it!" san whines, grabbing at his hair. "This is driving me crazy," he huffs as he paces. On wooyoungs bed, yeosang and wooyoung scan the piece of paper. Jaws slack in shock.

There's no way they can dismiss this. Somehow, san got his sticky fingers on your heat paperwork. They don't say anything about that, but the signed line for your heat helpers is only signed by hongjoong. The pack alpha, yes they could ask him. But that would be extremely disrespectful, questioning the pack alpha.

Woo runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "Well, what if we ask- what if she gets uncomfortable? What if she doesn't want us to sign it and she feels pressured to say yes?"

Jongho enters their shared bedroom, questionable looks between his other members. The paper in question catches his eyes. "Why do you have that?" He asks, shutting the door behind him.

Does everyone know about the paper?

San struggles to come up with an explanation for the youngest member. "I- wo-" he looks to wooyoung, wooyoung lays the paper on the blanket, putting his hands up, he claims not to know anything about it. San has no other option except for explaining himself to jongho and what he's gathered the past few days.

Once san is finished explaining in the most rushed manner. Yeosang speaks up, looking to him. "I'm not asking her." Yeosang says, laying down his foot. "If she doesn't want us on it, it's not our place to ask her," yeosang looks back down to the paper in wooyoungs hand. "Put it back where you found it." jongho says, uncrossing his arms from his chest and leaving the room.

San looks back at the paper, propped up at the corner of the kitchen. It's not usual for paperwork to be left around here and there. But the fact you left it out in plain sight when San had to go and physically see it in your room to get it is very suspicious. He can even see the obvious bold letters spelling 'Heat Assessment'.

He not so subtly runs past seonghwa, slamming his keys down on the counter next to the paper. Seonghwa looks up from the dish he's preparing for you, looking at san, who hovers over the counter.

"Hey," seonghwa calls san. San shakes from his thoughts, turning toward the older member. Paper in hand. He reads seonghwas signature, cursive and strategically placed next to hongjoongs. "What are you doing with that?" Seonghwa doesn't flinch. he doesn't even ask about the content of the paper. Truly. Everyone knows, and now seonghwas signature is on it.

"How do you know what I have?" San asks, walking across the kitchen to seonghwa who spreads out some slices of apples on your plate. Seonghwa doesn't look up, "we all know what that is." It's a lie. Many of them dont know. San knows it, too. seonghwa pops a slice into his mouth, biting down on it. The souring scent of san fills the kitchen. "Why has -" he slams the hand holding the paper down next to the plate. Suddenly Agitated. "Why has no one asked about it?"

Seonghwa looks to san, finishing cutting the cheese with the knife in hand. "Asked? It's none of your business." Maybe seonghwa is a little harsh about it. He knows that, for fact. The door down the hallway pops open. San doesn't take a second to tell seonghwa off. Instead, he's marching down the hallway.

Hongjoong is just about to enter your room when he feels san pull him back by his arm. A deep set frown over his eyebrows. "Why didn't you tell us about this!?" He places the paper against hongjoongs chest. Hongjoong looks between the paper and san. Pulling it off.

San is picking for a fight. Seonghwa and hongjoong know. Whatever your scent has done has triggered san to be more possessive of you and more aggressive. Your heat is just around the corner, so the tension is rising in the apartment, and it's higher than ever. The boiling point has been reached since this morning.

"Why is your name on this!" San belts, looking between hongjoong and seonghwa.

Yunho steps out of his shared room with yeosang. The shorter peeps over his shoulder to look for where the yelling is coming from. The door creaks open across from them. Wooyoung and jongho peak out. Confusion written on their faces. Lastly. Mingi is the one to step out from the last bedroom on the left, right across from your room where they're currently at.

"San" hongjoong tenses, watching the way san challenges him. The sudden twisting smell of sans scent burning in his nose. "Tell me," san says through clenched teeth. Seonghwa tries to pull at his shoulder to lead him away from the leader but san shrugs his hand off roughly, cursing through his teeth. Sans tough hands shoot out, pushing hongjoong into mingi. The leader catches himself quickly with the help of mingi. Staring wide-eyed at san.

San, who just opened your door and went into your room. Locking the door behind him. He can hear the pounding on the other side. Drowning out his members, San steps forward into your dim bedroom. The only light comes from the window directly across from your door. It shines the dark room only slightly.

San calls you name and hears a shuffle of things in your closet. The walkover is draining. He can feel himself being pulled in by your sweet scent, invading his lungs. He knocks on it gently.

In the gap, your fingers slide the sliver of the door open. Eyes still blinking back sleepiness. San has to take a sharp breath at the invasion of his senses. You're curled up on the makeshift bed in your closet. A nest you made.

Plenty of clothes san has noticed were missing are strewn in a pile under you. Clad in hardly any clothing to combat the heat of your body. San bends down to your level. You still seem you. The smell isn't in full bloom. San can tell, somehow.

" 'Mega?" San calls to you ever so gently, watching you rub your eyes. "Sannie?" you respond, voice filled with recognition. The sound of your voice makes the tension in sans shoulders dissipate. You stumble up and out of the closet, anxiety begging to settle into your bones. He backs up to give you space. Did he even plan anything he was gonna say?

"What are you doing in my room?" You ask, rubbing your arm because of the cold breeze, and definitely not because you're nervous. "Doesn't my preheat scent affect you or whatever? It's not safe.." You mumble the last bit. San struggles to answer. "The scent suppressants.." he trails off. Watching you rub at the sweat on your forehead. He watches you twitch every so often. You don't meet his eyes. Grimacing slightly. "San.. what did you need?" You know he's not here to talk about something so simple. And the settling pain of your incoming heat is twisting your guts to make room for a big knot at the sudden interest of an alpha in your presence.

San sighs, all frustration draining from him in your presence. Wrapped around your smell. "The heat assessment paper." He says, you take a sharp breath. "What about it?" You turn to look away. San stands across from you.

"Do you really want me to sign it?" He asks in a single breath. You blink up at him, swaying in the cold room. "I said yes last night, did I not?" You huff.

You're kinda mean when you're in pre-heat. San thinks. He goes quiet. That's when you reach out, cupping his arm. Warm eyes meeting his in the dark. "San, I want all of you to sign it"

And you're being extremely bold. "All of us?" San mumbles out, shocked. It's not true, right? San, woo, and yeosang, can all be there for your heat? He won't have to feel terrible about signing it. His members (who are equally infatuated with you) can, too?

"You want all of us to sign it?" San phrases better, grabbing your palm in his, off his arm. "Yes, sign it," you sigh, growing impatient. This is why hongjoong and seonghwas name is on your paperwork.

San feels the hope bubble in his throat. Really, he can have it all. And especially when all he wants is to be with you at this moment. He doesn't care, you want him, and he wants you. Sans tough and somewhat calloused hands wrap around your jaw on each side, his fingers glancing over your primary scent gland, which makes you shudder into him. Your name falls off his lips as he searches yours. You can't help but stare at the lines in his perfectly round lips. As soon as his eyes fall over your own. He's pulling you into him.

You can feel the passion in sans touch, and you can feel the desperation of his kiss as it becomes more heavy. His left hand slipped down to your waist to pull you even closer. His fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt. Lips move in tandem, San wants to completely be overwhelmed by you, to be molded by your words and do whatever you want him to. And you want to completely drown into San.

Sans feet shift under him as you guide him, your hands slither into his hair. When you tug gently, san sighs into your mouth, never does he part. Nor does he want to. You know if you keep going, you'll succumb into the inner war of letting San have you here and now. San is oblivious to this. He's slowly letting himself slip into the other mindset he's pushed off for so long, the one where he gets to have you and take care of you like an alpha should.

You shake him out of it. Pushing his shoulder back against the door. You dislodged yourself from his lips. A soft tug, and you're gone from San. He lets out a strangled sound at the lack of your touch. You can't be entangled like this when you're so close to your heat. You can't let this get to you. Breathing each other in, you softly speak. "You have to go," you tell him. San can feel the door rattle against his back.

"As soon as you're done signing, it needs to be turned into the heat sanctuary I'm going to be at. If you don't, the signatures will mean nothing."

So that's why you've been cooped up in your room instead of going to your heat sanctuary. You've been waiting for them to sign it. As soon as san feels the door tug from his back, and you quickly shoving him out. Yunho is pulling the rest of him. Scowling. A screwdriver in hand as they tried to pry open your door. "Why did you do that! That was dangerous! For both of you!"

San heard and felt your words.

Everyone has been withholding their urges all week. Perhaps the scent suppressants are working compared to how your first heat hit. When they didn't know that scent you were producing and why suddenly they wanted to cover you in their own scents. It's a lot less easy knowing that you're only a room away in an apartment full of alphas who are willing to give you anything. But you don't know that. Hongjoong does. He takes a shuddered breath when he stands at your door ealy that morning. He can smell your preheat scent seeping out of the cracks.

Hongjoong knocks a few times. Listening for any movement on the other side. The door swings open. He's smacked with a wall of your smell. "Hongjoongie," you sigh happily. Pulling him in. "Hey pretty girl" he answers, pushing the hair behind your ears and out of your face when you don't stop to turn around and keep pulling him to your closet.

"Look," you slide the door open, dropping the edges of his shirt to crawl inside. "Come," you beckon him down towards the floor, pulling at his hand. He grins, crawling in. He's much too big for your tiny closet, but you fit in it perfectly. Hongjoong can see the amount of clothes on the floor, it's like a mountain, and in the center of it, it's big enough for you and someone else to sit in.

You're so very eager to get hongjoong in that circle, just to see if it's big enough. "Once I get to the heat place, I can make a bigger one for all of us." You push at hongjoongs shoulders, and his back hits the clothing softly. He doesn't know exactly what you're doing until you're sitting atop him, trying to nestle your face into his neck. He places two hands on your hips.

You're scenting him now, hongjoong knows this but decides to ask anyway. Shoving your face as close as you can get to him, your lips breeze passes his glands. Your forehead falls there instead, rubbing back and forth to transfer your scent. Encouraging a shuddered breath out of him. "What are you doing, huh?" He pulls your head out of his neck, his right hand holding your nape softly. You huff, hongjoong scans your features in the dark.

"You don't smell like me," you pout, hongjoong laughs lightly. Maybe in a teasing way but more so in a 'that was really cute' kind of way. The grin on his face tells you what exactly he's thinking. "Don't laugh at me" you pull away, sitting up on his chest. You drain the breath out of him in the best way.

Hongjoong slips to sit up, holding you close to him and not any lower. He only has so much control for now, and he doesn't want to risk giving a certain area the stimulus. "I'm not," he bites his grin. "You are," you mumble, shaking your head from the fog. You plop it on his shoulder, holding him against you.

"I'm not even in my heat yet, and I'm exhausted," you say into his shoulder. Hongjoong sighs for you. "I know, I'm working on it," he kisses your head. "I'll get you a knot as soon as possible, okay?" The sentence sounds so innocent when it really isn't. His finger rubs the side of your neck, where your scent glands are.

The thought of seeing hongjoong above you, giving you his knot, being in you for the first time, flashes through your mind. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. You stop the pulse between your thighs the best you can. "You can't say that." You whimper, pulling off of him. It takes everything in you to do so. The omega in you cries to be closer. Hongjoong pats your hip as you land softly on the clothes next to him. This plan is driving you mad, and yet you still have a week of a long heat ahead of you. "Has san said anything yet?" You look to hongjoong.

Hongjoong shakes his head, watching you lean your head on his knee. Prettily poking your lips at him in the most frustrating of pouts. "What if he didn't hear me?.. What if he doesn't like me like that?" You mumble, closing your eyes and squishing your legs into your chest.

"He heard you. He does." hongjoong sighs, rubbing your cheek softly. You don't know if he's saying it to reassure you. But you really hope san did hear you. And you hope you're not getting your hopes up.

Hongjoong tells seonghwa first. He trusts seonghwa a lot. You trust seonghwa just as much. The idea of going to him first was completely a mutual idea.

Later in the morning, Hongjoong knocks on his door, the one he shares with mingi and san. Sans out today. Wherever he is, he decides not to learn the details. Lately, san has been giving him the cold shoulder. And hongjoong has some idea why.

On the other hand, joong isn't ready to tell mingi about you wanting them. Hongjoong knows that as soon as he tells mingi, mingi will lose himself and steal you away for the week. You might end up inducing Mingis rut in the process. It's just not a great idea to tell mingi before everyone else, no matter if he gets upset about knowing later.

So with that, as soon as hongjoong learned seonghwa was alone in his bedroom, hongjoong took the opportunity. Three knocks, and he's entering. Seonghwa rests on his bed, looking at his phone. Hongjoong takes the bed across from him. Seonghwa knows whatever conversation they're about to have. It's gonna be serious. He sits up, taking whatever hongjoong has got to say heads on.

Seriously, if hongjoong says that you two are dating exclusively, seonghwas heart might actually explode into tiny shards.

It begins the same as a nightmare seonghwa has been having for a couple of days. "You know she and i are together," hongjoong starts off with, not knowing how else to phrase it. Seonghwas mouth falls open. "I.. what?"

Hongjoong really doesn't know how to say this. But for your sake, he's trying. "We're dating. I think we are - anyway. I was the first one who asked her, " hongjoong kinda bluffs, he didn't ask. It was kinda set in stone as soon as your lips touched his. Seonghwa wants to urgently shake hongjoong to spill everything. "She wants us to be a more intimate pack if you get what I'm saying, more than what the media suggests." Seonghwa sucks a harsh breath in, eyebrows furrowed.

"She feels most comfortable with us, not only that but.." hongjoong tries to gather his words. "She likes all of us, more than friends, more than members. She wants us on her heat assessment." Hongjoong explains, he can't exactly tell seonghwa you like-love him, it's not his place too. If seonghwa wanted an answer, he could ask you himself.

"She wants all of us?" Seonghwa can't believe it, to be with you and not make it awkward amongst them, is this true? Seonghwa can share. He can play nice. He might even enjoy the idea of sharing with the entirety of the pack. It's something he doesn't really understand, but he's completely fine with anyway.

Hongjoong nods, signifying that seonghwa is correct. Seonghwa let's out a breath.

"I'll sign it." He let's his words freely flow.

And when seonghwa brings your breakfast for the day, you're surprised to see him. And he's very surprised to see you making a nest in your closet instead of relaxing in your bed. "Hwa?" You question, taking the plate gently, your round eyes look up to him, assessing his presence. It reminds him of that moment in the kitchen, and seonghwa grips his fingers into the clothes under him to prevent the blood flowing somewhere else. "Hi," he greets back with a hum. You place the plate down next to the closet door.

"Hungry?" He asks, watching your behavior. You shake your head. "Not really... My heat last time took a lot, and I still tried to eat as much as i could," you sigh. Seonghwa knows a heat will take everything out of you, and you still won't be hungry until after. Too driven by the urge to.. well, breed, really. He hums as he listens to you talk.

You look like the most beautiful person in his eyes. Even when seonghwa met you for the first time. Even before debut, when you were just a tiny beta that begged to be picked on just to bite back. Even during every bad hair day you claimed. He reaches out to smooth his hand over your hair. Your roots are beginning to show. As soon as your heat is over, you'll be long overdue for a touch-up. And seonghwa feels like tagging along for it. Just to watch your pretty face in the mirrors.

You lean into seonghwas hand as it trails down your face. Sighing softly into his palm. "I signed the papers." He gulps, pulling his hand back. You miss his warmth. Even if you are burning up. Your eyes fall.

"I don't want you to be there for my heat -" you sigh out. Seonghwas heart leaps into his throat. "I want you to take care of me, and I want you to be there after," You try to find the right words. Confessions are hard. "I like you, more than my member, more than friends," you mumble.

"You know how long I have waited to hear that?" Seonghwa laughs into his words. You blink once, twice. He pulls you into his chest. Hugging you tightly. His head falls over yours. Seonghwa isn't the most muscular member, but he still has arms to prove how he can hold you comfortably in his arms and steal you away at any moment.

"I like you too, so much." he mumbles into your hair. You pull back and look up at him, begging for a kiss with your smile. If you did, you'd both end up getting lost in each other. You cut the silence. "Could you bring me some dirty laundry?" You laugh, embarrassed. He snickers. "Sure" he knows exactly why.

Sharing a room with yeosang isn't the best, yunhos member doesn't say much about this odd situation. Lying face down on his blankets, yeosangs phone is propped up by his hand. Yunho, on the other hand, is watching a show on his laptop, propped up on his chest.

It started off with yeosang tossing and turning all night, ultimately it woke yunho up. And before yunho could get a clue of what's going on, yeosangs breathy sighs and whimpers had him shooting right up and out of bed. No way was he gonna stick around to listen to yeo have a wet dream.

The early morning dew completely encased the windows after a heavy night of rain. The flashing clock on the microwave told him it was around 2 am. He took his spot on the couch and watched a movie in silence. When from the corner of his eyes, wooyoung tiredly stepped out of the hallway.

Wooyoung stood rubbing his hand over his eye. There's no obvious sign to yunho that he knew what was going on with yeosang, but he had his suspicion. He doesn't greet woo when he lands softly on the other side of the couch. Both watching the movie in silence.

Yunho can't take silence much longer. Wooyoung obviously can't, either. "Have you seen the heat assessment paper?" He uses this conversation for topic? When obviously, yunho knows about it. "Yea, why?" He asks, turning his chin towards the dark-haired guy.

Wooyoung shakes his head like he's swaying his thoughts away. "Did hongjoong tell you his name was on it?" That gets yunho. No. Hongjoong did not tell him. Because yunho didn't know the leaders name was on the paper.

Besides the feeling of longing building in his stomach, yunho wanted to know what wooyoung getting at. "No, he didn't.. why are you asking?" It's a short answer but an even quicker question. Wooyoung doesn't dare spare a glance at yunho. Opting to just stay quiet. It's completely unlike him.

"Whatever reason she has him on the paper, it isn't our business -" yunhos words stop when wooyoung shoots up frustrated, whisper yelling towards yunho. "Yes! I know it shouldn't be any of my business it's hers- but- dammit! She's one of my best friends! I have a right to know!" Wooyoung seems to be drowned in his own outburst for yunho to get a word in.

Pieces fall and collide in yunhos mind. Watching his other member pace back and forth. "There's more to this, isn't there?" Yunhos words stop wooyoung in his track. The dark-haired guy turns to look at his taller friend. hum.

Yunho knows that look, the all familiar sign of hopelessness when you love someone so deeply, and yet you don't know what to do. He's had the same look consistently when you would split from their group to take photos with other idols. Other idols who yunho knows want you. Everyone wants you. The all familiar ace of K-pop.

When he'd sit back as you did video challenges, dancing and laughing with someone else whilst he watched in silence. He wished everyone knew you were his when, in reality, you didn't even know how he felt. Yunho knows that sinking feeling of possibly breaking something that can't be unbroken. Yunho knows these moments of laughter and bickering, but he wishes he could have those moments with you in a different way. A way that you both understand. Mated as a pair. Together in a more intimate way.

Wooyoung is as still as a mouse, caught in the cookie jar, smacking his lips. His eyes squint down, his hand coming up to the bridge of his nose. Wooyoung is estranged. He is tired of lying to himself.

"We all love her, don't we?" He says into his palm, the world doesn't seem to crash like he thinks it does. Yunho stands up, taking wooyoungs hand away from his face. Wooyoung sighs, facing yunhos eyes with diminishing confidence.

"It's her choice.." wooyoung says just as yunhos mouth falls open to speak. Pulling his wrist from the taller members grasp.

It truly is your choice to call on them if you want to. And when wooyoung turns away, he doesn't see the way yunho loses all confidence. Compared to his members, yunho has a lot to beat. If he had to fight for you, could he?

The hallway flur pass yunho. In an instance, he's pulling san out of your doorway, fuming. San has your scent all over him. Yunho does not ignore the pink tinting in his members' cheek or the way his lips are red. His lips pull back into a snarl as he barks at san about what he did wrong. What could have happened.

Sans lovesick eyes and dazed expression only pisses yunho off more. Even when he lets go, he's still towering over the dark-haired guy. A sudden urge of violence panging in his fists. Yunho isn't violent, no. He doesn't know what happened, but the way san reeks of you is making him feel as if he could commit a felony then and there really digs deep.

His members attempting to calm the situation only make things drown him. He's got to step back. He's got to get out of this cramped apartment where you linger around every corner. He turns on his heels, wanting to make a beeline for the door.

"She wants us to sign her heat assessment."

Sans voice speaks up, and yunho knows exactly who it's directed at. He can feel the stinging of sans dark eyes against his back. Still, as wooyoung looks to his friend, he can tell he got more info than he leads on. But the main shocker is what he said.

"What?" Wooyoung asks for confirmation. Heart leaping into his throat. It's got to be a hoax. Seonghwa and hongjoong linger in the back, silently observing. Mingi is the second to step forward, bending his neck to ask what he means. Jongho definitely gets onto what he's saying immediately. But he's almost tempted to barge into your room and ask you himself.

"All-" jongho gets cut off. "All of us." Sans smile is bitten back. He looks to wooyoung, then to yeosang, shock etched into their faces.

"That's what she said?" Yeosang gulps. San has never lied about anything you've said. No matter what. San respects you too much and this situation is too serious for lying. Yet, yeosang looks to the leader and eldest member to know anyways. Their names are on the paper, something you allowed.

Hongjoongs eyes hold curiosity as he watches all his members, he was right. He's smug that he was right. You are so consuming, it wouldn't be anything other than a surprise for any one of them to not be madly in love with you. You are the prettiest shining pearl in the sea that is the world. Hongjoong shakes out of his thoughts. Seeking out the begging and hopeful eyes of his members. Even yunho, who is a few feet away. Turned to listen in on the conversation.

"It's true." hongjoong says.

Seonghwa took the honor of putting his name on your heat contact. So, in case of anything. Seonghwa will get that call. And he'll assess the situation when you can't. Regarding who goes in and out of your heat space, any official business regarding idol work, etcetera. Seonghwa took it on cause if hongjoong had- the eldest knew that the captain would be overwhelmed with all of it.

Seonghwa is your primary caretaker for the entire heat cycle whilst you're out. To confirm, they had all sat around your door whilst you were on the other side. Just a door away. You used your phone to call them so they could hear you clearly.

You are still coherent despite what san did earlier. The door is the closest way you can feel close to them. Joong had slipped a piece of paper under your door along with a pen.

'Rules' it reads. Rules for the guys. Anything you don't want them to do, they'll be coherent, partly, while you're in your omega mindset. They can't do anything you dont want, especially if you're allowing them to be heat helpers, which is why you need rules.

You quickly write down the list whilst they talk. Discussing what they need to do beforehand quietly on the other side.

You write down a list of things you're not okay with and precautions. Birth control for men is the most important thing on the list. You know omega-you will not take them, begging not too actually, and knowing your boys, they might actually give in or get distracted. So they'll have to do the protection protocol.

And that's all you had. You are fairly comfortable with everything else. You're sure your omega mind will enjoy it as well.

There's this obvious what-will-happen lingering in your mind. Will this make or break your group? You know this is only a temporary solution. You know they think you're only doing this because you trust them to take care of you. You can't tell exactly why they're agreeing. Do they possibly feel the same? You know hongjoong and seonghwa do- and even san.

What about the rest of them?

Later in the midst of the night, as you're curled up in your closet. Your phone vibrates, awakening you from a sticky and hot sleep, one where you hardly actually sleep a wink, and you're completely uncomfortable the entire time. The bright light shines and blinds you temporarily. It's 2 am.

At some point after dinner, you must have fallen asleep. The ache in between your legs spikes up your hips, causing you to curl into yourself more. Whining quietly into the blanket yeosang had gifted you for your birthday. A pale yellow.

Your fingers reach for anything. Your phone ends up in your tight embrace. A contact on display, how'd that get there? The all familiar picture of you and the tallest of your friends posing in front of a snowman, his bright smile and bowlcut styled hair. Yunho.

"Hello?" Yunhos happy deep voice rings from the other side of the screen. You shudder at the familiarity. Was his voice always this deep? Your thighs clench. "Hello..?" He repeats. Music can be heard, some type of indie song, you recognize a few of his friends talking. Laughing whilst he takes a call.

You can hear the shuffle of yunho on the other side. A door shuts behind him, silencing the music. He calls your name softly. You're still so quiet. You haven't said anything. He must have checked the caller ID. "Yunho," your small voice speaks up, and you bite your lip. Curling into your side. You continue on with a whimper, "Where are you?"

Yunho takes a sharp breath. "I'm out, getting food with some friends, you okay?" he tells you honestly, his feet pacing in the bathroom echos. Your head begins to fog worse than it has in the entirety of the week. "Yun" you whine his name into the air. "How far away?" You fall into a whisper.

"Not far, I'm leaving now." The fact yunho is willing to ditch his group of friends and come home just because you called has you leaking. You bite on the arm holding your phone up to stop a needy gasp.

"Talk to me omega, tell me what's going on." The shuffle of yunho pulling his jacket on distracts you. His friends call his name as he walks, and the doorbell jingles behind him. You can't take the ache anymore. The fog behind your thoughts is consuming. You feel yourself losing control.

"I need you, please. Yunho, Please." You whine, dropping the phone next to you. Yunhos' words fall short. You can hear the door to his car open and slam shut.

"I'll take care of you, omega, okay? Just keep talking to me, I'm almost there"

A/n; I'm terrible. Ik. leaving it off on another cliffhanger bc I didn't know how to finish this chapterrrrr iM SORRY. THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!! it's gonna start getting really spicy here on-

taglist: @lelaleleb @bratty-tingz @0325tiny @smilefordongil @atinytinaa @yunholuvrsblog @ja3hwa @stopeatread @sousydive @voicesinmyhead-rc @giiouis @c4tboyxiao @eastleighsblog @doggopepper @uhhheather @hyukssunflower @hhoneylix @tunaasan @satsuri3su @acescavern @edusweah @silentcry329 @silentreadersthings @ldysmfrst @idfkeddieishot @zdgx1

[itsmealaiah]

"You're everything"

TW: arguing, angst into smut, p in v, unprotected sex, heidi doesn't exist in this au, reader is in her thirties, she/her pronouns, yelling, AFAB reader, soft sex/ make up sex

Request: sorry for requesting againnn but ur such a good writer can u do a oneshot of tom and y/n fighting over something (your choice) and they get into a really heated argument and they r screaming and being really mean and then he pushes her against the wall and they fuckkk <33 (and can the angst be long pleasee and ty)

Rating: 18+, mdni

WC: 1.5k

Got a good amount of reqs done so far 🤭

t's funny how the tiniest of moments can escalate into something so consuming, so all-encompassing that it feels like the entire world has been reduced to this single, tiny room. The air is thick with anger, with frustration and hurt, and it was like you were both drowning in it, struggling to keep your heads above water. Your voice cracks as you shout at him, your hands curling into fists at your sides, the tears streaming down your face unchecked as you feel your anger rising, bubbling up inside you until you can't contain it anymore.

You don't even realize what's happening when he pushes you back against the wall, your back hitting the cold, unforgiving surface with a painful thud. You gasp, feeling the air whoosh out of your lungs as your head spins from the impact. His body is pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged in your ear, his hands gripping your wrists so tightly it hurts. It's almost as if he's trying to control you, to make you stop fighting, to make you be quiet. But you can't. You won't. Not until you've said everything you need to say.

"You don't get it, do you?" you choke out, feeling a mixture of anger and hurt surge through you. "You never have. I'm not just some possession you can use and throw away when you're done. I'm a person, Tom. With feelings, with dreams, with a life."

He freezes, his body tensing against yours as if he's trying to decide what to do next. His grip on your wrists loosens just enough for you to wiggle your hands free, but you don't move them far, keeping them close to your sides. You're not done yet.

"You think you can just push me around and I'll just take it? That I'll just stay here and be your little toy?" you snap, anger coursing through you like wildfire. "Well, I won't. I deserve better than this."

The words seem to hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken truths. You can feel the tension building, see it mirrored in the set of his jaw, the way his breath comes quick and shallow. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the anger seems to drain out of you, leaving you feeling drained and exhausted. You close your eyes, taking a shaky breath.

"I just wanted you to see things from my perspective," you whisper. "I just wanted you to understand."

He takes a step back, his eyes searching your face as if trying to read something in your expression. Then, slowly, he reaches out and cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry I've been such an asshole."

The apology catches you off guard, and for a moment you're not sure how to respond. You feel a tiny flicker of hope inside you, but you're still hurt, still angry. You want to believe him, to trust that he means it, but it's hard. "It's not enough to just say you're sorry," you whisper, looking away from him. "You have to show me."

He lets out a shaky breath, his grip on your cheek tightening for a moment before he forces himself to relax. "I know," he says softly. "I know I have a lot of making up to do."

You turn your head back to look at him, searching his eyes for any hint of sincerity. And then, slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It's not passionate, not demanding, but rather a gentle, almost reverent touch that makes your heart ache. When he pulls back, he looks at you with a newfound determination that you've never seen before.

"I love you," he says simply. "And I'm not going to let anything or anyone come between us again. I'm going to prove it to you."

He pulls you closer, his body fitting against yours as if they were made to be together. His lips find yours again, this time with more passion, more need. You feel the heat of his skin against yours, the hardness of his chest pressed against your breasts. He kisses you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours, his hands roaming over your back, your hips, your bottom, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

The kiss deepens, becomes more urgent, and you feel yourself melting into him, giving in to the desire that's been building between you. He steps back, breaking the kiss, and looks down at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and filled with longing. "Come here" he whispers. "I want to show you how much I love you."

You nod, your heart pounding in anticipation, and he leads you over to the bed. The sheets are cool against your skin as you crawl underneath, and Tom follows, slipping in beside you. He trails his fingers down your arm, over your ribs, and across your stomach, his touch light and featherlike. He leans in to kiss your neck, his lips warm and soft against your skin.

His hand finds your breast, cupping it gently through your shirt, and you gasp, arching your back into his touch. He groans, his lips moving to your ear, and then his hand is taking off your shirt, revealing your breast to the cool air. He kisses and nibbles at your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, and you cry out, your hips bucking off the bed.

His hand moves down, unbuttoning your pants, pushing them down over your hips. He kicks them off, and then he's back between your legs, his fingers finding your wetness. He presses two fingers inside you, stretching you, and you cry out, wrapping your legs around his hips. He begins to move his fingers, matching their rhythm to his thrusts, and you lose yourself in the sensation, feeling your body tighten around him.

You can feel him hard against your leg, and you want nothing more than to feel him inside you. You reach down, unbuckling his belt, and then undoing his pants, pushing them down his hips. He kicks them off, and his erection springs free, bobbing eagerly before you. You guide him to your entrance, and he pushes in slowly, groaning as he fills you. His skin is hot and smooth against yours, and he moves slowly at first, letting you adjust to his size.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire, and begins to move his hips, matching his rhythm to yours. You arch your back, meeting each thrust, your nails digging into his shoulders. He kisses you, his lips warm and demanding, and you can feel your body tightening around him, the sensation building inside you.

He moves faster now, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his skin flushed. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, and he obeys, groaning as he pushes himself all the way inside. You feel so full, so connected to him, and the sensation is exquisite. Your hips move in time with his, your body meeting his in a perfect dance of desire.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, kissing your neck. "I never get tired of looking at you." His hands move up to cup your breasts, squeezing them gently, and he rolls your nipples between his thumbs. The sensation sends a shiver through you, and you arch your back, pressing yourself against his touch.

The rhythm between your bodies becomes even more intense, and you feel yourself starting to lose control. Your orgasm builds, coiling tightly in your core, and you know it's only a matter of time before you surrender to it. Tom's thrusts become harder, faster, and you can feel the tension building inside him as well.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue dancing with yours. His free hand moves up to cup your cheek, stroking your skin with such tenderness that it sends shivers down your spine. You arch your back off the bed, feeling so close to the edge, and he follows your lead, thrusting deeper still.

"I love you," he whispers against your lips. "I've loved you since the first moment I saw you." The words send a wave of warmth through your body, and you cling to him, wanting to feel every inch of him inside you. His hips move faster, his movements growing more urgent as he approaches his climax.

You can feel the heat building between your legs, the tension building in your core, and you know that you're about to lose control. You grip his shoulders, digging your nails in just enough to leave a mark, and with a cry that echoes through the room, you let go, letting your orgasm wash over you in a wave of pleasure.

Your body tenses and convulses around him, and he follows you over the edge, groaning her name as he comes, filling you completely. His thrusts slow, and he collapses on top of you, your sweaty bodies sticking together. He rolls off you, panting, and looks down at you with a mixture of love and exhaustion in his eyes.

"good night schatzi, i love you"

Taglist: @madzandmore @20doozers @il0vet0mk4ulitz

comment to be tagged 💙

also if u see ur user in here and it's not usually in my taglist, it's bc its ur req 💙

[buckttommy]

hrmm. i feel like. there is a conversation to be had about whether or not a storyline is racist that a lot of you are not having and that conversation has a lot to do with intention.

i'm seeing a lot of people call this mara storyline racist and as a literal black woman, i just. do not get it. is mara a brown/black girl? yes. has she been traumatized/retraumatized beyond belief? yes! and that is horrible. but the question i don't see anyone asking is why? was there precedent? did the story just come out of nowhere or was there build? does the event make sense within the context of the story overall? and like. i mean. yeah. it does.

the groundwork for mara's introduction was laid last season with a different little girl, though the premise ("hen and karen are going to be adopting a girl") remained the same. the groundwork for conflict was also laid in 7x2 when ortiz's (an established person in power) son died under hen's care. these events led to the rising action and revenge we saw play out last night. this is a clear arc with a clear and defined progression that could make sense if exchanged for a predominantly white family without any significant changes and with all the same emotional (soul crushing) beats.

versus noah's storyline last season, which existed solely to prop up maddie as the hero white woman while coloring noah—a sweet, black boy—as a criminal. that was it. there was no build. there was no tension. there was no story, except to say "here is a black boy and he is bad." there wasn't any real cause, reason, or structure and that is what makes that storyline rancid. that is why i roll my eyes every single time. it is racially lazy, not to mention just kind of boring, and 9-1-1 can do and has done better.

so. on the topic of, like, "is this story racist or not?" the conversation should not be these characters are black and multiple bad things are happening to them, therefore this story is racist. but rather, the conversation (or critical analysis) surrounding the story should be does this storyline make sense within the context of the story itself? is there enough narrative and structural build to support this storyline or is/are the black character(s) being scapegoated? is this trauma porn for the sake of trauma porn or is there a legitimate story being told for a legitimate reason? (*non-black people are not equipped to answer that last question, as the topic of trauma porn is multifaceted and layered, but that doesn't mean the question still can't be asked and considered)

anyway. the point is. well. the point is, i really don't think you guys are asking the right questions tbh. lol. and that's frustrating to me because every conversation about racism gets swallowed up by what you guys think is racist and none of it ever really amounts to anything except to make people painfully reactionary and angry. both which i'm sure we can agree is not conducive to having a productive conversations about anything. so you see. anyway. that's all i have to say. back to bucktommy posting + eddie/bobby spiraling.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

safe - express crew

summary; what would happen if you got injured during an expedition?

genre/extra tags; scenario, hurt/comfort but not well executed, reader has path of destruction, reader's combat type isn't mentioned, caelus is trailblazer with path of preservation (bc that's the one i use), yes im using the same banner at the top for caelus

[platonic] [teen reader] [gender neutral reader]

warnings; leg injuries described, getting scolded, feeling helpless

[buy me a kofi]

a/n; wrote this as scenarios... hope you enjoy it! only did the trio and welt bc 4 characters is my limit per scenario post. march's part is shorter than the rest im sorry

caelus is not well versed in situations like these.

he knew of your reckless nature. how you just loved thrills, how you want to destroy every enemy in your way, how you enabled his weird tendencies and fighting instincts just to watch a good show.

but this was too much.

in the heat of battle as you charge in, you take a big hit (even if with the help of caelus's shield) and the enemy smashes their weapon against your leg. you collapse to the ground, the pain rushing through all your nerves as you yell out.

caelus does his best to keep the enemy busy with his taunts and trying to build his shields. when he finally manages to finish the enemy off, he's running to you and picking you up as carefully but urgently as he can. he's talking to you to distract you from the pain and hoping that the adrenaline you're feeling with do until he gets to you to proper help.

when he finally gets you to medical help, he's conflicted. his usual expressive witty self is quiet with frustration. within the small time of you joining the express a little after he did, he's gotten attached to you, seeing you as a younger sibling. he can't help but think it's his fault for not being on guard to keep you safe. he can't find it in his heart to scold you despite how he's aware that if you just thought before you did anything, you would've at least been less injured.

it takes a day for you to get properly patched up and resting. and it's awkward when caelus walks in, no longer wearing his usually amused smile, but wearing a stone faced look. you avoid looking at him, it's not subtle at all with how you don't want to talk about the accident at all.

but he speaks about it anyways, "i really hate being angry, you know?"

"i know."

"i think it's safe to say that we're both in the wrong for this?" he suggests, sitting on the edge of your bed. "i could've stopped you and you could've waited for me." you're both silent as you recall the pain of it all.

"yeah. i'm sorry." he moves to sit by your side, patting your head.

"i'm sorry too, just get some rest alright?" he mutters, tugging the blanket to cover you better. "i'm just glad you're okay."

he hated when you got reckless, he was not as nice about it as the new trailblazer. well, he wasn't openly rude about it but he gets the most abrasive when you decide to be reckless. he would never say it openly but he cares for you. he cares for you a lot. you're younger than the other express members so of course it was natural that he felt the need to care for you. totally not because he's basically the established parent friend out of the four of the youngsters of the express, you included.

so the moment you get such an injury, he's killing the rest the enemies and taking you to welt and himeko. he's muttering about how frustrated he is with this turn of events. he's annoyed because he doesn't have the path that march and caelus have, so he can't protect you as easily.

you can't understand a word of what he's saying since your mind is fuddled with pain and slowly running down from its adrenaline. you pass out before you hear his pleas to stay awake.

when you're finally okay and stable, it's dead silent in your room. you and dan heng sit nearby each other, you on your bed and him in a desk chair. you're concerned by his silence but you don't want to say anything, knowing that he would start scolding you. unlike caelus, he's not afraid to be honest and sound rude while he's at it. he doesn't like sounding like the bad guy, but someone has to put the foot down when welt and himeko weren't around.

as you lay there on your bed, you feel small, like you were just a weak kid who couldn't do anything. you struggle to look at dan heng, the room is thick with tension and worry. you hate how stupid you feel. it's hard to describe it, when you want to cry but it's not out of sadness or anger. you feel bad. and it makes you want to cry. and you do. you don't say anything, he doesn't say anything.

he looks at you while you're a silent mess. his hand presses on your forehead and moves down to rub away your tears gently. "please don't do that again. not when i can't do as much to keep you safe." he mutters, moving his chair to sit closer to the bed.

you spill out your apologies and worries as you hug him weakly. "i'm- i'm sorry dan heng!" he pats your head, providing his silent comfort.

"it's okay. i'll always forgive you." he sounds tired as he jokes deadpanned, "maybe this is a sign from the aeons to stop being stupid."

"hey!"

despite march's cheerful aura and bright words, she was skilled in battle. and very good support. even when she was smiling in support during a battle, she was ever so alert for everyone's safety.

unfortunately she let her guard down for just a small moment and you ended up running in with no shield support, causing you to take a bigger hit than normal.

after that she had immediately shielded you, the cold of her ice felt nice against the heat of the pain.

"y/n! please be more careful next time!" she says immediately after she takes care of the last enemy. she's probably the only one to actually scold you in the battle even if it was close to ending. "just because i can shield you doesn't mean you're safe all the time." she insists on carrying you via piggyback as she scolds you all the way through the trip back.

"you know you're gonna have the rest of the express worried sick when you do things like that!" if this was anyone else, you would much worse but march has such a sweet tone to her voice that you can't help but feel fine. on the way back, she cares for the injury the best she can with her ice. and it helps when you finally get the proper help.

you recovered quicker than usual with her assistance.

"now what do you have to say to me?"

"you make me want to not say it now."

"i just saved your life and this is the thanks i get?!"

"bleh."

"i'm never gonna give you a shield again."

welt..

welt dislikes taking you on expeditions. he's been clear about that from the start. but he's not gonna restrain you from experiences, good and bad. but he'd much rather you have good experiences. and not ones like these.

the ones where he has to pick you up from the ground and worry that you're gravely injured. just like the rest of the crew, he hates seeing you hurt. maybe it even hurts even more being a sort of father figure to you and feeling the obligation to care for you.

instead of the cold silence from dan heng or the worried silence from caelus, you feel the disappointed silence from welt. and that hurts more than your injury.

it's suffocating when you're being carried the way back and you know you're about to get a mouthful of scolding. it's not even gonna be an angry scolding, which is even worse.

when he takes you down the hall of passenger rooms of the express, you struggle to find the words that would at least lessen the looming feeling of disappointment. "i- um.. uh.." you stammer. he continues to walk and find your room, but you feel his hold tighten. you know he's listening.

"i don't.." when you both enter your room, he places you right on your bed and sits in a nearby chair. he looks at you, which almost makes you break in a cold sweat. "i'm really..." he doesn't rush you to speak, he doesn't cut you off or anything. he waits patiently by your side.

"i'm sorry." you look down at your lap, "i was really excited when you finally let me go on one of these trips with you. and i ruined it. sorry."

his lips pressed in a line before he speaks, "please be more careful next time. i can't guarantee you'll go on your own though, not until you learn to control yourself."

next time? "does this mean i can still go next time?"

"not anytime soon." he sighs, "did you not catch any other word?"

"that's not a no."

"i'm not saying a yes."

[igotanidea]

The fear: Jason Todd x fem!reader part 1

"I'm calling Y/N."

"I don't need her here!"

"We both know you do."

"I don't want her here!"

"Jason." Dick was caught in the middle between getting angry at his brother and being annoyed with his stubornness.

"Do not call her!" he yelled in frustration "I can handle myself. There's no need to."

12 hours earlier

In fact, nothing happened. It was just a regular day, regular patrol, regular criminals. Nothing unusual. Red Hood was running around the crime alley making sure no kids or working girls were harassed by any scumbags. Quite peaceful night to be honest. Until one particular bat decided to come by Red's territory. It was official business. Apparently, Scarecrow escaped from Arkham, again, and was last saw by Tim, crossing the Crime Alley's border. Jason was not happy with Dick appearance (since obviously Tim decided to stay behind, not ready to face his angered resurected brother) and instead of working together to capture Crane before any damage was done they started bantering. Who would have thought, right?

"Cut it off, you two! Something's happening there!" Tim yelled through the comms trying his best to take hold of the situation

"The only thing that is happening is Dick getting his ass handed to him!"

"I'm serious, Red. There's some.... smoke? Oh shit."

"Oh, shit!" Dick repeated in sudden realisation "where is it, Red Robin? Where do we go? What do you see?"

"It's coming from the building on your right side, Nightwing. And it's spreading really fast."

"We're on it." Dick assured "Hood?"

"I am not working with you. Not now, not ever. Get the hell out of..."

"Oh, screw you." Dick hissed and moved to the edge of the rooftop in order to swinging away. Jay could have stayed there for what he cared, but Dick was not going to be passive. Crime Alley or not, there were still people exposed to Crane's fear toxin. "You know, I was really hoping you grew up just a bit."

"Wait. I'll help you. But only because of the kids living in that building. They.... they don't deserve any of that toxin to reach them."

"Good choice, Red."

However, despite boys best efforts they could not fully eliminate the threat and when they started their rescue operation some children were already crying in fears and terrors their poisoned brains produced.

"Janet." Red turned towards one of the working girls, who usually took care of some of the kids "is everyone out?"

"No. We couldn't find Jimmy, he wouldn't come out. Red, what is happening?"

"Where did you last see him? On which floor?"

"Third, but I still don't...."

"Watch them, Wing. I'll get the kid!" Jason took of running. He knew Jimmy Thomas. He was barely 8 years old and has already been through too much trauma. To tell the truth, Jay saw too much of himself from the past in this boy and made it his personal mission to protect him. And now, he was failing at that.

"What are you...?" he was not even listeing to whatever his older brother was saying when he burst to the building, heading towards the third floor in frantic search for the boy.

"Jimmy?! Jimmy where are you?!"

"I'm scared. Please, don't hurt me....." trembling voice came just from around the corner and Jay's heart clenched.

"Fuck! Jimmy, hey, you're good, kiddo, you're good" he grabbed that little broken figure in his arms, cradling him into his chest, covering boy's face so he wouldn;t inhale any more of the gas. "I'll get you to safety, all right? It's gonna be all good, I promise."

"Red? Are you good there? Did you find the boy?" Dick spoke throught the comms

"Yeah, I got him. I'm taking him out right now. Did you call for help?"

"I though you didn't want to work with the bats...."

"MEDICAL help, you idiot. Of course I don't want more of you."

"I don't think any doctor will help with Crane's toxic. You know it just have to wear off."

"Yeah, thanks for the clarification, replacement. And you keep wondering why I don't want you around."

Funny thing about Jason Todd was that while he was always ready to kill and kick asses, full of anger and tended to be harsh, he would NEVER let anyone hurt a kid. That was exactly why his hotheadedness took over when he rushed for the rescue and didn't spend one second wondering how the fear gas will affect him.

And he was about to find out.

edit: part 2 is up!

[hyunverse]

wingman ʚɞ felix

lee felix && reader.

genre — fluff, pining, drabble.

about — you confront felix about his failed dates which you've set up. all hell breaks loose . . . or does it?

note — hi hi! do leave ur feedbacks, i love reading them ₍ᐢᐢ₎ requests open!

felix is tired. the whole day has been nothing but complete shit. as he walks down the hallways of the university, all he could think about is crashing onto his sofa and sleeping until the sky turns black. he’s not even thinking about what to have for lunch, too occupied with the thought of going to sleep.

“idiotic lecturer,” he hisses under his breath, both hands clasped onto the straps of his backpack. he had worked tirelessly on his assignment, only for the pages to be ripped up to pieces by his lecturer.

the hustles and bustles of the building makes felix’ head dizzy. he quietly cusses again upon realizing that he forgot to bring his headphones. being stressed makes you forget a lot of things — felix makes a mental note to calm down.

"lix!" a voice calls out — your sweet, sweet voice.

felix briefly looks back, turning around quickly when he remembers that he's avoiding you. immediately, his steps become faster. you've been blowing up his phone with angry texts from last night, and he knows exactly why.

"lee felix, i know you heard me," you yell, trying your best to catch up with your best friend, "please, stop avoiding me!"

as much as felix wants to curl up and hide from the world, he pauses in his spot at your last words. the blonde simply can't bear to see you plead. a deep breath is taken before he turns around to face you.

"i don't get it, lix. this is the third time i've set you up with my friend and you ghost them."

you're visibly frustrated — he hates that.

"the date was kind of boring y/n," he mutters, looking at everywhere but him, "i don't think we clicked that well."

a sigh slips past your lips, "did you even try?"

"i did!" he defends.

brown eyes glance around the area to ensure nobody's nearby. only artworks stare back at felix.

"i always try to like the people you set me up with," felix adds, "but i just can't. maybe you should stop setting me up with people."

"i just want you to go out and socialize lix. that's all. you barely go out, for god's sake. sometimes it feels like you yell at your computer more than you talk to people."

ouch.

his eyebrows furrow, face screaming disbelief. you've never said anything of the sorts to him, always so caring. so gentle.

"you're not in charge of my social life, y/nnie."

"but i'm your best friend! i just want to know why you keep on ditching my friends."

his lips part to talk, yet nothing but heavy exhales slip out. the tip of his tongue grazes his lower lip to wet them. at the meantime, your eyes bore holes into his pale skin, constantly pushing for him to answer. the pressure and the sounds of the airconditioner compressors intensify, boiling felix' blood.

"why, lix?"

"because i'm in love with you, okay?"

"what?"

the moment felix realizes what he had just said, his breath hitches. suddenly everything is silent — no sounds, just pure fear. fear of you turning away and abandoning him, fear of not being friends anymore, fear of —

"felix?" you mutter again, "do you mean that?"

his rings decorated fingers scratch the back of his neck, the other hand busy checking his pulse.

"lix?"

"i mean it, really."

"oh," is all that you manage to say.

just oh? felix could feel his saliva getting thicker, and that feeling in his stomach sinking even deeper.

"yeah. . ." he mumbles, and for the first time in forever, awkwardness surround the two of you.

"well," you breathe out, "i like you too, actually. . . been setting you up with all these people to try and. . .you know, get over you. felt like you didn't like me and if you had a partner, it wouldn't be as hard to get over you because i'd feel like i have no choice but to do so."

"huh?"

it's your turn to turn embarassed. you could feel your whole body heat up.

"yeah. . ."

"all this while, you've been setting me up because you didn't think you had a chance?" felix utters in disbelief, eyebrows raised, "i've been in love with you since forever."

the words sends you spiralling, cheeks turning red. a whirlpool of emotions overcome you — happiness, disbelief, stupid — name it. you're possibly feeling every emotion available except grief.

"i feel so stupid, lix" you can't help but smile; he thinks it's adorable.

felix bites the inside of his cheeks and the grip he had on his bagpack straps tightens, "you've been setting me up on dates for months now, how about i set you up on one this time? a date with me, at the park tomorrow?"

you swear you've never felt this giddy before.

"of course, lix. i've been waiting for this since forever."

[valenshawke]

I can't say I'm terribly surprised by (some) of the reaction to this episode.

There's a contingent of fans that one (or more) of the characters and ships.

But trying to apply a dichotomy of who is right and who is wrong really fails to get a bunch of points.

Yang, Blake, and Weiss acted according to how they were brought up and socialized. An excellent post by phoenix-fells gets at what Yang is doing. And this post by bumblebyaf gets at how much Ruby has actually been through it.

Ruby likely has some in-universe PTSD at this point because... I mean... look at what she's been through? Ruby has BEEN THROUGH IT and hasn't had much in the way of support.

As a character-building moment, I am all in for it and I was happy that she finally got to be angry and vent her frustrations. Was logical? Of course not. But it was EMOTIONAL. And she's has had to mask her true feelings or just bury them because she's the leader of Team RWBY, she's the one everyone depends on, she's a huntress, she's the one everyone must count on.

If there's any group or individuals in the series that are wrong and have failed all them, especially Ruby, it's the fucking adults. From TaiYang's emotional shutdown (as someone who lost a parent before I was a teenager and saw first hand what that'll do to one's spouse, I can sympathize and understand. Still doesn't make it right, still has a ton of negative consequences), to Ozpin making her the leader despite being 15 while Weiss, Blake, and Yang are 17, to Ironwood's general misguided evil-for-the-greater-good strategy of killing anyone/letting everyone else die to save his piece of the world, to the other older Hunters and Huntresses just treating them as equals and not realizing they might be licensed but they still some maturity and guidance and support. Ruby, sometimes, got that from Qrow. Sometimes. Most of the time, she's had no one to vent to, no one to really show vulnerability to, no time to be vulnerable (even by herself).

"But Val," you say, "she had that opportunity after the fall of Beacon and immediately formed a new team with Jaune, Ren, and Nora. She's HAD the opportunity to at least take time to herself and mope." Did she? Did she really? Or did she act exactly as what was expected of her by everyone else that was still around? Did she think she probably owed it to her now scattered and broken-up team to try to salvage something? She might have had a choice at the most basic level. But given her personality type, her own beliefs on duty, I don't think she really DID have a choice. And again, she bottled up the grief and sadness, and kept going despite the fall of beacon, the death of Pyrrha, and the first death of Penny from earlier.

Ruby is going to feel guilty and horrible about what she just did. It's going to add to her breakdown. It'll be interesting to see if the writers draw from the Volume 4 (boo-hiss, I know) episode where Yang has to work through her trauma.

Ruby's ascension is going to be the most interesting. What aspects of her will change? What kind of leader will she be going forward? Yeah, I still see this being the case, the show IS called RWBY.

But yikes on the some of the reaction. For all the criticism that Ruby has developed the least by virtue of her role in the story, it was clear that the writer's have been setting up her breakdown and growth and we're finally getting it. After all, if you want to learn, you have to suffer.

[theamityelf]

(Part of Makoto Kamukura AU, building from but not reliant on this post)

Kyoko doesn't believe him.

She doesn't believe him when he smiles, or when he laughs– even though he's practiced both, at length –and she doesn't believe him when he says he wants to spend time with her, next.

In fact, when he says he wants to spend time with her, she always responds, "Do you really?" in a snarky deadpan.

But she wants to spend time with him. However much she grimaces and doubts, he knows that she does want to spend time with him. She really wants to spend time with the original Makoto Naegi, but failing that, she does feel sentimentally about her alone time with...whatever is left. He knows it.

Even though she doesn't talk to him the way she would apparently talk to Makoto Naegi, with lengthy explanations and outpourings of her thoughts, so he can't get by just listening. They walk in silence a lot of the time, with sparse dialogue that feels like he's being interviewed. The others don't make him talk as much as she does. Their classmates don't, and the other Kamukuras don't.

He tries to be what she needs. She needs to be convinced, like the others are convinced, but she is the Ultimate Detective. It's harder for her. It's his responsibility to help her. It's his responsibility to overcome her talent.

(He tries to think of it the way they do: That he is Makoto and she is his friend. It would be bad if he thought of it the way Mahiru does: As a noble chore he undertakes out of respect for the one who gave him this body. As if he were maintaining a zoo that Makoto Naegi left for him. He doesn't feel that way. He doesn't feel burdened. He wants to be there for them because he wants to be there for everyone, and he's the only one who can be Makoto Naegi for them.)

So, he does his best to mean it. He tries to feel the joy he smiles with and the humor he laughs with. He tries to feel affinities and wants.

He can't find those feelings much. They come sometimes, when Sayaka hugs him or Taka claps him on the back. Because they mean it. They believe him. Accept him. He's happy to make them happy. He smiles, and it's real.

It's hard to feel happy with Kyoko. And the more he tries, the more she seems to see the inner machinery of how his mind works, and so the less she accepts him, and the harder it is to mean his smiles.

He opts for honesty. He knows she likes honesty.

"I'm trying to feel what I'm supposed to. But it's hard. I'm sorry."

Her cold expression softens slightly. "Do you feel anything else?"

"I..." He performs introspection. "I think so, but it's not useful. It doesn't help me be who I'm supposed to be."

"What do you feel?"

Honesty. "I feel...frustrated." He doesn't like that. Frustration is an angry feeling, and there are no pictures of Makoto Naegi looking angry. There are pictures where his brow is furrowed in concentration. Maybe he should say he feels very focused, instead. No. Honesty. Frustration is the feeling he has.

It's not supposed to be. The first think he feels about Kyoko shouldn't be frustration.

But Kyoko accepts the answer. She doesn't look upset. "Who are you frustrated with?"

"Myself. I'm supposed to be able to help all of you, but I'm having difficulty. I'm not supposed to have difficulty." He's gotten used to talking. It's like she's been training him for this moment.

"Hmm."

"What is it?" Did he answer wrong?

"I wonder if you're sure that's the true answer, and not just the 'correct' answer."

He understands what she's implying. He performs introspection. He realizes that she's right; it isn't really himself that he's frustrated with. But that's even more wrong. It isn't what he's supposed to feel. It's not right.

"Well?" she says.

Honesty. "I'm frustrated with you," he admits very quietly. "That you won't let me make you feel better. The others accept me, and it makes them happier."

Kyoko is just listening, her expression neutral and...receptive. It seems like honesty was the right choice. "Go on."

What else is true? "I...It feels like you're the only one who won't just let me be what you want or expect me to be. And that frustrates me, because...I don't know how to be anything else. I fit the shape of my container; I'm not made to have a shape of my own, and it's frustrating that you're making me try. I wish you would just tell me what you want me to be. Who would make you happiest?"

She takes a step closer. She reaches up and straightens his hoodie strings. "What I don't accept," she says, "is a version of Makoto who exists to please everyone else. The Makoto who never got frustrated with his friends isn't real and never was. But I think you're finding your way toward what is."

He...So, frustration was correct?

Kyoko's hands are on his shoulders, and she's looking him in the eye. Most of the others don't like his eyes. They haven't said it, but he can tell. He's considered wearing colored contact lenses around them, but he hasn't found the right shade yet.

She furrows her brow, but she doesn't look upset. After another second, she steps away and resumes their walk.

But not before remarking, "Everyone smiles for pictures."

[lollieskk]

Angry love confession

"I don't get you Kacchan!" Izuku screams, frustration bubblig up inside of him. "God! I mean, y-you do these things. You scream at people when they talk badly about me, you punched Shindo when he tried to kiss me!"

Izuku turns around, facing Kacchan. He was standing by the doorway into Izuku's apartment still. The both of them were still a bit drunk probably but the greenette was sobering up very quickly. Kacchan looked shocked, mouth a bit agape.

"A-and then you talk to me like you hate me still! You ignore me for days on end. And then you hate people when you do the same to me!" The door was still wide open behind Kacchan, his neighbors could probably hear every single word.

"Say something!" Izuku finally screamed when his childhood friend didn't answer.

His and Kacchan's relationship has always been a disaster, ever since they were 3 their life's have been entangled. For better or for worse they have always been in each other's life's. Katsuki is the only person in Izuku's life who has ever pulled his strings like this- who has ever made him this mad- even so, he's the only one who has made him feel an overwhelming amount of happiness and bliss. No one could make Izuku sadder than Kacchan, but no one could lift Izuku as high.

"Look Deku, I just don' like when people talks shit 'bout ya," He sighed, stepping into the apartment more, closing the door behind him.

"No, don't do that! Don't undermine it, people don't just punch others for no reason!" He was breathing hard now, heaving even.

"He was forcing himself onto you, I just-"

"No he didn't!" Izuku interrupted. "I actually initiated the kiss Kacchan!"

"Fine, Deku! 'M sorry then, fuck!" The blond yelled, undoubtedly frustrated. "Can we just go to sleep? 'M tired 'n' to drunk for this shit". Kacchan took off his jacket and shoes, slumping in on himself and walking towards Izuku's bathroom.

The blond lived further away, train had stopped for the night, and was to drunk to drive, so Izuku -the dumbass he is- offered his sofa for the night.

"No! I wanna talk about this now!" The blond let out a loud groan, back toward Izuku now.

"Deku, seriously."

"I've been trying to be understanding, I have tried to see things your way, I have, really. But fuck I'm tired Kacchan, I-I can't do this anymore," Izuku's throat was closing up, like a big tennis ball stuck in his throat he can't swallow.

Kacchan turned abound, he looked shocked, afraid maybe but honestly Izuku was too tired to even try and confirm or deny.

"I'm done Kacchan, please," Izuku sighed, shoulders slumping.

Izuku tried walking by Kacchan and into his room, his plan was to probably just sleep for 12 hours, wake up and hope for Kacchan to leave on his own. And then after that, keep laying in bed until he felt like his bladders about to burst.

"Deku-" Katsuki grabbed onto his arm, more gently than expected. Izuku could easily rip his arm away but the stupid, delusional part of him didn't want to. If this was going to be the last time Kacchan's ever going to talk to him then Izuku would drag it out as long as he could.

"Look I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry. I'll stop, just don't- don't-"

"Don't what Kacchan? Stop talking to someone who gets set of the second someone talks to me?" He didn't even have the energy anymore to yell at his friend ex friend.

"I'll stop, okay? Just don't leave."

"Why?" Kacchan's mouth opened and closed the second after. "Why Kacchan, why are we even friends? You don't even like me!"

"Yes we are!"

"Well you sure as fuck don't act like it Kacchan!" Seems like his energy was building up again.

"I'm not good at expressing my fuckin' feelings Deku! You know that!"

"Yes Kacchan, I know. But I can't be friends with someone who punches someone and then can't tell me why!"

Silence spread through the apartment, defending.

"Why Kacchan!" Izuku was screaming at the top of his lungs. He hadn't ever screamed like this before in this life he thinks. "Why!"

"Wh-"

"Beacuse I'm in love with you!"

[hisonlykiwi]

falling apart

your relationship with nanami had felt rocky these past few weeks.

wc: 950 (really short but damn did I cry a little writing this)

warnings: none, just nanami being kind of mean.

a/n: please let me know you think in the comments!! <3

-----------------------------------------------------------

You sat on the opposite side of the couch, across from Nanami. He hadn’t said a word to you since he came home late from work, matter of fact, maybe a few days since he last spoke to you. It’s been like this for weeks now, Nanami constantly ignoring you. He has been so angry lately, you tried to not let it get to you but you’ve been dating nearly three years now, something was up. 

You glance over at his direction, he’s reading a book, you know you shouldn’t bother him but the itch of wanting to ask him what’s wrong gets stronger with every passing day. After a few moments, you build up the courage to say “Nanami?” in a gentle voice, careful not to be too loud and startle him.

“What is it?” He signed, putting his book down and looking over in your direction with an annoyed look in his face. You gulped down the lump forming in your throat, “Is everything okay?” You asked, looking over at him. 

Having his eyes on you, finally, it’s felt like weeks since he even bothered to look at you. “Everything is fine.” He replied but there was something off in the way he said it, something betraying the lie that came out of his mouth. 

You looked away, unsure of what to say next, he already seems frustrated at you but you don’t understand why and it’s making you angry that he is acting like this. “Did I do something?” You ask, unable to look in his general direction. It was quiet for a few moments “...No.” His tone became agitated and thick with frustration, “Why does it have to take for something to be wrong for you to ask how I'm doing?" You look over at him with confusion in your features. The confused look on your face seemed to set him off further, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, clearly confused, you always check up on him, make sure he is okay, you don’t know where this frustration is coming from. His voice interrupts your thoughts "I mean, you only ever seem to ask me how I'm doing when there are clear signs of something going on. Why can't you just ask how I'm doing like a normal person? Why wait until everything falls apart?" 

You get up from the couch in disbelief at his tone and his words, the confusion being laced with anger. Seeming to know the answer already, you dare to ask “What exactly has fallen apart, Nanami?” He scoffed and repeated back the words to you in a mimicking tone. 

“This relationship, what else?! Did you think I didn't know why you were so upset this entire evening?” He got up from the couch and walked towards you with a scowl on his face. Tears brimming in your eyes, “This relationship feels like it's falling apart because you hardly ever acknowledge my existence or hardly ever speak to me, I don’t know how to talk to you without getting mad at me. And now you’re throwing your behavior back in my face saying I don’t care about you?” You flail your arms up in disbelief, letting a tear run down your cheek. 

He clenched his jaw tightly, trying even harder to keep his anger in check. However, he failed. “You have to understand. Do you have any clue how draining and stressful my job is? How exhausting it is, not only on my body but on my mental health? I barely have enough willpower to keep going and when I come home, all I want is some time for myself. But instead, you act like a spoiled child begging for attention!” Unsure of what to say, you take a step back, hugging yourself trying to find some comfort with his voice repeating over and over in your head. 

A few tears involuntarily falling down your cheeks. He saw the tears in your eyes and let the scowl on his face soften only a bit. It had become hard for him to hide the pain and exhaustion in his voice. "It just isn't easy for me, you know? After working a long hard day all I want is some peace and quiet. Yet you pester me for my attention as if I don't have enough to deal with as it is. I'm exhausted and I just want to rest...." You look at the floor with an expressionless face, words failing you. 

How long has he felt this way? Has he always felt like this? Why has he been with you so long then if he had thought you were just some nagging woman begging for an ounce of his attention. You look over at him, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “How about I do you one last favor, Nanami?” You took a deep, shaky breath, “We’re done.” 

He looked down at you, expression unchanged. He didn't look surprised one bit. He remained standing there in silence for a few seconds before responding. "Alright. Fine. Leave. I don’t have time for this." You sucked in a breath, trying to not cry more and further humiliate yourself. You didn’t recognize the man standing in front of you, that job of his had changed him so much over the past three years. Nanami turned back to the couch and sat back down. He picked up his book again, resuming where he left off.

It was like you didn't even exist to him at that point. It was hard to see the man you loved turn into an apathetic shell of who he was.

[soloorganaas]

I'm leaving you a nice ask about Remus because I'm such a good friend: okay, Remadora doesn't happen, and Sirius comes back from the Veil after DH with amnesia. How much amnesia, and how do Remus and Harry deal with it? How does Wolfstar get their happy ending?

i cannot believe how lovely this is 🥺 i think this is one of the nicest things you've ever said to me. I've been mulling over this all morning and i have MANY THOUGHTS

I really like the idea of selective amnesia, but in a really haphazard way, as if part of Sirius is still behind the veil. so maybe he just has a sense of things, but can't remember specifics. someone brings up a name or a place and he knows how he feels, but not what happened. so he knows he loved James in some amorphous sense, but feels agonisingly grief-stricken and guilty when he thinks about him without knowing why.

obviously the most heartbreaking part is having to relive all of this as people explain it to him or he remembers, but especially with Remus. they spent all that time working through the betrayal and trying to understand it and come to terms with it, and they've got to go all through that again - except it's worse, because Sirius doesn't have any context and he's so confused by the mess in his mind. Remus talks through Azkaban with him and Sirius is furious in a way he never was before, because now he's not on the run or trying to save Harry or trapped in Grimmauld Place, all of which I think made him push past the anger because he needed to focus on other things and he needed Remus.

so I think at the start Remus takes him back to his cottage. I reckon Harry would be staying with the Weasleys immediately after the war, but he'd move in with Remus to take care of Sirius. they're obviously just overjoyed and in shock that Sirius is back, and also worried about his health. they're both probably a bit overbearing (mama bear Harry) which starts to get on Sirius's nerves pretty quickly. then I think there would be lots of little moments of grief as they realise these incredibly important things Sirius doesn't remember - maybe the two of them reference something and Sirius has no idea what they're talking about, or maybe it's bigger things like Sirius not understanding the trauma and burden Remus carries from being a werewolf. Sirius picks up on this and starts to feel really guilty, which makes him even crabbier, and things start to get really difficult.

Sirius and Harry would definitely have an easier time together because Sirius isn't personally angry at him the way he is at Remus, and because he still has the instinct to protect Harry so he really tries to hold back his general frustration and volatility. I reckon after he really gets mad at Remus for Azkaban he moves out and Harry comes with him to live in a new place somewhere. Sirius starts to get better after that, because his life becomes about building something new rather than trying to reclaim the past. especially as Harry is also kinda lost post-DH, so they're just muddling along together, trying new things.

Harry talks about Remus all the time - everything he taught him at school, what he and Sirius did during the war. Sirius starts to ask more questions and remembers more things. and Harry is so forgiving, despite the horrors that he's gone through and the people that failed him, and it starts to rub off on Sirius. so slowly he starts spending time with Remus again - maybe with Harry at the beginning, and then just the two of them talking a lot out. Sirius starts spending the full moons with him and they build up their trust again. and then they just start hanging out, small things like walking around the countryside together or watching a Quidditch match. but also bigger things where they work as a team - maybe supporting Harry in something, or throwing a birthday party for him, or Sirius yelling at the Ministry for harassing Remus, or Remus being there for Sirius when he still has really bad days. and then they start to fall in love again, and even though Sirius can't remember everything from the past it's okay because they love each other and they love Harry and they have a beautiful life together now, so that's enough.

[infinitewarden]

Every day I fight battles for Osiris's honor. Every single time he's a relevant character being his Messy and Brash self people take it personally. Every time I think it'll be different.

Anyways

I really liked Osiris's characterization in Lightfall, it felt more true to how he is as a character than he was in Seraph. However I'm already seeing people being Weird about him. On one hand, I understand he isn't for everyone, not everyone has to like him as he's a very difficult man (which is exactly why I like him.) However there's a difference between just... Disliking a character and egregiously misreading and misinterpreting one.

Two major points I've seen talked about already, ad infinitum, that I feel I have to give you a better perspective of: the urgency of which he acts, and his unhealthy training techniques. (And to a lesser point the claim that he's been over exaggerated which spoilers: he's always been like this.)

His urgency

(or as so many of you claim, that he's yelling at us the entire time.)

I feel like someone having to walk a baby through how to use building blocks it's THIS dire.

THE THEME OF LIGHTFALL IS GRIEF. It's grief and finding a way to accept that grief, not push it down or block it, not fight it every step of the way, but rather let it flow through you and allow it.

Osiris's arc throughout Lightfall is grappling with this: he's not had the TIME to process his grief, both over Sagira and over the loss of his Light. He feels inadequate because there's never been a time where he hasn't been able to act himself.

Osiris outright states in the campaign that he always used his grief as something to push him forward, as a means to fix it, like he did with Saint. But he can't do that now and it frustrates him. He pushes us because it's a reflection of himself, he's beyond frustrated with the fact that he can't do this himself, that he has to rely upon others when he's been self reliant for hundreds of years.

Not only that but he's ALWAYS been a very no-nonsense kind of guy, it used to be that he had Sagira to balance out his social awkwardness, but since she isn't here to often speak For him he's been struggling to interact with others. Sagira acted as a median, now that she's gone he's had to go it alone, you can't blame him for his bluntness.

Now... the yelling scene... I don't know why but everyone seems to be taking this one really really personally despite that fact it's painstakingly clear he's yelling because he's angry with HIMSELF. You're all so focused on the fact he yelled — which, I feel I need to remind you he's in grief and he's going through a very hard change, he's always been calm so seeing him like this really puts into perspective how much he's hurting. No one is talking about his apology afterwards.

He recognizes that he lashed out incorrectly, (and imo he's ALLOWED to after all he's gone through. god forbid grief be expressed in any capacity other than quiet depression.) And then he apologizes. Because that's what he does. He recognizes a misstep and apologizes. This is how he's always been.

Training

And when he's training us, telling us to push beyond our limits, this is a reflection of himself again. This is how he trained. We know this because this is how the Crucible became what it is now.

But I will also take good ideas where I can get them. And Osiris's belief that Guardian minds and bodies can be sharpened as one sharpens a sword is a damn good idea. You've seen the results in the Crucible. Do I really have to say any more?

The Conqueror 2

Osiris has always pushed himself (and in part I think Felwinter added to this) so it only makes sense he'd try to push us in the same manner. The entire point of this is to show it's wrong and Osiris eventually recognizes it as wrong! His perspective was incorrect! And it changes! Because that's how stories work!

Grief

Grief is not always shown with crying messes, it's not always quiet depression, it can manifest by being incredibly volatile and angry and that's how Osiris handles his grief when he can't just power himself through it anymore.

His arc is coming to terms with the fact he can't just wrestle his grief into submission. His arc is that he doesn't have to deal with his grief alone. His arc is that his mortality and inability to act himself isn't a personal failure. His arc is that he lets it flow rather than try to push it down. Like strand, Osiris's grief is a river and he's been trying to build a dam for the past several months.

Osiris is a nuanced character. He has flaws and he's never hid them. If you played the entire campaign with the audio off and subtitles off and you can't grasp the simple fact Osiris is experiencing incredible amounts of grief and trauma that's on you, my friend.