#Dracula Bad Ending anyone?

[jrueships]

Paul George on Stephen A. Smith’s Kawhi Leonard jab: “I didn’t like that moment… Kawhi wants to play… We exhausted a lot out of Kawhi this season. So at some point your body breaks you down… I didn’t appreciate that moment. I know I laughed because the situation was lighthearted, but deep down it was like you gotta let that go, Stephen A.”

Paul George, knight in shining armor

[chibishortdeath]

So much happening in the world and in my personal life at once and I am completely unable to do anything about any of it. I am completely exhausted. I need to move out, but I can’t.

I’ve been stuck with a headache for a few months.

[laundrybiscuits]

(ETA: now edited and up on AO3)

Look. Eddie knows he can be a little uptight about these things, but. There are rules. If you become a vampire, you don’t need to go full gothic Count Von Dickhead or whatever, but you absolutely cannot just wander around in a puffy vest and light-wash jeans. 

“Why not?” says Steve. He’s leaning back in an armchair, sipping on a bloodbag like it’s a goddamn juicebox. “What, are the vampire police going to arrest me?” 

He pauses. “Wait. There aren’t vampire police, are there?”

“No,” says Eddie. “Probably not. I don’t know. But there are standards which you are refusing to uphold, Steven.”

“Thought you were all about hating conformity, Edward,” Steve says. He’s got an obnoxiously cocky little smirk, the smug undead fucker. 

Eddie grimaces. “Don’t call me that, asswipe. Don’t you feel, like—the call of the night? The siren song of life coursing through fragile human veins? A hunger for destruction that those paltry plastic bags of blood can never truly slake?”

“The bloodbags aren’t so bad,” says Steve, around the straw. “Better than protein shakes.”

“I actually hate you,” Eddie tells him. “Vampirism is wasted on you.”

Steve noisily slurps the last of the blood out of the bottom of the bag. “Come on, you can’t really picture me in some Dracula getup, can you?”

The problem, of course, is that Eddie really, really can. When Robin had read him in on the whole situation, obviously he’d been horrified and concerned—but also, a whole wing of his brain had immediately been cordoned off to work overtime imagining Steve in elaborate Dark Prince regalia, maybe leaning elegantly out of a castle window on the moors, gazing into the foggy dusk. Velvet might’ve been involved.

“...guess not,” says Eddie. It doesn’t sound incredibly convincing to his own ears, but Steve just shrugs and gets up to throw the bloodbag away. 

“There you go, man,” he says, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he passes. “It’s the 80s. Vampires can be whatever we wanna be.”

———

It gets way too easy to forget about Steve’s condition, until Eddie ends up having to haul him out of a bar in Indy before they get banned for life.  

“Simmer down, buddy,” Eddie says, pulling him into the shadow of the van. “Let’s get those fangs packed away before any of the nice villagers wander by with torches and pitchforks.”

“I’m good,” pants Steve. “It’s all good. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

Eddie lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sure, that’s why your eyes are glowing red and you’re, like, fully vamped out. Which, by the way, looks extremely dumb with the whole clean-cut vibe you decided to rock tonight.”

“Fuck you, I look great,” says Steve, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s not wrong, it’s just not relevant to how he also looks extremely dumb like this, wearing a pristine henley with fangs hanging out in the parking lot for anyone to see.

“So what the hell happened in there, man? I was finally starting to get somewhere with Todd, and…” Eddie trails off in dawning realization.

“Holy shit, am I—I’m like your territory, aren’t I? Your stupid vampire brain got all screwy and decided to loop me in with Robin and the kids as part of your freaky human coven.”

“Uh,” says Steve. He looks unhappy in a shifty kind of way. “Something like that, maybe.”

“Wait, so, are Nancy and Jonathan—are you okay with them because they’re both already in the vamp pack? Is Vickie gonna have to be inaugurated before she and Robin can bone down?” Eddie perks up. “Shit, is there a ceremony? We could totally do a ceremony.” He bets he can get the kids to liberate some velour curtains from the drama club. With a few candles, they could get some serious atmosphere going.

“No, shut up, nobody’s doing a damn ceremony,” Steve groans. “Vickie’s fine.” 

“Okay,” says Eddie. “So…you gonna tell me what all that was about, then? Do I have to start running guys past you first so your vamp instincts don’t wig out? Or…hm, maybe Argyle’d be down to mess around sometime.”

Steve lets out an actual snarl with weird animal echoes, then claps a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he says, muffled. The shadows around them seem darker somehow. 

“So I’m just not allowed to get laid ever again,” says Eddie slowly. “For vampire reasons.”

“Do whatever you want, man.” Steve’s still got his hand pressed tight over his mouth. 

“And it’s…just me?” Eddie peers at the tightness around Steve’s eyes; the way he’s scowling stubbornly at his feet. “Huh. Kind of…possessive, Harrington.”

“It’s—weird,” says Steve miserably, dropping his hand at last. “I know it’s fucking weird.”

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs, biting down on the grin he can feel tugging at his mouth. “Lucky for you, I’m into that shit.”

“What?” Steve frowns. “You’re…”

“Always wanted a vampire boyfriend,” says Eddie. “Like, are you kidding? I would’ve sold my fucking soul at 15 for something like that.”

“I’m starting to feel a little objectified here,” says Steve, but he’s smiling, and he reaches out to snag Eddie’s belt loop and tug him stumbling closer. “Just in it for the fangs, huh?”

“Well, you’re kind of a shitty vampire, actually.” Eddie drapes his arms over Steve’s shoulders. “So I guess I must just be in it for you.”

Steve hesitates, searching Eddie’s face. Stray red lights are still sparking like embers in Steve’s irises. “Okay, but—you’re in it? Right?”

“Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Bunnicula. I’ll send the vampire police after you, just watch me,” says Eddie, and kisses him.

[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

[pasdasin]

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: set in a timeline where Logan and Alex Summers have beef since i envision this with the days of future past casting!

ch 1

warnings: mentions of blood, needles, generic doctor stuff, cussing i think, angsty lol

ur at the start -- next

~~~~~

The mansion was always having a frenzy. The rotating door of constant students, the random federal agents that never seem to fully go away, and the weird brotherhood that seemed to always succeed in attacking the school and yet never actually hurt anyone. In other words, this was the most fun you have ever had in centuries. The latest fun you ran into at the school was right now. Watching the students frantically try to finish the book report they were assigned by Storm. Listening to their banter and recollection of the book made you giggle at them. Scott Summers, the most vocal of the group, turned to look at you with a scowl on his face.

“Oh like you know anything about, uh, what are we reading?” He said turning back to his friends.

“Dracula?” You inquired, bringing the drink up to your lips.”I was there when it was written.” You smiled. “But don’t expect my help okay? I promised Storm that I wouldn’t say a word.” You walked out of room with a small smirk on your face, listening to their arguing fade.

Humming to yourself, you observed the students on your walk back to your office. As the school nurse, you knew a lot of the students on a first name basis. Many repeat visitors had graced your office with superficial wounds just so they would see you, and your favorite?

Mr. Logan Howlett, the Wolverine himself. Who was sitting on the bench in your office, awaiting your return. Your eyes locked onto his own, and your smile grew, exposing your fangs slightly.

“Well if it isn’t my most needy patient.”

“Guilty as charged,” he muttered standing to greet you. Pulling you into a hug, he squeezed you tight.

“Another day, another blood test?” You inquired, already knowing the answer. Your oldest friend nodded, removing his jacket so you could start to prep his arm for the extraction. Pulling over a stool, you sat as you wrapped the tourniquet over his bicep. “This might hurt”

“You say that everytime.” Logan responded, rolling his eyes and inhaling as the needle entered his skin. “You should train with us again” It was your turn to roll your eyes at him.

“Now you say that everytime,” he huffed at you using his words against him. “I am not who I was a hundred and what? Fifty years ago? I am a doctor, I help people… I am not a vampire.” You muttered the last bit, removing the needle from his arm and taping down gauze. Even though he didn’t need it, it helped him feel human.

You had met Logan around 1899, in the streets of London on the way to America. You both had caused some havoc and needed to escape the city until you had “died”. You both instantly bonded over your mutations and the fact that you both couldn’t die. You certainly had tried, burned at the stake, drowned, stabbed, shot in the head, even a stake to your heart. Your mutation had cursed to you continuously walk to the ends of the earth every time you needed a new identity, and somehow Logan was the same. If it weren’t for the adamantium poisoning his blood.

Holding the vial up to the light, you closed your eyes and focuses on the blood inside. Listening to the way it flowed and coagulated. Reopening your eyes, you stared at the vial until finally, you unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Closing it up, you placed it inside a centrifuge and wiped your mouth of any remains.

“Its so freaky when you do that.” Your rolled your eyes at him. “Especially when you drink it, why don’t you just take it from the source at that point”

“Firstly, I can taste the bourbon you had at lunch. Don’t you know addiction is bad for you? Secondly, I can tell that the serum has been working. I don’t taste the metal as much anymore. You should only need to get three more shots and finish one more round of antibiotics.” You informed him as he put on his jacket. “I love you Lo, but for the love of god please eat a vegetable, I can feel the fat you’ve been consuming.” He chuckled at your request and patted your head. Placing a small kiss on the top of your head, he left your office and shut the door behind him.

Sighing, you turned to start the centrifuge and rested your head on your hand. You hated how he did that. Joked with you and kissed you like you were his world. You knew you weren’t even close to being the owner of his heart. You had tried once, back before the great depression, but he wasn’t interested. He always had his eye on another.

You closed your eyes and let yourself drift away from your thoughts. Enjoying the silence you rarely got.

[i-cant-sing]

I don’t see any Castlevania asks and that makes me sad as HELL

How would (Y/N) react to Lisa’s burning? How would Dracula’s war court react to her? And Hector and Isaac?

I'm gonna go down the platonic route and make reader Lisa and Dracula's daughter, biological or kidnapped/adopted.

Obviously, any normal human would not react well to anyone being burned at the stake- ALIVE. And maybe when the villagers caught Lisa, they caught you as well and thought you were a witch too. They burned your mother first and just when they had started to burn you, Dracula came and swooped you up and away, along with his now dead wife's remains and while you passed out due to inhaling all the smoke, sustaining some minor burn injuries and well- EXHAUSTION AND TRAUMA, your father returned to slay the entire village and later wreak havoc on all of humanity. Really, a justified reaction from a family man.

Anyways, he returns home with you in his arms and then nurses you back to health all while killing everyone outside. Now, he may still be soft to you but you are absolutely forbidden from leaving the castle. Like you cant even go outside even if Dracula accompanies you. No, he's lost his wife and if youre their bio kid who is more human than vampire unlike your older brother Alucard, then Dracula is way more protective of you. After all, he did see you almost die and really, you remind him far too much of his wife, of her humanity and her kind heart to help others that eventually got her killed.

Initially, right after Lisa's death, Dracula didn't even allow you to even leave your room, too paranoid about some unknown force killing you and him not being able to save you in time. Eventually though, with other vampires and monsters(under his control obv) in the castle, he let you out of your room, but still not out of the castle, and thats when you found out that he had thrown out Alucard and (sort of disowned him??) because your brother was not in favour of Dracula either killing the world or locking you up.

Now, like I said before, Dracula is still soft for you but with Lisa's death he's become a little... emotionally crippled. He has too much pain and hatred inside him, and he's doing his very best that you dont end up on the receiving end of these very negative and very dangerous emotions. However, he sometimes... loses control. When you keep on persisting about how all of this is wrong, about how he shouldnt kill ALL humans, how he shouldnt lock you up or break what remains of this family, he lets his anger out on you. Only a little. He'd yell at you, tell you that you're far too stupid an naive and stubborn to understand what he's doing or why, ask if you're going to side with those murderers that you so desperately want to save over your own family? Are you that blind? He'd drag you back to your room, lock you in there because he wont have you questioning him like he's the bad guy here.

But soon after that, he'd be found sitting in front of one of Lisa's portraits, probably one where she's cradling baby you and he'd start talking to her, trying to explain himself, how he did not mean to blow up at you but you just wouldn't listen to him. The one sided conversation would always end with Dracula feeling guilty and he returns to your room with a heavy heart that just sinks more when he sees you asleep, tear streaks now drying on your cheeks. Sitting on your bed, he'd pet your hair, mumble something about how he loves you and cant afford to risk losing you, smiling softly when you shuffle closer to him.

Since Dracula knows Hector is loyal and sincere to him, he will allow you to have him as your friend. After all, you would need some company in the castle and vampire dad on murder spree is not exactly someone who is ideal for friendship at the moment. So, he permits and even encourages Hector to socialise with you and comfort you. And Hector has a bleeding heart too, so you're in luck because he will happily listen to you express your emotions and provide you with free therapy (he makes dead, one missing limb/eye puppies alive for you🥺) He just wanna protect u too, and while he doesnt agree with you being locked up in the castle, its better than the alternative. Also, has and will fight Isaac 1000% if he talks shit about you because youre human.

As for the court, they know that you are now the only thing dear to Dracula, and while one wouldnt say that you have the vampire king wrapped around your finger, he comes pretty close to it. But its no use really because they cant exactly use you to make Dracula listen to them... or can they?

Considering that you're pretty against the whole "Vampire uprising-kill all humans" plan, they cant persuade you to enslave or kill humans. What they can do is gain Dracula's favour by being... kind to you? Okay take Carmilla for example (because she's the only one I can remember from the court. Her and the brash, red haired vamp?) Now she's smart, she's manipulative and she knows exactly how to use this opportunity. She starts to befriend you by first agreeing that she understands why you're against your father's actions but also tells you that you must understand his decisions from his side. "Your mother was a kind woman, a brilliant doctor and from what I've heard, your father loved her very much. And if you've ever been in love, then you would understand why he's doing all of this." And of course Dracula overhears this because come on, nothing happens in his castle without his knowledge. So yes, he shows slight favouritism towards Carmilla among the court and he may allow her to hang around you a bit (only after Carmilla convinced him that you needed a female friend in your life, and its always better to be in her company than any of those perverted men of his court) but even then, Dracula doesn't completely trust her around you and so he wont allow you two be in contact often.

Dracula would also be way more conscious of your feelings with time, because he will realise eventually that he was far too caught up in his own pain and plan for vengeance that he forgot to see how you were coping with the loss of your mother. If any of the vampires are heard saying something even remotely mean to you, if he even hears Isaac even breathing in disgust at the sight of you because you were part human, they will be swiftly dealt with (girl, he murders them all).

You're his baby, his sweet human kid, his little princess and he wont have anyone or anything taking you away from him. (LET HIM PULL YOU IN HIS LAP AND WRAP HIS CLOAK AROUND YOU AND DRIFT OFF IN HIS ARMS BECAUSE YOU'RE THE ONLY WARMTH LEFT FOR HIS COLD DEAD HEART OMGGGG)

Ah i miss Castlevania asks too, platonic yandere castlevania asks especially. everyone send in ur asks.

(omg what about yandere brother Trevor Belmont?)

[sp1der-wid0w]

⛧°。 ⋆༺living dead girl༻⋆。 °⛧

﹒⌗﹒characters with a vampire s/o﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧

.⋆♱ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐬. ✮: hobie brown, jennifer check, maddy perez, billy loomis, johnny cage

.⋆♱ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. ✮: saw my girl meg, and couldn’t get over miguel and damon soo.. enjoy these small drabbles of my baes meeting their vampire hottie 😘

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟhobie brown ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟhe honestly is ok with the fact that you’re a vampire. he thinks that’s it hardcore and such an anachronist move. whenever you feel a bit thirsty and needs your patch of blood, he’ll simply web you down to the local streets of london, and let you have it at criminals and bad guys. of course, the sex is ten times more intense, with you wanting to bite him, but choosing not to. but he insists, telling you to let your inner rebel out, and let the fangs reign over him. you promised him that you’re the only man that you won’t bite or kill, and you also agreed with him that you want hurt any of his friends (miles, pav, peter b, miguel..) you’re so happy that you’re dating such a supercool and awesome spiderman, and he’s so against the rules. and he’s so happy that he’s dating such a hot ass vampire chick, that eats whoever she wants, and doesn’t care of what comes in her way. you two are such a perfect match <3.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟjennifer check ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟjennifer thinks you’re hot. she thinks that she found her perfect match, with her being a succubus, and she wants you to and join her on her killing spree sometimes. it’s so fun seeing two girlfriends kill unsuspecting boys using their fangs and super strength. she’ll take you back to her place, whenever you both are done, and things escalate from there. even if you can do this, she’ll always try and protect you from any harm that comes your way. she already lost herself, she doesn’t want to love another thing that she loves in her life. arguments over who’s the better supernatural tend to happen, and it often ends with one of you sleeping on the couch, but she’s quick to make amends and ask for cuddles. you both go for midnight flys, chasing after each other in the clouds, and playing hide and seek. you also talk about your traumas on how you died, and then reassure each other that you’re loved and here for one another, and jennifer promises you that she’ll never leave you.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟmaddy perez ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟmaddy is lowkey terrified of you, but she still tries to manage with you anyways. move over nate, you’re the person that’s worth defending from anybody. but you’re not letting her be your pushover, you vowed to protect maddy from any toxic ex boyfriends, back stabbing best friends, harsh and strict mothers, and just anyone that tries to do her the wrong way. even thought dating a vampire has its advantages, you two do get into arguments. she doesn’t want you coming to parties, because she’s scared that you might go after her friends, especially you trying to go after cassie or rue. and, she’s also afraid for your wellbeing if you get a hangover. she believe the whole vampire myth of sunlight, and tries to keep you away from any alcohol as possible. you also get mad her, telling her that she’s not your mom, and often leave her place in the middle of the night. but you came crawling back and beg for her forgiveness. she forgives you<3

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟbilly loomis ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟhe thinks you’re a dream come true. he was quick to believe the whole vampire myths about sunlight, garlic, and steaks and stuff. but you just tell him that you’re not dracula or from twilight, and tell him the realities of being a vampire. billy is so sweet with you, whenever you’re feeling hungry, he goes out as ghostface and lures them to you, basically bringing you a midnight snack <33 you both go out your way to make anyone deadmeat, if they try and talk bad about each of you. he tells stu about you, and stu is always making a vampire type of pun, even in front of people, almost blowing your cover. billy had to smack him a few times for that. billy’s blood kink with you, goes a thousand times higher up in bed. always telling you to dig your fangs deeper, so deep.. so deep that it’ll cause some blood. he knows you like blood. he’ll go out his way to gut anyone like a fish for you, just so you can have blood.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟjohnny cage ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟjohnny cage lives in a world, where can throw hands with the ruler of the sun, and flirt with the beautiful yet equally terrifying nitara. if you not being a vampire isn’t any different, then he’s not sure what else is. he’s your golden retriever type of boyfriend, always wanting your attention, even when you’re out for a snack. you just deadass look at this man, trying to flex his muscles and wiggle his eyebrows at you, when your face is literally covered in an innocent person’s blood. he’s also being so affectionate with you, suffocating you with hugs and kisses, posting you on his social media the minute you breathe, and always talking about you to his friends. sure, he may be suffocating and annoying, but deep down you love your movie star boyfriend. but of course, you wear the pants in this relationship. the second he steps out of line, you bring the fangs and scary eyes out, and he backs up and apologizes immediately.

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 15/March/2024

Internet has been atrocious again this week, so I’m giving this update to Nai via SD card for her to post up using her internet!

With the internet being so bad, I haven’t been able to do my usual social media days with asks on Tumblr, so Nai will be posting up some things on there so you guys have some fun posts to see until I can get online.

I have given her the Patreon scenarios and exclusive content though so that will go up as normal. Those posts I could write on Word and send to her on SD to schedule for me. I can’t wait for you to read the next scenario going up. It involves Adam/Ava and a plastic Dracula toy…it had me chuckling the whole time, hehe! :D

But not being able to do full social media days did mean I got back to writing quicker, and I was on a serious roll! I slammed a bunch of scenes out this week that I love, and it felt seriously good to tick off so many scenes from my list!

I really think breaking the plan down into scenes rather than chapters has helped immensely. I seriously recommend it to anyone who struggles to look at their chapter plans and gets overwhelmed!

It definitely helps the most when there’s so many variations to do of one scene. So far, apart from the very opening scene, all the scenes after have had to have completely different versions of them (so one scene written in three different ways, for example) or need variations in to account for choices (such as if you chose Rebecca or Adam/Ava to be your handler).

But, something I did forget in doing it all in scenes, is I still need to put in where the chapters are, lol!

So yeah, I need to go back through what I’ve done and decide where’s a good place to end Chapter One, as I’ll only be releasing that chapter in the first demo so need to focus on that chapter for that demo release (hopefully some time in later April!).

Hope you all have the most fabulous weekend! We’ll be offline as usual, so I’ll update you all again next week! 

[immediatebreakfast]

Well, it can be said that this is the entry where Seward turns towards his worst personal outlooks, and behaviors stemmed from his own insecurity towards his mental health. It's not like Seward is power tripping over Renfield because let's be honest the horrible treatment would look far worse, but Jack seems to be trying to "punish" the old man because of his comments yesterday.

Renfield's rants about the master, about not seeing Seward as a superior anymore, his rejection of any kind of animal bribe, made something clash with Seward's image of him, in a very bad way. This time, with the arrival of Dracula, Jack noticed something that was never in his radar thanks to his own personal ableist biases, he actually doesn't know Renfield at all.

Renfield made it unintentionally very clear to Jack how all of the words, and actions he made to play in Jack's fuelled medical non ethical relationship between doctor (superior person who has the power) and patient (inherent inferior person who has no power) could literally be directed towards anyone else who Renfield deems "worthy" enough.

This, from the perspective of someone like Seward whose self image is already holding itself on the very thin thread of at least being "better" than his ableist view of madmen, must be a devastating, and uncomfortable blow to a lot of his biases. So, how does Jack answer? By starting to act on those thoughts that bordeline on "mad" science that at the end of the day is medical malpractice.

[hotvintagepoll]

Welcome to the HOT AND VINTAGE MOVIE STARS poll blog! We are currently processing submissions for the Scrungly Little Guy (gender neutral) contest. The Hot & Vintage Movie Men & Women Tournaments are now wrapped—congrats to Toshiro Mifune and Eartha Kitt! If you are here for the Dracula Daily polls, those will be posted regularly following the progress of the Substack newsletters.

All polls—including ongoing polls, previous rounds, old tournaments, the various shadow brackets, the Dracula Daily polls, and fun mini polls—can be found in the #hotvintagepoll tag.

FAQs:

“Who counts as a scrungly little guy?” I feel like you know a scrungly little guy when you see one. Feel the scrungle within your spirit. Picture them damp.

“What are the scrungly submission rules?” They're all in the link posted above! Here it is again. If I didn't cover something in those rules, send me an ask.

If you’re submitting propaganda for your scrungly little guy, I don’t accept propaganda that’s from beyond the end of 1970. I also don’t accept them performing in TV shows unless it's a cameo appearance where they're clearly playing themselves.

The views expressed in the propaganda are not my own. I don’t submit my own propaganda, and I don’t change what’s submitted beyond fixing obvious spelling mistakes. If you hate a poll bio or a pic, let me know and send me something I can use instead.

I don’t post or boost negative propaganda about any of the hotties. If you really hate that someone is winning, send me positive propaganda for their hot opponent instead. A lot of these hotties were flawed or problematic in some way—or straight up garbage—but for reasons I go into here, I don’t boost anti-propaganda.

If I see repetitive, trolling, and/or bigoted remarks in the comments, I may block you from this bracket. If you want to point out a competitor’s problems in the replies, that’s fine, but if I see consistent bad-faith trolling or targeted harassment of anyone, you will be blocked.

“Tel me again who won the major tournaments?” Eartha Kitt was crowned the hottest Hot & Vintage Movie Woman, and Toshiro Mifune won the Hot & Vintage Movie Man Tournament.

“Tell me more about this shadow realm?” There is too much lore.

“I want to find my favorite hottie from a past tournament!” Try a tag search for them (ie, use a hashtag in my search bar to find every post I’ve tagged them in). If you still haven’t found your hottie, they either did not fit the criteria of being a movie star from 1910-1970 or they did not make it past the prelims.

“My FAQ isn’t on here :(” send me an ask! I love hearing from you guys—just please check these basics first.

Tournament schedule post-hiatus:

Ongoing: Dracula Daily casting polls

Currently accepting submissions: Scrungly Little Guys contest (gender neutral)

After that: Ultimate Hottie Tournament (top brackets of the hot men & hot women competing together)

TBD: Horror Hotties (Frankensteins, Draculas, Brides, etc.)

TBD: Dandy Detectives (Marples, Sherlocks, Nancy Drews, etc.)

fun mini polls that pit sets of characters from the same movie together, like the Philadelphia Story or Seven Brides for Seven Brothers ones (these can be found in the #minis tag)

Thank you for being here! Enjoy the polls.

[pro-memoriia]

Saw that you wanted fluffy requests! Maybe Copia and (gender neutral) reader cuddling and being silly and affectionate? Make it as sappy as you like <3

I did HC's for this. Just to let anyone know, I don't do x reader fics because I struggle with putting a personality on the reader.

Copia X Reader — Fluffy HCs

He has fairly bad anxiety so he prefers to stay in with you instead of go out.

He'll show you his collection of video games and offer to let you play on or ask to play with you.

Will whine and get sassy if you win though because he's a sore loser.

Another thing he likes about staying in is the comfort of wearing what he wants. Like sometimes you'll both just end up in your underwear on his bed.

He's bought you matching pajamas before and wants to wear them he will get sad if you don't.

He does odd shit while you're cuddling. You could be trying to sleep and he's laying on his back, tossing a stuffie up and down and just going "aww :(" when he drops it and then continuing again.

Speaking of cuddling, he cannot sit still. You two are moving positions every three minutes to fit his comfort.

He's a bed hogger. Sprawls himself out all the time. You will barely have room. It's okay though, it's endearing. And he'll let you sleep on top of him.

If you can get around on smaller wheels in any way at all (bike, skateboard, roller skates, etc) he will challenge you to races around the Ministry.

He lets you hold his rats and will show you all the tricks he's taught them.

He has a collection of physical copies of every Dracula movie you could ever think of and he will beg you to watch them with him so he can info dump and stuff.

Speaking of info dumping, he's a history nerd and he'll probably cry happy tears if you listen to him rant.

He never really says it out loud, but he wants you to kiss him pretty much 24/7. All he wants is to feel your soft lips peppering little kisses all over his face and making him giggle. If you do it, he's putty in your hands.

He's very easily flattered. If you tell him something small like his hair looking good, he'll be all bashful and smiley.

He loves pillow talk so much. He loves when you two lay together against each other and tell how much you love one another or tell your life story or even just dumb comments or small talk about the weather. He just really appreciates those little moments.

He often gets insecure about his chub or the size of his belly or thighs and will immediately go to you for comfort. And that's because the way you blow raspberries on his belly or kiss his thighs or pat his bottom all the time gives him a little more confidence because then he knows that those parts of him are loveable.

He knows how you like your coffee/tea. He originally wrote it down in his wallet but then he started buying you your favorite so much that he knew it word for word.

He gives you flowers on the regular and Mountain teases him about being in love whenever he comes to the garden to grab them.

He buys you the most random things at times... When he gets back from his tours, he might have a fake skeleton or a plastic squeaky rat from Halloween or strange souvenirs like bone rings or little animal figures. Sometimes, he just gets excited and wants to show you and sometimes it's because they made him think of you.

He tells you everything all the time. Venting, gossip, deep secrets, etc. It all goes to you because he trusts you more than anyone.

Sometimes you go on double dates with a couple of his ghouls. He gets really awkward and embarrassed about it though.

Sometimes he blurts things out on accident and gets flustered about it. You could be talking about the patterns on a giraffe and he'll randomly tell you how beautiful he thinks you are. He doesn't really like that he does it, but the words land on the tip of his tongue because they overflow his brain.

He's so super lovesick for you. An utter fool. He stares at you dreamily during work sometimes, or when you're just going about your daily life.

He tries to write you sweet notes and letters but he always gets frustrated because he doesn't think he sounds poetic enough. You find them anyways though, they're sweet.

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from @vampirexsoldier​ and based on an idea I got watching the new Guardians of the Galaxy movie. Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 3412 Warnings: vampire!Reader, blood, feeding, burns/fire

“That’s a terrible idea! What if she finds out?” Peter Quill bellowed with utter outrage in his voice.

Gamora’s proposal wasn’t entirely bad. The question as to How do you keep a dangerous vampire—you—who could lash out and kill everyone in seconds in check? had hung in the air unanswered until Gamora chuckled and spoke up. “You make her fall in love, how else?”

And because it was rather unlikely anyone was up for the task or even emotionally available for that matter, everyone’s eyes promptly travelled over to Mantis. She shrugged with her eyes widened.

“Okay, even if that works… who do you want to make her fall in love with? I don’t volunteer, I don’t wanna end up as Dracula’s supper!”

“Who’s Dracula?” Drax asked. Quill rolled his eyes.

Surprisingly though, it was Thor who spoke up next, a sly grin playing on his lips. “My brother.”

“Your brother is Dracula?”

“What? No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Loki? You wanna make her fall in love with the guy who almost took over Earth a few years ago? That’s not a recipe for chaos, that’s a recipe for disaster,” Quill said.

“Loki’s changed since then, Quill. And I think… I think having someone infatuated with him will do him good. Besides, I think she is his type for him to help keep up the act. She’s quite… mean.”

Gamora chuckled once more. “He won’t like that if he finds out though.”

“Are you serious? You’re seriously gonna do this?” Quill threw his hands.

“I am Groot!”

Thor’s eyes widened. “He’s what?”

“Right behind you, you oaf.” Loki’s voice slid through the air like one of his daggers and instantly, the room fell silent. Even Nebula who had elected not to partake in the conversation at all looked up to see what would happen next.

“Loki!” Thor called out innocently, turning on his heel to face him. Everyone in the room could tell that Loki’s hand must have been itching to wipe that shit-eating grin from Thor’s face.

“You heard everything we said, didn’t you?” the God of Thunder asked then.

“That I did.” He was calm. Perhaps a little too calm, even.

“So… so what do you think?”

“I think you’ve lost your mind but that’s not new.”

“Loki, please. If… I mean, if she tries anything, we’ll know you’re strong enough to defend yourself.”

“She’s like a ticking time bomb and until we can rule out she doesn’t work with the enemy, we have to… keep her at bay,” Gamora added matter-of-factly.

“I agree with my sister. She’s dangerous.”

Loki let his gaze wander over the others. Then, he sighed. “Fine. But you…” He pointed at Mantis who flinched in response. “…You lift that magic as soon as we’re off this ship.”

Thor patted his brother on the shoulder when she started nodding frantically.

“You’re staring, Trickster.” Your feet were crossed and propped up on the dashboard, careful not to press any buttons and turn off autopilot or something silly like that. You’d been engrossed in a journal Quill and Nebula had picked up from that abandoned spaceship. “Still don’t trust me?”

Technically, they didn’t want you to read it. They didn’t trust you. You couldn’t blame them really. While none of their suspicions about you were true, for you certainly wouldn’t work for someone who called himself Kang, they were right to fear you at least.

People had messed with you too much in the past. It had changed you—you, and your morals. Taking a life here and there and draining someone of their blood to guarantee your own survival might not have been noble but sometimes necessary. Besides, it was hilarious to watch people cower before you.

Looking up from the journal, you met Loki’s blue gaze observing you curiously, and tilted your head.

“Trust is for dogs.”

You’d rather not go into the story of how you ended up on the Guardians of the Galaxy’s spaceship in the first place but they were a means to an end. You needed to get far away from those disgusting demon poachers who had wanted to harvest your fangs as if you were a chicken laying eggs.

In return, you’d offered them your help with whatever it was they were planning on doing against Kang. Loki was by far the one who trusted you the least. It was funny, really. He was outrageously hot and his smile, albeit sarcastic and snarky most of the time, had—metaphorically speaking—pierced your heart with an arrow.

Falling in love sounded so ridiculous you hadn’t properly considered it yet. You were a vampire for heaven’s sake. You didn’t fall in love. If anything, you experienced physical attraction and that all too familiar throbbing right between your legs when you imagined your fangs buried in Loki’s neck all the while his cock was buried in you. You’d simply ignore how your heart jumped every time he entered the room.

Loki was walking on very thin ice today. He had recently, so you’d learned, been affiliated with some sort of time police. In some universes… multiverses (to be quite frank you still couldn’t exactly wrap your head around it all) it was Kang who was in charge of this so-called TVA, in others, they were doing everything they could to stop him.

It was a fight you were not about to get involved in any more than necessary but you had to admit, you more than just liked the formal attire he wore whenever he went back there with the help of these silly little time doors.

You’d been dancing around each other for weeks at this point and while the others steered clear of you as best as they could, Loki seemed to somehow always be around you, watching you—probably expecting that as soon as he turned his back on you, you’d go running to Kang or something like that. That, or you’d jump on his back and rip out his throat with your fangs because food was a rarity in the middle of space.

“I can’t say I’m a huge fan of dogs—being a blood-sucking creature of the night and all.”

You had indeed not fed in a while and it was starting to give you quite vivid and filthy daydreams with Loki. The number of positions you had already imagined while you were feeding on him would have had Aphrodite herself blush.

“Right. We’ll be landing on a planet called Solaris tomorrow. Mobius suspects a Kang Variant has taken precedence there.”

“You almost say that like you think I care.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Your skills are amenable. We’ll need you in this fight.”

“Really? You expect me to focus on a fight when you’ll be wearing that? All I can think about is how much I want to grab you by that tie, pull you down to me and kiss you senseless until you beg me to… well.” You winked at him.

Loki swallowed thickly. Taken aback, perhaps, that you so brazenly flirted with him or simply wary of the fact it was a vampire of all beings who was attempting to seduce him.

He opened his mouth but then closed it again without having said anything, making you chuckle triumphantly. “You’re cute when you don’t know what to say. I bet that doesn’t happen a lot.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I mean it, Loki. You’re one attractive god. If I was religious, I’d worship you over Thor anytime.”

The smile he gave you in response didn’t quite reach his eyes. It wasn’t full of suspicion as usual but it wasn’t sarcastic or mischievous either. In fact… you figured it was actually a little sad. Why you practically admitting to him that you’d fall to your knees for him elicited that kind of emotion from him though, you weren’t quite sure.

Perhaps it was for the best. As long as you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that your heart demanded more from Loki than just his blood and his body yourself, focusing on lust and physical desire was your best bet.

With one final smirk, you returned to reading the journal. Loki made it a point not to leave the room and to instead watch you like a hawk.

And here you were now, part of a fight you had wanted to stay away from. But a promise was a promise and you had honour—you’d keep your word, if anything because that meant you got to spend more time with Loki.

Solaris was lovely. Lovelier than Earth in many aspects but then again, food was scarce and most beings on his planet were, well… inedible. It left you a little hungrier than you would have liked given the current circumstances. Plus, Loki’s throat began to look more and more delicious with every passing second.

Loki’s mysterious TVA friend had been right though. Kang—or at least, one of his many Variants—was here. He was every last bit as annoying as your involuntary travel companions had made him out to be, obsessed with ruling the multiverse and time and bla bla bla. You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes as he made you all listen to his grand plan, no doubt an entertaining stalling method for him before he’d strike. You understood him in that regard, at least. Playing with your prey before the killing blow was fun. As a vampire, you’d know.

“I knew you’d come,” Kang finally concluded after a while. “Of course, I wasn’t sure which Variants of you I’d encounter but I must admit the selection is quite disappointing.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you know what, you’re disappointing too,” Quill snapped with his gun pointed at Kang.

“I’m sure—because I’m not the Kang you were hoping to put an end to. You see, I’m always a step ahead. All of my Variants are, in fact. I volunteered to take care of you.”

“Can we kill him now?” Drax uttered. His comment earned him an eye roll from both Nebula and Gamora, followed by an angry “I am Groot”—whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

“Let’s get this over with,” Rocket added.

“I agree. It might be best to do it quickly and painlessly.” Then, much to your surprise, Kang’s cold gaze fell on you.

“You’re the vampire. I’ve heard of you. It’s quite hilarious how you end up with the infamous God of Mischief in almost every universe.” What the actual fuck. “Or have you chosen Thor instead here?”

You blinked, too stunned to speak for a second. Thor wasn’t your type at all, you had made that pretty clear to Loki, and only recently too.

“You could truly be so much more though. Why would you want to waste away with these self-proclaimed gods? I can assure you that joining me would give your eternal life a much greater purpose.”

“Yeah, go ahead and provoke her,” Quill interrupted, “She’ll rip your throat out before you can say ‘time’!”

“I’d rather gauge my own eyes out,” you added, for once agreeing with the snarky Star Lord.

“Ah, I see… you like him. Well, it wouldn’t truly be a loss, you see. I can always get a new Loki for you. One that is more… compliant.”

“Go to hell.”

“Shame. I’ll have to kill you too then. Let me start with you, actually. It will make this unpleasant fight so much less messy.”

Time to bare your fangs. You could practically feel your eyes turning red, those pointy teeth forcing their way out of your gums to become a deadly weapon. You could feel Loki’s eyes on you when it happened. Curiosity mixed with fascination and vigilance made for a delicious combination. But there was no time to swoon over him now. Not when you began to realise what Kang—calm and irksomely collected—was doing.

Fiddling with the time manipulation device on his wrist, the noise it caused was deafening. It was like the sky above you was screaming in agony as the stars moved and the moon retreated. He was speeding up time, speeding up the night… and you were out in the open, with nowhere to retreat and escape from the deadly sunrays about to dig their hot claws into your flesh.

You shrieked when the first beam hit your skin. Panic set in quickly the very moment you smelled the smoke coming from your own body, the excruciating pain that felt like falling headfirst into an active volcano.

All hell broke loose around you with both the Guardians and the two Asgardian gods breaking into a fight all the while you frantically, desperately looked around for cover, somewhere to hide. You had approximately thirty more seconds before you’d burst up in flames like a phoenix and turn to ashes—only that unlike a phoenix, you wouldn’t be reborn.

“Loki, get her out of here!” you heard Thor roar.

There. A tent. You doubted the thin ceiling made entirely of fabric would protect you for long but it would have to do. So you ran, faster than any human eye would be able to witness, abandoning the group you had promised to help.

Instead, you assessed the damage done. Grunting in pain, you eyed the burns on every inch of exposed skin. Your body was fighting it, pumping both blood and adrenaline through your system determinedly to heal you—but with the lack of nutrition lately, you soon realised that you were too weak. And then, everything around went black and someone caught you in their arms.

When you came to, you tasted blood.

“Drink. Don’t stop.” Loki. Demanding and stern, pressing his wrist against your lips. Your eyes—undoubtedly red—flattered open, a surprised sound escaping your throat. Loki’s blood tasted heavenly. Warm and sweet and salty all at the same time, it felt like you were feasting on freshly harvested honey.

Your body welcomed the feeding with open arms, demanding more and more as it slowly regained the strength it needed to properly start the healing process of your skin. You could feel it tingle and itch with every drop of blood you swallowed until you were strong enough to wrap your hands around Loki’s lower arm to pull him even closer to your face.

He was behind you, you only realised then. Your head was resting on his lap as he was kneeling on the floor, his thighs supporting your head. Fuck, you didn’t want this moment to end, ever, and for some reason, this felt even more intimate than the idea of simply fucking him while your fangs were buried deep in his flesh.

He’s saving your life, a know-it-all voice in your head whispered. That’s why.

Eventually, Loki pulled his wrist away. You licked your lips, slowly becoming more aware of your surroundings. You were back on the spaceship and the atmosphere was, quite frankly, grim.

“What happened?” you croaked, feeling several pairs of eyes on you. “Did somebody die?”

“Kang’s gone. Dead, we killed him,” Quill explained briefly and to the point.

He didn’t need to elaborate. It was a bittersweet victory—after all, there were hundreds of more dangerous Kang Variants out there and it seemed as if this one had merely served as a distraction from the real deal. What was it he had said? Somehow, you ended up with Loki in every universe? What did that even mean? In what way?

“Great. I’m going to take a shower then,” you announced. With as much grace and pride as you could muster after almost dying before all of their eyes, you climbed to your feet and strutted away, turning around the corner to get to one of the small bathroom units that came with surprisingly modern showers.

“Why did you do it?” you heard Thor ask Loki quietly once you were out of sight. You could have been mistaken but it almost seemed like there was a slight smirk in his voice. You lifted your head and froze, tuning in on the conversation. In any case, you’d like to know the answer to that question as well, after all, Loki had always been the one person on his damn spaceship trusting you the least. You surely were hoping you had now proved to him that you did not, in fact, work with Kang—in any universe for that matter.

“She was dying, Thor, and quite frankly, none of you even considered making a move and offering her blood.”

“That can’t be the only reason. Has it got something to do with what Mantis did to her? Did she… did she grow on you a little?”

“But…” Mantis started at that very moment. She was instantly cut off by Loki’s scoff.

“You keep forgetting the very people we both grew up with consider my true nature a monster too.”

“What, so you did it out of solidarity among monsters?” Quill intervened. You rolled your eyes. But what was that Thor had said? What Mantis had done to you? What did she do to you?

“But I…” Mantis started once more. Again, her words fell on deaf ears.

“You’d do well to watch your tongue, Star Lord.”

“Hey!” Mantis finally screeched. Silence. Now they were listening to her. “I haven’t made her fall in love with Loki yet! I couldn’t do it while she was awake and I’ve never seen her sleep before!”

Made her fall in love with Loki. Her words rang in your ear, floating around and repeating themselves over and over like a poltergeist in your head. Made her fall in love with Loki. They had been planning on doing that? Why? To keep you at bay, to keep you controlled? Love was a powerful instrument and that… that was foul. It was vile and outrageous, it was…

“What… what do you mean by you haven’t done it yet?” you heard Loki ask. So he’d been in on it as well.

You growled, turning on your heel to get rid of your leather trousers which were ruined now due to the sun scourging your skin.

“If you didn’t manipulate her emotions yet, then why is she constantly…”

Unfortunately, you were still a little too dizzy to do so. You took the shower curtain down with you as you slipped on the wet tiles, making them all aware of your presence again and unfortunately ending their conversation in the process.

But you were still able to figure out the rest of Loki’s unfinished sentence. He was wondering. Realising, even, perhaps, that all those things you had told him… that you found him attractive, cute, that you wanted to do such deliciously filthy things with him… you had meant them.

And perhaps—just perhaps—that was a little too much for him to bear. You could only imagine the confused looks on the others’ faces.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you finally heard him say. You didn’t even notice you were still cowering on the bathroom floor, leaning against the wall. When Loki entered the bathroom, he helped you up without a moment of hesitation, ignoring your weak protest as he did.

But then, the very second your eyes met, he knew. “You heard it.”

“Every damn word. You’re all insane if you thought that would work.”

“They thought it did. I thought it did.”

So that was why his expression was always so… so sad whenever you flirted with him. He must have thought you’d done it only because of Mantis and it had left him… disappointed? Realising this, it was hard to feel anger toward him. The others, yes. But not him. So instead, you said, “Thank you, Loki. You saved my life today. I’m in your debt—and trust me when I say that having a vampire in your debt is power on another level.” You just about managed to wink before another wave of dizziness made you stumble. The God of Mischief instantly wrapped his arms around you to steady you.

“Do you believe me now then?”

Loki smirked, returning the wink. “Yes, pet. I believe you now.”

“Then that’s your cue to kiss me, Trickster, ideally before I pass out again.”

You knew the moment his soft lips connected with yours that you would gladly pass out again if only that meant you’d feel that gorgeous mouth on you forever though.

[kiatheinsomniac]

Can I ask for a short story where reader is also a half human vampire and she comes to the castle trying to sneek into the Belmont hold. She thinks the castle is still filled with vampires and just wants to try and save some of the dangerous knolage from them if she can. However Alucard is of course there and confronts her, at first thinking she's evil but after a short fight she explains herself abd he realizes she still thinks evil vampires controle the castle. Of course she gets hurt in the fight and he feels bad for having hurt her so he insists on caring for her wounds, no matter how embarrassing they may be (cut to the chest perhaps), and after they start to get to know each other she decides to stay and protect the hold, pretending she thinks it's just to dangerous to leave in the hands of Dracula's son so she had better help defend it just in case he goes evil. Of course she's actually fallen for him so this is a lie. He would fall for her as well, mostly due to her spunk and whit but she's beautiful to even with battle scars and he's finally not the only half vampire in the world. They would banter back abd forth over silly things like who's cooking or who's hunting and who's the more skilled fighter with a sword. That leads to sparring sessions and the eventual backing her into a corner and kissing her triumphantly confessing to her. They love to tease each other and it's like she's a female trevor belmont in a way. They are perfect together. Eventually he'd explain what happened between him and the brother and sister that betrayed him and she would respect him untill he was ready. Secretly though she's never been with anyone ever. No time when your a monster hunter. She even blames her loosing there first fight on her having just beaten a big hoard of beasts and traveling fir days with no supplies.

I hope you can work with some of this. No need to use it all. I hope you like the idea. I love your writing.

☾ ⋆ﾟ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: I decided to do this as headcanons bc there was a lot to work through <3

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Adrian 'Alucard' Tepes

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: canon-typical violence, references to alcoholism, slight NSFW at the end

♡ Your first meeting with Alucard was far from friendly. He had caught you, someone who clearly looked like a vampire, lurking around the Belmont Hold that he had promised to protect. Vampires wishing to take up Dracula's war weren't unheard of and so clashes of swords were exchanged before any words.

♡ The misunderstanding had been cleared up once had had you on the ground and you snapped about keeping the Belmont Legacy safe from Dracula's vampires. The two of you had been very embarrassed over such a terrible misunderstanding and Alucard's guilt at having harmed you led to him insisting on taking you into the castle so that he could treat the large slash he had made across your chest, just beneath your collarbones.

♡ You had heard rumours of the child of Vlad and Lisa Tepes but not much beyond that his name was Adrian. Being a dhampir yourself, you were itching to ask of his whereabouts now that you were in the castle he had grown up in but you knew that dhampirs often kept their guard up about their nature for their own safety. You had spent the most part of your life hiding from vampires and humans alike who wanted you dead simply for being born. You had got it out of him eventually that he was Adrian Tepes and he had been alarmed that he had hurt you in treating you when you gasped.

♡ You had shared with him that you were also a dhampir and the two of you simply remained in awe and shock of each other at finally meeting someone else who was like you. As Adrian covered the slash across your chest in a paste that he said would quicken the healing and prevent infection, you held your shirt to your chest (your cheeks dusted with pink at having his hands on your chest) so he could then wrap your injury with bandages. He also offered you a salve to apply before going to sleep in one of the guest rooms and insisted on cooking a meal for you once you told him how long you had been on the road for.

♡ You had watched him skillfully cook with a sort of fascination, never having expected such hospitality from the son of Dracula who had staked those bodies outside. However, you would absolutely expect this from the son of doctor Lisa Tepes. Over dinner, the topic of a dhampirs' low life expectancy was brought up and Adrian had explained that he was protected by his father's power and influence. Despite the loneliness he suffered from having no friends his age and seeing his parents very little, practically being raised by his tutors and nurse maid, you envied him. You mother had not survived your birth and you were raised by your father who, as much as he loved you, found it so difficult to look into his dead wife's eyes every time he saw you. He had done his best, you knew, but you also knew how emotionally straining it had been for him to raise you alone. Other vampires found out about you eventually and your father had sent you away for your safety. Your caretakers later informed you that he had been murdered for harbouring a dhampir. You had spent the rest of your life on the run once your caretakers were killed by their fellow humans, until you were old enough to defend yourself at least.

♡ Adrian had felt so awful for you and yet here you were: a warrior, someone with such a sense of justice that you had come to protect the Belmont Hold from any vampire who might seek to destroy it, another dhampir in the world other than himself. He had insisted that you stay in the castle until you were fully healed from your injuries.

♡ When the day came that Adrian announced you would be fully recovered in two or three days, you had told him that you planned on staying, telling him that the Belmont legacy could not be trusted in the hands of Alucard, the reverse Dracula, alone. Really, it was just an excuse to stay. You had fallen fast and hard for the gorgeous dhampir who insisted on healing you and cooking for you. The two of you would endlessly tease one another back and forth and turn almost everything into a competition: hunting, cleaning, repairing the Castle and Hold, you name it.

♡ You had been dying to ask about the bodies outside and about the nights when you would hear Adrian drunkenly wandering the halls but you thought better than to pry into such difficult feelings. Instead, you kept him up late into the night by sitting around a fireplace and chatting with him or maybe trying to make some dessert in the kitchen together, even reading to one another. It left him tired enough to fall straight to sleep when he went to bed instead of being left alone with whatever thoughts or memories prompted him to drink so much. You were quite proud of yourself when you noticed that he was taking much better care of himself than when you first arrived.

♡ Alucard treasured those late nights with you. He had spent so much time being lonely: his friendless childhood, being left in the Castle by the first two friends he had ever made himself, having to kill the second pair of friends when they tried to kill him first, being the only person in this big, cold castle, being the only dhampir alive as far as he was aware. Yet, here you were: dozing off on his shoulder as he read to you, huddled up in blankets together. Your face was lit up by the warm glow of the fireplace and you were so utterly beautiful. He had fallen for you so quickly but he was so reluctant to give into such feelings after it had ended so terribly the last time. He had closed the book to cup your face and lean down until his lips were grazing over your parted ones, your fangs peeking out from behind your lips. He then withdrew and woke you by gently shaking your shoulder so that the two of you could go to your separate rooms to sleep.

♡ Another thing that Alucard loved about your company was sparring with you. You were a skilled warrior, relying on speed, agility and the element of surprise which was a new and refreshing style for Alucard to learn to defend against. You were taunting him more than usual today to try and provoke him into slipping up and yet it only put hearts in his eyes to see the way you smiled as you did so. You soon found your sword clattering to the ground and your back hitting a tree as Adrian's body pressed to your front, a hand on your hip pressing you back while the other hand cupped your cheek. "If there's a God, he's who I have thanked every night since we met." He murmured, watching your eyes widen at the confession and yet you made no move to escape him; instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck and gently threaded your fingers through his golden hair as he spoke, "I..." Tears built in his bright eyes as he struggled to get the words out. You were so precious to him, so warm and wonderful and he was petrified of losing you, terrified at the thought of you betraying his heart too, "I think I'm in..." His lips quivered and tears of blood brimmed his eyes and stained his cheeks. You didn't need him to finish to know what he was going to say, silently reaching up onto your toes to kiss the tears away, tongue flicking against his cheeks ever so slightly to clean them away as your nose nudged against his. "I'm sorry..." He whispered at his inability to get the words out.

"You don't need to apologise..." You reassured him as you simply tipped your head back, bearing your throat to him in an act of utmost vulnerability among vampires, making yourself the first to be vulnerable to try and make him more comfortable. His lips found your neck and you cradled his head close as his mouth trailed up over your jaw until his lips could crash onto yours.

♡ It didn't take long after that for him to tell you everything that had happened with the twins staked outside and you had done your very best to keep a fixed expression, not wanting him to think that you saw him as weak or tainted in any way because you could never do so. You loved Adrian with all your heart, you had made it your mission to tell him this at least twice a day since his confession and you assured him that you would respect his boundaries at all times, telling him that you would have infinite patience in waiting for him to be ready. A part of you was comforted by this wait too: you had never slept with anyone before, your lifestyle had never allowed it and you were beyond relieved to find that you would have so much time to get to know Adrian more intimately in other ways first.

♡ Your first time with him had almost gone completely south by the time he told you he was ready. Just as the two of you had completely stripped and you were cradled in Adrian's lap with your lips mapping out his neck, you found yourself being roughly flipped over and pinned down by your lover who wouldn't allow you to move an inch and he looked down upon you with wild eyes, full of fear and anger as he accused you of playing the long game to try and kill him. Despite your own fear, your heart ached for him and you knew that you had to be strong for him and reach out to him. You didn't fight the way he had you pinned down at all, allowing your body to go slack as you looked up at him. "I'm not here to hurt you, Adrian. I love you. I'm not going to attack you. You're in control." You watched as his temper settled down and felt how his bruising grip on your wrists slackened. "You're in control, no one's going to hurt you. It's just you and me and I'm giving all control to you." He had let out a sigh and leaned forwards to lay over you and nuzzle his face against your neck, apologising for his reaction while you assured him that it was alright and he hadn't hurt you.

"Can you say it again?" His words were barely a whisper.

"I'm giving all control to you..." You repeated, "You're in control, Adrian, you're safe." The soft moan he let out by your ear caused heat to pool in your belly as he began to murmur over and over how much he loved you between kisses.

☾ ⋆ﾟlike my work? why not: 

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🏷️@involuntaryspasms @welcometomordor @writing-noah @signyvenetia @brideofalucard

[mikalara-dracula]

When the Sakamakis were children [IRL photos + hcs]

Warning: 18+ content below; don't read if you're a minor and aren't comfortable with mentions of childhood fears/trauma. This is a fictional work and should not be taken seriously.

Caution: Unfortunately, Tumblr has a history of admins quarreling over completing carbon copy asks due to users sending the same request(s) to multiple admins, thus, resulting in unintentional plagiarism. With this, please DO NOT send the same request to multiple blogs as it can cause unintended plagiarism discord to other blogs across Tumblr. The word “plagiarism” stems from the early 17th-century Latin word, “plagiarius,” meaning “kidnapper.” So please, do not send in the same request to multiple blogs and make admins appear to be “kidnapping” other people’s work when it isn’t their intention. If this is to occur with any of my posts, please contact me so we can work something out.

Made with: @liannelara-dracula

Figured I'd put side-by-side photos for better comparison to real life and the anime.

Shu

Started practicing violin a lot as a kid, but it was honestly a hobby to him. And this is probably when his love for classical music began.

He also started learning piano too. He has a natural talent for both, but violin came easier to him.

Began learning fencing as a child. (I have a post about Shu and Reiji hcs if anyone is interested. Click/tap here to check it out.)

Shu used to be taller than Reiji as a kid, but this changed later on.

Read poetry as a child and Beatrix also forced him to write some of his own so he’d develop the skill since the heir had to know how to do something finesse.

Since he’s the heir, he was expected to attend special balls and gatherings with Reiji by his side.

And here, you can best bet he was introduced to potential suitresses he would have to choose sometime later, but Beatrix thought it didn’t hurt for Shu to be introduced early.

She honestly hoped he’d become friends with one of his suitresses as children so they could grow up together and later be married.

It’s canon that Shu has a fear of clowns.

This fear probably resulted from Ayato and Laito jumping at him out of nowhere when they were kids, and scared him by wearing clown masks.

It’s also canon that he’s afraid of caterpillars.

This fear probably developed in his childhood through Reiji putting one in Shu’s tea once, and he’s been traumatized since due to Reiji’s scheming.

It’s canon that he knows Latin, so he probably started studying it when he was a child. Beatrix figured it’d be better for him to get familiarized with the human world since Karl was well accustomed, so through Shu being the heir, you can imagine Beatrix expected him to be very knowledgeable like Karl.

It’s canon that Shu used to sneak out as much as he could to get away from the castle.

Although, he would sometimes get caught by the servants who would immediately force him to come back and he’d be delivered to his mother for scolding.

But some servants looked the other way and let Shu go out and explore, mostly because they felt bad from how much pressure was on him as the heir.

When he met Edgar, he used to sneak out a lot to go see him.

In the manga, Shu said that he worked harder in his studies so he could finish them early and go have time to see Edgar.

Their friendship was so cute. :))

Had his first kiss at 13 (at least he looked 13) with some nobleman’s daughter since he was at the age of being curious as to what that would feel like.

Was quite close with some of his nannies and servants, at least the ones who let him get away with things his mother wouldn’t allow.

Reiji

Oh my gosh, look at our lil Rei. He was so cute as a kid. (Tbh, they all were.)

Apart from this, unfortunately, Reiji was alone for most of his childhood.

Read a lot as a kid, either for school or personal research.

Has gotten into literal fights with Shu, such as both them tackling each other and battling it out.

It usually took several servants to pry them apart.

They once ended up falling into a mud puddle during their fight and Beatrix was so pissed off that their suits had been soiled. You can bet her scolding was quite brutal and never-ending about this.

Probably started learning chess around this time as well. Lil Rei honestly found it interesting since it involved strategy, something that’s right up his alley.

His fear of ghosts probably developed as a child since he was always lonely, especially through always sleeping in his room alone as a kid and being considered foolish by his mother if he sought comfort.

It’s canon in one of the game routes that Reiji developed a healing cream formula as a child to aid vampires. So we can see how advanced his chemistry skills were even as a child.

Because there was a lot of pressure on him as a child by his mother he felt the need to perfect things so he was always practicing all his manners, tea pouring, dancing, and fencing skills.

He usually asks his servants to assist him and correct him if needed.

This is also why he is so good at dancing when it comes to the waltz. 

It doesn’t surprise me if he had a maid/servant who used to help him practice.

At balls and events that he attended with Shu, he always tried to make a better impression than his brother, mostly because he just wanted to be acknowledged.

It’s canon that Reiji used to spy on Shu in hopes of catching him doing something un-heir-like so he could report it to his mom and get Shu scolded so he could be viewed as the more “mature” child.

He used to have tea time with his mother because she’d want to know what was going on with Shu.

Reiji at first thought it was because she wanted to spend time with him but he later learned that these tea times were only to know what Shu was up to and if he was misbehaving or hiding anything.

Still, Reiji did what he was asked because he figured he could possibly get the chance to tell his mother some news about his discoveries or something interesting.

However, it was always short-lived because she used to change subjects and always focus on Shu.

This is also why Reiji prefers to be alone because he could never have one conversation with her, without her not mentioning his older brother.

All our lil Rei wanted was a friend who would listen to him 😭.

Laito

It’s canon that Laito once stuck candy wrappers into Shu’s pocket to not get the blame for eating them. Shu’s still pissed at Laito for this since he ended up getting the blame along with getting scolded by Reiji.

Definitely developed his fear of bugs as a kid.

Ayato used to chase Laito around the courtyard with a bug in his hand and would try to get it on him.

He used to run around the mansion shirtless.

But also used to run around naked in the castle with his brothers.

Always took baths with his two little brothers, and he and Ayato always use to tease Kanato by pouring cold water on him or by stealing his bath toy.

This usually resulted in Kanato crying.

But sometimes they were nice to him and washed his hair since they felt bad. So they used to take turns washing each other’s hair.

Laito and Ayato always bribe Kanato with candy so they dare him to touch Reiji’s shoulder while he’s reading without being noticed or to mess with the cooks in the kitchen.

This way they can get a laugh out of it.

Laito used to have the servants read him bedtime stories before going to bed every night.

Kanato

Aww, isn’t he cute.

Let’s just pretend the bby in the photo on the right is Teddy lol.

It’s honestly funny how both are positioned in the same way.

Kanato wasn’t entirely alone during his childhood.

He mostly spent his time with Ayato and Laito, but sometimes he preferred to be alone.

Used to have pillow/stuffed animal fights in his room with Ayato and Laito. And they would usually end with pillows/stuffed animals ripping, causing a big cloud of fluff to explode about them.

Used to steal sweets from the castle's kitchen and was an expert at hiding it.

Little Kanato would usually sneak out of his room after everyone had been put to sleep and would sneak into the kitchen to grab a bite of whatever sweets the castle had prepared for tomorrow.

He once colored on the castle walls because he was so bored. Cordelia was so mad, but Karl honestly didn’t care since he claimed his son was expressing himself. Until this day, that wall remains with that design.

It’s canon that Kanato used to sing “Scarborough Fair” to Cordelia when he was a kid. He honestly had a natural talent for singing and finds it nice to sing on his own every so often as seen in the anime.

His brothers used to tease him about his height and he’d get sad and would claim that one day he’d be taller.

Sometimes Kanato would have nightmares as a kid. So he’d end up going to either Laito or Ayato’s room and crawl into their beds for comfort. Aww :’))

He used to be afraid of lighting as a kid.

He had a childhood crush once and Laito and Ayato teased him endlessly about it.

Used to finger paint with Laito and Ayato and they used to tease him by taking their fingers and dabbing their fingers on his nose to get paint on it. It would always make him upset.

Our poor little baby.

Ayato

Ayato usually spent his time with Kanato and Laito, but mostly Laito since sometimes Kanato wanted to be on his own.

Ayato once spent a lot of time with Kanato and Laito building this little motor that they could drive around.

Ayato decided to test it once inside the castle with Kanato and Laito.

And it actually worked! Ayato was having a lot of fun test-driving it around, and Kanato and Laito cheering him on and begging to have a turn.

But this was until Cordelia stopped Ayato and told him to go to his room for acting foolish.

In the end, their little motor ended up disappearing, and they later discovered that Cordelia had it burned.

It’s canon that Ayato took violin lessons as a kid, but this didn’t last long until Cordelia ended up breaking Ayato’s violin during her freakouts, to which his lessons ended. And he was honestly happy to get out of them.

Ayato always used to play monkey in the middle with Laito and Kanato. And you can best bet that Kanato was the monkey in the middle.

Kanato would always complain that he could never catch the ball and would throw tantrums about this.

Tbh, this hasn’t changed since the triplets play it like this until now lmao. xDD

Used to jump off the manor’s couches with Kanato and Laito with a cape and pretended he could fly.

Apparently, it’s canon that Ayato is afraid of bees. So with this, he probably developed this trauma because he got stung once when he was a kid and never got over it.

He used to grab little mice and release them into the kitchen because all the female cooks were afraid of them.

He used to get a kick out of it every time the cooks would start freaking out and throwing pots and pans and chasing them out with a broom.

He’s even done this to his aunt Beatrix but not his mom, he was too afraid. He knew she’d instantly catch on to it being him and suffer tremendous punishment for it.

Subaru

He was alone a lot of the time too.

As we know, Christa gave Subaru that silver knife he always carries around.

Whenever he was bored as a kid, he’d sometimes used it to carve or engrave things, or even weave bracelets.

He had a childhood crush! It was a girl (a child vampire like him) from a noble family that would sometimes come to court.

She was around his age and was pretty social. She noticed him at one of the gatherings and began hanging out with him since she found the gatherings boring.

So, they both would go outside since Subaru hates crowds himself. And from there, they developed a pretty cute and innocent friendship.

She actually got our little bby car to lighten up and would tag him out of nowhere so he could chase her around the courtyard.

And it was through this that Subaru developed a crush on her.

Sooner than later, he even went as far as carving his and her initials into a tree in the courtyard.

Their friendship lasted a good while throughout the years and through having such a connection, Subaru secretly swore that he’d marry her when they were of age.

But this all changed when the girl was forced to marry another suitor that was presented to her.

This left him pretty disappointed, but he figured it would end this way because he always thought it was too good to be true since he was raised to think he was “filthy.”

Used to engage in a bit of pottery making and he gave some of his works to his mom, which she gladly appreciated when she wasn’t having a mental breakdown.

Subaru keeps his little pottery works until now stashed somewhere hidden in his room so his brothers won’t find them.

And he can’t bring himself to throw them away despite part of him wanting to since he finds them foolish now. Whatever the case, he figures as long as his brothers don’t see nor find them, he’ll keep them.

Played tag with the triplets sometimes.

Would sometimes hang out with Shu, but it was rare.

They’d sometimes go on walks together in the courtyard or even carve things together, like a piece of wood from a nearby tree.

Shu once tried to teach Subaru violin, but it was a disaster.

Unfortunately, it was so bad that it was overheard by the entire castle ground and it resulted in a lot of people complaining. So with that, he never tried it again.

Despite this though, he still considered Shu his favorite brother since Shu never bothered him in an annoying way and was the only one who made an attempt to hang out with him every so often.

It’s canon that Subaru likes Kanato’s singing. Since Kanato used to sing to Cordelia when he was a child, Subaru probably overheard Kanato sing to Cordelia in the courtyard sometimes since he spent a lot of time there himself, and grew an admiration from there on out.

Subaru would sometimes use his knife to cut roses and bring them to his mom when she was feeling okay. It always brought a smile to her face.

[coraniaid]

Another AU idea, if you're not bored of these already! Spike, for whatever reason, doesn't come back to Sunnydale. (Maybe the flights are expensive or something.) What alternative bad guy could be an interesting new Scooby? (You know, like Dracula, or Glory, or Sunday, etc. etc.)

PS: Faith isn't a bad guy, so she doesn't count! :)

As I think I've mentioned on here before, if I ever get around to writing a sequel to my S3 AU fic Coexist (which, to be clear, is not very likely to happen), I would probably have Sunday be the vampire who gets captured and then chipped by the Initiative.

But just to be a different (and to keep my options open if I ever do end up writing such a sequel), let's go with somebody else: Willow's vampire alter ego from The Wish and Doppelgangland. There are, I guess, a couple of objections to this idea: namely that the last time we saw vamp!Willow she was (a) in another dimension and (b) dead. But these are easily dealt with, I think.

How I see this playing out is that everything in Season 4 happens much the same way it does in canon for the first few episodes (Spike either comes back for The Harsh Light Of Day but then not a second time, or we can replace him in that one episode with somebody like ... I don't know, Lyle Gorch?). Oz and Willow still break up, as in canon, and Oz leaves town after Wild At Heart. Then:

We go immediately into Something Blue [skipping The Initiative for now, and skipping Pangs forever because it's trash]. Willow still casts her will-be-done spell and things play out as much as like canon as they can. Obviously that's pretty different, with no Spike -- we probably need to rename the episode for a start -- but Willow can still make Giles blind and Xander a literal demon magnet. Let's say her suggestion for Buffy is a bit like Dawn's wish in Season 6; she's upset about Buffy going patrolling and not staying with her, so she unwittingly says something that makes Buffy both unwilling and unable to leave the dorms (but it takes them a while to figure out this is what's happened). The other key difference is that, while mourning the end of her relationship with Oz, Willow brings up her doppelganger from last season and says she had a point that "this world's no fun". "Why," Willow says, "She should come back from wherever we sent her so I can tell her she was right." Cue to vamp!Willow in the Wishverse, just about to be staked (again) ... only to vanish and reappear in Willow's dorm room. [With some work, you could play up the fact that human!Willow didn't realize Oz could hurt her so badly with the fact that vamp!Willow was about to be killed by him.] Before our Willow can say anything, her counterpart escapes into the night (and Buffy can't chase her, because of the wish Willow made about her, which is something that helps them figure out what's going on).

At the end of the episode, Willow breaks the spell as in canon. Everyone assumes that this sent vamp!Willow back to her original dimension again -- especially when she doesn't show up to cause any more trouble -- but it doesn't. Instead she gets captured by the Initiative, just like Spike did in canon. And a couple of episodes later, she breaks free again ... only to discover, just like Spike did, that she's been chipped and can't hurt anybody human. She probably finds out a little bit sooner that she can still hurt demons and vampires: in fact, given her MO in Doppelgangland she probably only finds out she can't drink from living humans after she's already taken control of the current vampire gang in Sunnydale and tried to attack the Bronze (again). When that doesn't work (and after her reputation has taken a bit of a blow as a result) she tries the Drusilla approach of being a power behind the throne for a bit (not hurting anyone directly but getting a proxy to lead the other vampires in attacking humans and bringing her fresh blood from already-dead victims), but unfortuntately for her credibility the only vampire she can find who's willing to take orders from a vampire who can't hurt people herself is Harmony (who I guess was dating Lyle Gorch in this AU but broke up with him pretty quickly). And between that frustration and the fact the Initiative quickly show up again looking for her, she doesn't have much choice but to throw herself on the Scooby Gang's mercy [which we know, from Season 3, that they're likely to show her, especially if she can give them any information about the Initiative].

Cue sitcom-worthy plots wherein human!Willow is going to class and (mostly) spending her nights in the dorm room she shares with Buffy and sometimes going home to visit her parents and trying to keep her new relationship with Tara hidden from her friends, while vamp!Willow is sometimes hiding out in a crypt somewhere and sometimes hanging out with Anya and sometimes pretending to be human!Willow in Buffy's dorm (to escape both the Initiative and Harmony). Harmony has at least three conversations with human!Willow which she walks away from thinking she's been talking to vamp!Willow (Harmony thinks vamp!Willow is the coolest person she's ever met but the feeling is not quite mutual). Riley is briefly convinced that human!Willow is the missing "Hostile 17" he and his men have been looking for, then is persuaded that Willow is 100% human and not a vampire at all, then almost immediately runs into vamp!Willow and assumes he's still talking to human!Willow. When Faith temporarily steals Buffy's body in Who Are You? she also completely fails to clock that vamp!Willow and human!Willow are different people (though she figures out almost immediately that both Willows are crazy about Tara). She does get on a lot better with the vampire version of Willow than the human one, but she assumes this is just because Willow has mellowed out a lot since high school. (Faith only learns the truth when she comes back in Season 7.) Anya can tell them apart easily and thinks it's weird that other people can't. She and vamp!Willow get on like a house on fire (which really highlights how much Anya and human!Willow don't); they trade stories about various atrocities they've committed when they're bored (they agree that Anya's are better but Anya cheers vamp!Willow up by pointing out she's a lot older and had more time to practice being evil).

When Oz comes back later in the season, we briefly tease the idea that having two versions of Willow might be a way of resolving Willow's putative love triangle (especially by having vamp!Willow delightedly refer to Oz as 'puppy' when he first starts to transform into a werewolf again). The problem is that both Oz and Tara can always tell the two Willows apart, and neither of them is attracted to vamp!Willow at all. (The fact vamp!Willow remembers a version of Oz trying to kill her is not, as it turns out, much of a problem.) Adam still tries to recruit vamp!Willow to sow dissension in the ranks of the Scooby Gang, but she isn't very interested in trying [she's not interested in playing second fiddle to some other demon] and wouldn't be very good at it if she was. Adam gets Harmony to do it instead, and she is surprisingly successful at it at first (in part because she doesn't think of herself as doing anything untoward: she's just helpfully pointing out facts [cf. that Cordelia quote about tact]). Harmony still can't tell vamp!Willow and human!Willow apart though, so she cheerfully tells human!Willow that she thinks she [i.e. vamp!Willow] has done a great job infilitrating the gang and all Willow's friends already like her much more than the original, which she means sincerely and our Willow does not take well. Vamp!Willow figures out what's going on (and decides to tell the Scoobies about it, mainly because she's annoyed that Adam is trying to take 'her' rightful place as the town's Big Bad). But not before Harmony tries to give her the speech which she'd planned to give human!Willow (which is mostly the same speech about how great vamp!Willow is, actually, but Harmony makes the point of telling her that she's not as smart as vamp!Willow "so you shouldn't even try to stop Adam's plan, because there's no way a loser like you will figure out he's going to have all the demons be captured bythe Initiative then stage a break out and hope they all kill each other").

Vamp!Willow also follows canon!Spike's lead in falling for Buffy in Season 5. She is, if anything, even more mortified on realizing this than Spike was. Buffy and human!Willow try very hard to pretend this doesn't make things weird between them, not entirely succesfully. This gets even more difficult to do in Season 6 when vamp!Willow and Buffy start hooking up.

[pocketramblr]

Ask game, please! Dracula AU where Jonathan is a werewolf. It doesn’t end well (well, even sooner) for the count.

Ok love this also we're throwing werewolf lore in a blender to make this work and kinda fit the original novel. Kinda.

1- ok so Bram Stoker was Irish so our dear friend Jonathan is a descendent of Laignech Fáelad and the werewolves of Ossory, though one who's family has been in England for at least several generations now. Also, these are the "astral projection of spirit in the form of wolves" type of werewolves described in Nennius of Bangor's Historia Britonum, similar to the ones Augustine of Hippo say are possible through God to fight evil because uh whatever Christianity thing is going on in Dracula.

2- So when Jonny boy shows up to Transylvania and all the locals are freaked out about something, he looks in his Romanian to English dictionary and sees they're using a word that means either vampire or werewolf. And then he wonders if the Count is a werewolf too, and is curious about how that works here- the only other werewolves he ever knew were his mother and grandfather, but they are tragically long dead since he's an orphan who sees his boss as a parental figure. So when he hears wolves in the woods, he's not too concerned yet. When a woman presses a rosary into his hand, he awkwardly takes it and wonders if she'd be superstitious of him too, if she knew- but he really wants to meet the Count!

3- but then he meets the Count. And the Count does have the ability to somewhat control wolves... But he really also sets them off. They don't like him. And Jonathan? His inner wolf does not like this guy, it's unnatural, it's bad, he wants to bite but!! He can't do that, he's a real lawyer now and Mina would be so disappointed if he used his first customer as a chew toy. So he grins and bears it, wondering if it's just a territory thing, and wondering if the castle is so empty because the rest of the Count's family is out in wolf form. But... Where are the servants or anyone else?

4- Eerily, Jon goes to sleep, and his human body is left behind in his bed while his spirit pops out in wolf form. He can't smell anyone. Just the Count, and three faint scents, but they don't smell human. They don't even smell like real wolves. They smell like long dead corpses. Still nervous, Jon curls up in the corner and tries to get some rest as a wolf.

But then the Count comes in while he's "sleeping", getting close to the bed and frowning at the rosary. Jonathan's spirit werewolf has had enough and just jumps up, lunging on instinct to protect his human form.

A wolf battle commences, but Dracula hasn't had to put up an actual fight in so long, and Jonathan has the power of God and anime on his side so he wins- and the lady vampires drop dead from their connection to the Count. Freaking out about the murder, Jonny returns to his human body and runs.

5- when he returns to the town a day later, ragged and panicked, when the town hears about all four vampires being dead... They throw a party of a "funeral", everyone swears up and down that the Count and his family tragically died of a wolf attack the day before Jonathan got in and he found their bodies when the coach took him to the castle, and he's sent home bewildered but his boss is like "wow that really sucks, I'm sorry you had such a horribly unlucky first case, let's keep you close to home from now on. Also is your hair white now?"

No vampires travel into England, Jonathan is worried that his wolf form now being stark white is a bad omen, but Mina just pets him behind his ears and says she thinks it's cute, oh, also, Lucy wrote her about one Doctor Van Helsing that a friend of hers knows, he heard about the strange wolf attacks in Romania and blamed it on vampires, can you believe?