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abibliophobiaa · 2 years ago

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Begin Again: Chapter 4/4

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(20k words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Note: Tumblr ate my formatting, so AO3 is probably best. 🙃

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; nightmares; suicidal ideation; smut 18+ only.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CH

Winter 1988/1989

He leaves you alone in the coffee shop.

The smell of the coffee brewing grows sour, your stomach churning with the dread seeping into your veins with every throb of your heart.

Your four walls, your space, now empty without him there to fill it.

You never realized how much sound he’s brought into your life, how much color, how much of his light.

And in a moment, Chance had thrown a shade over it. Squashed it just as it had really started to grow.

Chance’s words roll around in your head.

Chrissy. Fred. Patrick. Jason.

Names without faces, people you’ve never met, people you’ll never meet.

Because they’re dead.

All of them.

Gone.

He says it’s Eddie.

It’s not Eddie.

There’s no reality you could ever find yourself in where you believe the lie that Eddie’s done something like this.

Not this man, not the one who consumes fantasy literature like it’s a lifeblood, who talks DnD with his youngest friends animatedly and conjures up new ideas for sprawling campaigns full of high stakes and grandeur, who flips Max upside down in his arms when he greets her until her laughter shakes deep within her bones and a smile lights up her whole face, the man who drinks out of a Garfield mug when he visits his Uncle, who listens to ABBA and Blondie with you and his friends even when he claims to hate it.

Not this man.

Never this man.

But now you need to find Eddie, tell him everything’s okay, that you don’t think he did it.

You know he thinks you do.

Could see it in the way he looked at you, in the way he flinched from your touch.

The title of murderer.

The weight of it.

You can only imagine how crushing that is, how hard it’s been to keep those accusations to himself all this time, to carry it on his back each and every day.

To live near to those who might whisper behind your back, question how you’re free, ponder your innocence.

You decide to close up early, dismissing your customers as nicely as possible, feigning issues with your machines. A patron grumbles that they were working moments ago, but you only offer them free coffees for their next visit and wave as they all bustle down the street.

It’s likely not the most professional thing you’ve done, but it’s necessary, your fingers removing your apron from around your hips before moving to go snatch your keys from behind the counter.

The front door locks with a click behind you, eyes flashing across the parking lot to find Eddie’s van missing. He’s likely skipped work, and you understand why he would, but all it does is curl the guilt further in your gut.

That you hadn’t done more, said more, chased after him—something.

You run upstairs to your apartment, grabbing your things and rummaging about, trying to make it look some semblance of normal before you grab your pocketbook in hand and rush over to your wall phone, dialing one of the first numbers in your phone book.

Max picks up on ring number two.

Your breath shudders out as you ask, “Is Eddie there?”

“He was, but not anymore,” she says honestly. You can hear her shuffle around on the other end, a huff filling the line. “He looked upset. Did something happen?

“He heard Chance and I talking.”

“Okay, and? Chance is a dick, we all know this, so what did he do?”

“He told me about March. Of eighty six.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, quickly adding, “but I don’t believe him.”

You hear her huff once more, followed by the rustle of something in the distance. “Good, because whatever he told you isn’t true. He doesn’t know half of what really happened, and I doubt he ever looked into it. Which, you’d think we would have since the idiot works for the police.”

“So you know where Eddie might be?”

“He’s at Steve’s,” she says simply, like she knows, and of course she does.

He’s her brother. Minus the blood and title, of course, but her brother all the same. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“For what?”

“You’re picking me up,” she states plainly, and you almost laugh.

Almost.

But she sounds serious, and you’ve seen Maxine angry and you don’t want to be in the line of fire on the receiving end if she ever explodes.

“I’m picking you up,” you agree, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Just…I know you’re my boss, but don’t hurt him, okay?”

“Gosh, Max—no. I…I lo—really care about him.”

“So I’ll see you in fifteen?” She says, as if she knows the exact distance between yours and the Munson’s.

And you suppose she does after all this time.

You nod, even though she can’t see you, and say, “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

You’re there in twelve, the roads zooming on by as you turn and weave through the pathways that are almost second nature now. Muscle memory, because of all the time you’ve spent with them. With his family, who has, in a way, sort of become yours as well.

She’s there as she said she would be, sitting on the front step to the little home, hair billowing around her in the wind.

She drops down into your passenger seat without a word. The sound of her buckle sliding into place greets your ears, her dirty shoes kicking out before her, that delicate profile of hers set into a firm look.

“I heard what you said, you know?” She says after some time.

It’s quiet, a little lilting, her lips curling a bit at the edges. You know that look. It’s the same look she’s given Eddie after catching him in a state of disarray after a night spent making out with you like the two of you are teenagers all over again, and not twenty-three year olds with careers and rent to pay.

“What do you mean?” It’s a trap. You know it is, but you’ll give in just this once.

“I heard you start to say you love him,” she teases, tongue sticking out slightly.

It’s the truth.

It’s not a hard thing to do—falling for Eddie Munson, that is.

And still, your heart thunders away at the thought of it. For years you’ve spent trying to never form lasting connections with others. You’re in and out of places quicker than you can, never getting too close, never making those lasting ties.

And now you’ve gone and tied yourself to him, a single strand, an invisible string that tethers you to him.

It’s terrifying, and still there’s this sense of peace that fills your blood. Cool it before it can sizzle and burn.

“You definitely said it,” she says once more, as if you didn’t hear her the first time.

But you did. You said the words and you heard her, but she’s not the first person you want to say them to.

The person who deserves them the most is currently hiding out at Steve Harrington’s home, likely reliving the pain of the events of two years ago, exposed like a nerve by someone who only wants the worst for you.

You suppose you can’t fault Chance, either. You saw the pain in his eyes. The grief over the loss of his friends.

Three.

Three in a lifetime is already too much, but three in one week is a tragedy.

There’s no denying that fact.

‘He doesn’t know half of it…’

Max’s words swirl in your mind. Over and over again on an endless loop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, but there’s a slow smirk sliding across your lips, fingers curling around the steering wheel as you peel out of the Munson’s driveway, heading in the direction of Steve Harrington’s family home.

It’s on the way that Max starts to talk, warning you in a sense, of what you’re about to hear.

“It’s…a lot to take in,” she says, and there’s a seriousness in her tone unfamiliar to you.

She’s usually always meddling with the kids, the rowdier and more hot headed one of the bunch. You’ve seen her interact with her friends, always just as fiery and explosive as her friends. You’ve seen her get angry with Eddie till her face turns red. But there’s always this sense of ease that accompanies it.

A laugh at the end of a snide remark, a smirk, a gentle tilt of the lips.

It’s not present this time, and an uneasiness settles into your blood.

“Just…when they tell you, promise me you’ll keep an open mind. You’re going to hear things that sound impossible, and that’s because honestly even we thought they were, but it’s…the truth. It’s the truth that the media swallowed up, the truth the government hid. But it doesn’t make it not real—it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And it’s crap because the world moved on, and yet we were left to deal with it.”

She means your friends.

You know that.

The fact that this ‘they’ she speaks of telling you this tale is the same group of kids that you’ve grown to know, your friends you’ve flourished with all these months, the man you’re falling in love with.

“Max, I just want to know the truth. So whatever you all say, I’m here to listen. I want to know. It’s important that I know,” you tell her seriously, pulling into the driveway to the sprawling home.

Your head slams against the headrest of your driver’s seat, hands coming up to cup over your eyes. Your breath draws right in your lungs, eyes burning from the prick of tears. A new fear dawns, unwanted and unbidden.

You voice it, a quiet strain of your voice that comes out as a broken sob. A fearful questioning of, “What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he hates me?”

“He couldn’t,” she tells you, voice stern.

“What if he does, though? You didn’t see the way he looked at me. He was there, but he wasn’t. It’s like he went away in his mind and he didn’t want me there.”

She chuckles. “Have you seen the way that idiot looks at you? It’s honestly disgusting. All puppy dog eyes and goo.” You break out into a watery laugh and, satisfied, she continues, “Look—Chance’s friends…well, not Chrissy, but Chance’s friends are assholes. I’m not saying they got what they deserved, because no one deserves to die. But they were terrible to him. He probably saw Chance and saw you and thought he’d turned you against him. Just like they turned the whole town against him in eighty six.”

There are no words that come to mind after what she says. After the truth she reveals. You’re not sure of what it even means, and yet you think of your customers in your early days or the shop opening. The way some, however rarely, would look at him and mutter amongst themselves when he happened to stop by. You remember the woman at the supermarket with her blonde hair and haunting eyes. The depth of her warning as she stood beside you on line at the register, telling you Eddie wasn’t a good man, telling him he should have never come back.

You think of the fact Eddie moved out of his own childhood home to make room for Max. But you also recall how much freer he is when he’s out of town. His smiles come easier, he seems lighter…brighter, without the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

The pieces start to slide into place, a push here, a click there. You think of your puzzle he’d brought you both for your first date, now finished and tucked away. How the image became clearer and clearer with each passing moment.

It’s the same now.

That clarity that takes shape.

The reasons why Eddie’s open in some regards, and keeps others very close to his chest. The evasions he’s had to create in his backstory with you, to protect you from the truth of it all.

To protect you from the danger of it, if what Max claims is true.

“Are you ready?” Max’s voice stirs you from your silent reverie. A quiet beckon. A soft lilt that drags you from your thoughts.

You’re not.

There’s nothing that can ever prepare you for what you are about to hear, and yet you twist the key in the ignition all the same. You tug your keys free and toss them into your pocketbook, opening your car door without another word. Max tips her head over the roof of your vehicle, looking to you for reassurance…or merely to see how you’re doing—you’re not really sure. But you dip your head all the same, shutting the door into place, fingers trailing along metal and window, heart racing in your chest at what you are about to enter into.

The walk to the front door is harrowing. You don’t really know what to expect. Max gives you a warning, sure, but nothing compares to reality. Especially not as you knock on the front door and Robin is there to greet you. She offers a kind smile and a hug, her voice quiet as she mutters she’s happy you’re both there. Max glances over her shoulder as you enter the home, your eyes trailing the insides. You’ve been here multiple times, but it feels different now. There’s a whole world you’re not privy to—a world that Eddie’s been a part of, Max and Robin, Steve and the others. The world that those who warned you of this town only spoke of as if they were conspiracies. The gates of hell, satanic cults, gruesome deaths. The fact there are some truths there weighs heavily on your mind, hands shaking a bit as you enter the kitchen and Steve is there to greet you with a warm hug.

You wonder briefly if Charlotte knows. If she’s privy to the world outside of your own that your friends have dealt with. This unshakeable strength they all seem to hold. But you hug him all the same, heart hammering away against his as your arms come to wrap around his neck, his breath a comforting puff against your ear. He steps back momentarily to look at you, all long dark hair, wrinkles high against his forehead. He’s too young for those, but they linger all the same, written into his features alongside the pain you see so clearly there now. The pain of the unknown swirling in your gut, the unknown that has Max reaching across the space between you to curl her hand in your own, squeezing tight.

You squeeze her hand back and look at both your friends as they stand before you, merely basking in silence, all your minds a swirling mass of chaos. Robin speaks first, voice wobbly, words fast and disconcerting in your ears. “He’s…he’s not doing well, babe. He came here a wreck. He never intended for you to find out this way.”

You know that. You do.

It’s why you’ve always been respectful. It’s why you’ve always been weary of what Eddie wants, why you’ve made it a mission to always have an open heart and open mind toward him. And in a few moments Chance had thrown it all into the wind. Obliterated the safety net you were forging, the space you wanted Eddie to live in—to thrive in.

“Max…she warned you, right?” It’s Steve who asks next. The boy with the loud and boisterous personality, always a little piqued, and yet he’s serious now. Guarded toward his best friend. Your heart swells because Eddie has people like these; people who will defend him tooth and nail, even from you.

Even from the woman who has spent nearly every day with him for the past few months.

And still, you nod all the same, your hand still entwined with Max’s. “Max…she warned me.”

Steve and Robin pass one another a look, and you’re brought into the living room. It’s dark there, the lights dimmer than you remember, your friends settling down in different areas about the room. Steve and Robin to the couch. Max on the floor. There are two seats brought out into the living area, set there like they were expected to be there all along. Separated by a few inches sure, but placed there with intent. You glance down at the one, wondering if it’s meant for you, and catch the stiff nod from Steve as you eye the wood carefully.

You drop down into it and hear the slow slide of a door in the distance, the tall form of Eddie catching your eye.

He’s as beautiful as you saw him last. A picture of black, red and white before your eyes. His eyes dark, his shoulders hard, body lithe and lean. You think of those moments from early this morning, his arms around your waist, chest against your back. Lips at your ear as he whispered what you meant to him, as he kissed you like you were the most precious thing in his life. Unbreakable, like he meant to keep you. Like he meant to hold you safe for the rest of his days. You know he means it now, can see it in the way his eyes flicker as they meet yours, as water clouds those swirling depths of chocolate brown.

There’s love there.

It’s not lost on you as he scans the room and lands on yours, holding for a moment, whispering those unspoken words into the space between you.

Unmistakable and yours alone.

You will the same into your eyes as he settles down beside you, legs spread wide, cup of whatever he’s drinking poised at the ready in his hand.

He says nothing. Remains stoic as Steve and Robin straighten in their seats, cushions of the couch forgotten as their elbows lean onto thighs, ready to regale their tales of this world outside their own.

The part of you that’s grown to love him over these months wishes to reach out to him. You want to stretch your hand into the space between you and curl your fingers within his own. To comfort him in the way you know only you can—body, mind and soul. But he remains in the gap between you, separated by inches that feel like miles. There’s a moment, however brief, when his fingers twitch against his thigh and you wonder if he intends to reach across and touch you.

But he never does.

He never does, and you suppose you cannot be upset with him for that.

He’s hard lines, harsh beauty, and adamant walls.

Impenetrable.

Fierce.

You pray they don’t remain that way—that your months of progress don't reverse in a moment's time.

Steve glances about the room, between his best friend Robin beside him, down to where Max sits staring at Eddie on the floor, Eddie with his grim expression as his eyes meet hers, and then lastly on you when he exhales and says, “What we’re about to tell you, you can’t tell anyone. It stays a secret, it stays within the group.”

“It stays within the party,” Max adds, shifting away from Eddie’s stare enough to look at you. “It’ll mean you’re part of it.”

“One of the family.” Robin laughs weakly, passing you a sympathetic smile. “Part of our dysfunctional family.”

Your eyes shift amongst them with a swallow, and then slide briefly to Eddie’s. There’s…there's something there. A softness, a quiet whisper behind his gaze, but you don’t know what it means. Can’t decipher the meaning behind how he looks at you; you just know it curls deep within the pit of your belly, makes you warm, reminds you it’ll be okay.

Everything will be okay.

“I’ll take it with me to the grave,” you tell Steve.

His hand cards through those long strands of dark hair and he stands up from the couch, walking across the room to tend to the fire churning in the fireplace. Once he’s happy with the flames sparking and dancing within, his hand comes to rest on the ledge, his other hand resting on his hip as he glances down at a dirty spot on the carpet.

“I guess we’ll start from the beginning then…”

And it begins.

They start from the beginning. With the missing boy Will. With Will, who you know and works at your shop. Kind, sweet Will with the world on his shoulders and nothing but love inside his heart.

Steve recounts the loss of Barbara Holland, a friend of Nancy’s. You learn about the gate that opened in Hawkins to another world. This Upside Down that sounds as harrowing as it truly is.

You learn early on that El has superpowers. She has psionic capabilities, can lift things with her mind, step into alternate dimensions when she goes away in her mind.

El, with her dark hair and bright soul. That innocence that always seems to burn bright behind her gaze.

El, who you learn has fought monsters bigger than her.

Steve walks you through that first encounter with the Upside Down, the demogorgon he faced, his words careful as he explains the appearance to you. A standing, hulking monster, with endless rows of teeth, intent to bring death to those that encounter it.

You’re told about their next encounters.

Max moves to town with her family. Her crappy step-father, her late step-brother, and her late mother move in and immediately she’s thrown into this world she’s never planned for. Apparently Dustin finds some sort of tadpole creature that eventually grows into a demodog. Another monster like the one Steve explained earlier, but this time there are multiple, and they move in what seem to be packs. You learn about Will’s possession by the Mind Flayer, the loss of their friend Bob, their first experience with the ‘hive mind.’

“It all sort of…works in tandem,” Max clarifies. “All tied to one power source.”

El closes the gate this time, they tell you, and for a while it seems everything is okay again. They start to heal, the kids begin to go back to their normal lives, Steve and Robin start working at the Starcourt Mall.

“That parking lot that’s still empty?” It’s your first question in a while, you’ve simply been taking in everything they have to say, trying to be respectful of their experience.

“Yes,” Robin says, frowning as Max glances down at her shoelaces.

Eddie watches the younger girl like a hawk. His face is tight and drawn as Max says, “My brother didn’t die in a fire.”

It’s July and the kids are on summer break. All is well in Hawkins. They’re having fun, being kids, living for the first time in a long time. And then there’s the issue of Billy. Billy, who has always been rough around the edges. Not a good person at all, from what you’ve been told, but he had been alive and had been well one day, and then the next it was like he was different.

Max recalls him being a lot of blank stares in his room, a lot more standoffish. But there becomes this issue around Hawkins, of people becoming aggressive, something to do with kitchen chemicals? And a girl at the pool Billy worked at had gone missing.

Heather, Max explains.

As this is all going on, Steve and Robin explain their encounters with Russian code and their involvement with a secret organization taking place quite literally inside the belly of the mall.

There’s a Mind Flayer building an army, some gigantic beast of a thing, that towers over the building. The same thing that had put itself inside of Will, the same thing that also puts itself inside of Billy.

Your head spins with it all, from the explanation of how Robin and Steve were tortured for information inside the Russian base, to Max and the other kids fighting this monster inside of their friend Hopper’s home. There’s the battle at the Starcourt Mall, when they’re all later reunited, where Max watched her brother die after laying his life down to protect her and her friends.

It’s overwhelming.

Your chest aches, and you’re grateful when Eddie calls the meeting to a halt, catching the glittery tears on Max’s cheeks that she tries to swipe away when no one is looking.

Eddie slips out of the room with the younger girl in tow. There’s a brief moment he makes eye contact with you, his mouth working slowly like he anticipates saying something before thinking better of it.

It’s been only hours and yet you feel like he’s been gone longer, the sting of the emotional distance between you two burning deep in your chest.

“Babe, don’t take it personally, okay?” Robin runs a hand up and down your arm, pouring you a glass of something strong and full of ice.

Your face pinches as you take a sip, throat burning from the harsh bite of whatever she’s put into the concoction. “What is this? Battery acid?”

“Very likely,” Steve muses from the doorway, coming to loop an arm around your shoulders. You lean into his side, seeking out the comfort of a friend in the moment. His fingers curl around your skin, giving you a squeeze. “They went for a walk. Eddie said they’ll be back in five. The next part…it’s Eddie’s bit. It’s what happened back in March and…it’s a lot. He’s never really shared it outside of the group. He wanted to tell you before…you know, before Chance. He told me he wanted to. He was finally ready.”

Your heart clenches at the thought. Here Eddie was, ready to open up to you fully and bare his soul to you, and Chance came along to throw a wrench into the whole thing. Robbed Eddie of the opportunity that was meant for him all along.

“I just…a whole world underneath Hawkins?” Your throat swells around the words, around the reality of what you’ve been told the past few hours.

Before you came here, you heard all these ludicrous rumors about the happenings of the small town you were running to. To know they’re fact, to know they’ve been hidden behind lies and government workings—it’s a crazy reality to swallow. A world where monsters exist and walk the earth, a world where gates to new dimensions exist.

It’s your world now.

“And El—having powers?”

Robin comes forward to join you on your other side, sliding a hand into the center of your back. “I felt the same when I found out.”

You feel the need to sit. To really soak in the words swirling around in your brain like little specks of confetti twirling to the ground. Dozens of strands of thoughts in an endless funnel of wind and disarray. But you lean into the warmth of your friends instead, relishing in their closeness, when the glass door to the outside slides open and Eddie and Max reappear.

She’s a little red in the face. Bitten and kissed by the wind, but the rims around her eyes catch your attention next. The telltale sign she’s been crying, paired with that of her sleeve dragging along the bottom of her nose, bumping her glasses that always sit a little too loosely on her face.

Eddie’s dark eyes scan your face, like he’s shocked you’re still there, and you pass him a weak smile. There’s the barest of twitches in his face, and most would miss it, but he offers you that.

A slight smile.

You’ll take it.

“Are we good to keep going?” Robin asks, glancing about the room.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Eddie says, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him speak in hours. It jolts you, drawing a wince out of him.

Robin turns back to you, eying your drink in your hand as the others head back into the living area. “You might want to keep that close.”

She’s not wrong.

Eddie’s fingers toy with the silver of his rings, twirling them round and round low against his knuckles. “So, uh, it’s March…of eighty six and, you know, I’m still the Freak around town. So you can imagine I’m just a tad confused when Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen of Hawkins High, comes to me for a deal.” His eyes flash to yours, a grimace pulling at his mouth. “Used to deal. Don’t anymore, but—I, ah, yeah, sorry sweetheart. But Chrissy is not herself. I didn’t really know her much, but she’s just perpetually happy. I mean, I guess she had to be. Cheerleading captain, about to be valedictorian, friends with everyone. So I meet her in the woods behind the school and she looks scared as shit. Like—maybe I should have paid more attention to it, maybe that was my mistake, but…she asks me for ketamine.”

You train your eyes on Eddie as he speaks. He’s a shadow before you, hollows of his features glowing from the orange hue spilling from the mouth of the fireplace. He’s all long limbs spread out, legs before him, slender and spidery, bent as his back rests against the wooden chair. His hands rest against his thighs, where he continues to twirl the metal around his digits, head bent low and mind seemingly back in the forest that day in eighty six.

“I…brought her back to my trailer that night and I couldn't find the ketamine. So I leave her in the damn living room and when I come back she’s just standing there. Blank face, nothing behind her eyes, just gone. And I’m yelling at her over and over and over again, but whatever this thing is that’s pulling at her just…she never hears me. I wonder if she did, even now. Like if she knew I was trying to save her and—” He pauses as your hand curls around his kneecap, and you worry for a moment he’s going to push you away, to reject this comfort, but his hand slides over your own and squeezes lightly.

He doesn’t let go.

What he explains next has your throat closing around the truth of it. Chance’s words swirl in your ears. The fact Jason Carver, fueled by jealousy over being cuckolded by Eddie Munson, killed his girlfriend. But the reality is that much more horrifying. Because Eddie recounts the moments with ultra clarity, the memory of them burned into his retinas for the rest of his life, of the girl levitating above the ground. The way her body stretched across the ceiling as her bones snapped one by one in her body, before she died right before his eyes.

“We all met…that next day,” Max says with a bitter laugh, gesturing between Eddie and the rest of the group, including herself.

So they were bound by the untimely death of Chrissy, Steve explains, recalling how they all went looking for Eddie with Dustin’s help, because Max had seen flickering lights coming from Eddie’s trailer and disrupting her own, just before he had run.

A sign of the Upside Down. Their first sign that Eddie had been innocent in all of it.

“Held a glass bottle to my throat,” Steve laughs as he explains those tense few moments of their ‘friendship.’

“You kind of deserved it. Jabbed me right in the ribs with that oar,” Eddie says, but there’s a lightness to his tone reserved for his loved ones. “His name was Vecna. This…thing, this person, responsible for cursing Chrissy. And…Fred, Patrick, and Max.”

Your eyes flicker up to Max at Eddie’s admission, blue eyes flashing with your own. “Max.”

“The asshole cursed me,” she says simply. “So what happened to Chrissy, what happened to Fred, we knew was likely coming my way. And it did—but we found a solution.”

“Thank goodness for that Walkman,” Robin exhales. “We found that music could bring people out of Vecna’s…soupy mind trance. Happy memories, favorite moments, your favorite song.”

“The song you could listen to over and over again on repeat…” You mutter the words out, feeling your eyes burn at the memory of Eddie asking you for yours so many weeks ago in your apartment.

“What’s your favorite song? If you had to pick one, what would it be? The one you can play over and over again and never get bored of?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly, the words meant only for you. Your stomach twists painfully. “That one.”

Proof he cared, even then.

It’s a race against a clock.

It’s not long before Eddie’s a suspect in the murders he never committed, and it’s paired with the looming threat over Max’s life. One night in particular, Robin tells you, Jason Carver and his friends find Eddie at the boathouse and come with weapons in hand. You know their intention, from the way Eddie’s breath catches, was never to merely talk about the situation.

Hunt the Freak, he tells you bitterly, recalling those moments out on Lover’s Lake, just before Patrick suffered the same fate as Chrissy.

Two.

Eddie watches two people die that week.

You shudder out a breath as they tell you about the Upside Down. As Steve tugs the neck of his sweater down enough to show you the lines around his throat, and then slips up the side of his sweater enough to show you the scarring on his side that looks like a splash of sun against his skin. It reminds you of the ones that litter Eddie’s arms, the smaller ones on his face and neck, the ridges of his abdomen you barely felt before he pulled away from you.

“We’re, like, the most screwed up blood brothers to exist,” Steve says bitterly, his shirt dropping down into place. “Matching scars and all.”

“Demobats,” Robin explains, shuddering at the end. “Scary little shitheads.”

It paints a picture for you—clearer now than ever before.

Fills the gaps in your understanding over these nine months.

Yet another memory flashing behind your eyes of Eddie in your kitchen. Of wings and claws and the sound of skittering against your window. The choked breath from Eddie’s lungs that suddenly stopped working. The panic attack he suffers in your kitchen.

You think you start to grasp an understanding as they talk about how a plan began to form. They gathered a bunch of weapons with the intention of using Max and Eddie and Dustin to create distractions for Vecna. To give enough time for the others to try and kill him. But even the best laid plans go to hell—and it’s proven correct in both aspects.

Eddie and Max, to make things simpler, both die that night.

Max, with her limbs broken and mangled, blood dripping from her eyes. And Eddie, with his flesh torn into over and over again, countless rows of teeth sinking into skin, taking pieces of him, ripping him into ribbons, robbing him of life.

It chokes you. Chokes Eddie as Steve explains the parts of the story Eddie’s mouth can’t work around. The gaps are still too raw to fill in by himself. You don’t blame him.

You press the heel of your palm into your eyes, feeling Eddie’s fingers tighten around your own, the severity in his gaze making the room come crashing around you.

“Eddie never…he never murdered any of those people,” Max says, but you know that.

You’ve known that.

In the end, Eddie spends a few weeks in the hospital.

Max spends months there.

His name is cleared relatively swiftly. Steve is a bit cagey as to how they manage to get Eddie’s name pulled from any further headlines, but you know it’s because there was nothing to hold together a case against him.

Jason is suddenly the blame for the events that occurred, and laid to rest on that March day.

It’s a lot to process.

The room feels heavy with it, thick in a way that reminds you of honey. Sticky, yet missing all that sweetness.

Steve suggests you all stay for the night. Get some rest. Recount the stories in the morning.

It’s been hours and every inch of your body aches from work and your eyes feel tired, burning with the unshed tears lingering on your lash line.

Steve lets you borrow some of his things, an oversized sweatshirt, some pants you need to roll up multiple times, and leads you and Eddie down the hall of the second story to the home, pausing in front of a bedroom.

“It’s a guest room,” he says, gesturing inside. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Goodnight, you two.”

It’s normal for you to expect mirth or a deeper scheme behind Steve’s eyes. The sense of teasing there that you’ve grown to know and love, and yet standing before that bedroom in the lonely hall has you unsure of where to look, Steve only whistles and shifts awkwardly before leaving you to your solitude. Neither of you speaks for a time, bodies shifting in the darkness, not touching and awkward.

This morning you had been curled as tight as two could be, your spine to his chest, your thighs to his, those strong arms of his wrapped around your waist, his chin over your shoulder, lips to your ear.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he whispered.

Your heart stuttered. Faltered from the weight of what he was saying. Your fingers slid up to curl into his hair, his face leaning into your touch. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before either, Eddie.”

It was the truth then, it’s still the truth now, and yet there’s a chasm that grows wider by the second in that hallway, and for fear of watching it grow anymore, you take the initiative and push past the man to slip inside the guest room.

Neither of you speaks as you move about the room and take in your surroundings. There’s a simple dresser in one corner, a lamp on a stand that sits in another, and there’s only one bed.

One.

It’s a thought that might have thrilled you some other time, and now it only fills you with a maelstrom of emotions. In the past few hours your conversations have been reduced to sparing words, your touches to brushes of fingers. And now there’s a silence that screams between you, those murky depths curling and lapping at your ankles.

You drop your borrowed clothes onto the bed, glancing over your shoulder to where Eddie stands awkwardly in the doorway. The fullness of his form is outlined in golden light emanating from the hall, those dark eyes of his searching.

“You can take the bathroom,” you tell him, “I’ll tell you when I’m done and you can come out.”

He’s seen you in nothing but a pair of jeans before, yet somehow changing around him feels more intimate. Especially with the disquiet between you two. So there’s no protests on his part as he reaches into the side dresser, as if he’s done this before, and snatches a pair of pants and a shirt from within. He opens his mouth to speak and you feel your soul soar for a moment, before he’s snapping it shut again and slipping inside.

When the door clicks shut, you let out a shaky breath and change in silence.

Eddie knocks on the bathroom door moments later, your voice beckoning him out when you’re finally and fully dressed again. You’re moving about and folding your original clothes up onto the dresser when he moves to go sit down on the bed and you maneuver around him to get ready for sleep.

He watches you in silence as you wash your face and brush your teeth, wiping down the countertops after, a habit from working at Sunshine Coffee for so long now. You know why you’re really doing it, though. It’s a temporary distraction from the deeper issue at hand: the rift between the two of you.

Sighing, you slip back into the bedroom and walk around to the opposite side of the bed closest to the lamp and slide underneath the covers. Eddie watches, still upright, as you turn onto your side and reach over, asking if you can shut the light.

“Uh…yeah, yeah that’s fine,” he says softly from behind you, and the room drowns in darkness.

You pinch your eyes shut to try and get some rest, chest aching, heart clanging like a damn cymbal, but your mind only spins. You’re certain you’ll find no rest tonight, only the dizzying free fall of your wandering thoughts.

That is, until the bed dips beside you and you feel Eddie pull back the covers, sliding down against the mattress to rest a head on the pillow beside you. You feel his hand accidentally brush your hip and from behind you a following, “Sorry,” that spills through his lips.

You laugh, because it just feels so silly.

You’re not mad at him, but there’s still this disturbance hanging in the air. The worry to push him beyond his boundaries, beyond what he feels comfortable with now after sharing his past with you. If he wants to remain in silence, you want him to remain in silence. You want whatever he wants—whatever he needs at the moment.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks, his voice tight.

“Nothing…I just—nothing.”

He doesn’t speak for a bit. Only settles down far enough on the other side of the bed you can feel the heat radiating from him, but not even the ghost of touch from his form.

A beat of silence passes.

And then—

“Sweetheart, I hate this.”

Your head nuzzles further into your pillow, voice a little shaky as you whisper back, “What do you mean?”

“I left earlier because I thought the worst. I thought—I thought you believed him. Wouldn’t be the first time someone was turned against me,” he says a little breathlessly. Jason. Jason did that. And the ramifications of it are still present to this day; you’ve seen it first hand. “That was dumb as shit for me to think. I…I wanted to tell you. I was going to, he just beat me to it first. Should have come from me, should have been sooner, should have—”

“Eddie, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, though.”

“Seriously it’s—”

“I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry,” he says, and you shatter.

Eyes flush against your cheeks, lashes dancing along the topmost points of your cheekbones, you mutter, “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. At all. I need you to understand that.”

“Then why aren’t you talking to me? You’re all the way on the other side of the bed. You won’t even look at me.”

“Because I know how hard tonight was and I didnt want to push you. Eddie, what you told me tonight…it’s important and it’s huge and the fact you’ve trusted me with it means everything to me. But I also want you to take the time you need. Process what you’re feeling and all of that.”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Where you’re too nice,” he says. “I just want to hold you.”

“Then hold me, Eddie. You never need permission to hold me,” you whisper back, sighing as his arm comes to loop around your waist and tug you flush against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

Your fingers drag slowly around his bare forearm, feeling gooseflesh pimple the surface of his skin. “For what happened. For what Chance did. For eighty six. For all the people who have been unkind to you. I wish they could all see what I see.”

You roll over then, seeking his face in the dark. His eyes are molten honey, soft in a way that has your fingers seeking the warmth of his chest over his tee shirt, feeling the divots and lines of his abdomen against fingertips. He’s lean and lithe and perfectly yours, with a heart that melts yours.

He just never sees it that way. But you suppose that’s what loving someone means. It's choosing them, even when they don’t choose themselves. It’s the good and bad days, not just the ones that are bright shades of orange, pinks and reds behind rose-colored glasses. It’s standing by them no matter the circumstances, supporting them fully. It’s the whole hearted acceptance that resides in your heart for him.

For who he was, who he is now, and who he will be.

“I’m happy you know now,” he says, rubbing a thumb along the bump of your chin affectionately. “I’m tired of being nervous. I’m tired of the constant looking over my shoulder and running. It’s been almost three years.”

“It takes time, Eddie.”

Your fingers reach up to cup the curve of his jaw, dancing along the scarring there. It still kills you to know he’d been broken and on the brink of death in the middle of this other world that resides beneath your own.

That he had been inches from death and still held on, only to find the world outside just as cruel as the one that nearly killed him.

“What you’ve been through—what you’ve all been through,” you start, exhaling as his forehead drops closer to your own, pressing there to linger. “It changes you. There’s no way it couldn’t. And yet you’re all still living, you’re all still loving and showing your past that it can’t rule you. You’re so brave. I don’t think you’re running anymore.”

“I don’t want to,” his fingers slide down along the slope of your face, the line of your throat, skipping along your collarbone. “You’re the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time. I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up.”

“You’re the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time.” His hand slides down the slope of your shoulder, along your bicep. “We’re bound to make mistakes. But we get to make them together. It’s a learning process.”

“I’ve never been good at that,” he teases, chuckling lightly.

“It might be a steep learning curve, but I think we’ve got it.”

His fingers trail down your forearm, before tangling in the space between the two of you on the mattress. He lifts your hand and brings the center of your palm to his lips, presses a kiss to the center there, eyes lingering on your face.

“We’re good?” He asks against your skin, his eyes practically molten in the night.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

He sighs in relief, biting softly at the skin at the heel of your palm, earning a laugh from you. You’re about to protest when his face pushes into your collar bone and he practically drapes himself over you, his long limbs tangling with your own.

“What would your friends think knowing you’re basically a koala bear in bed?”

“I’ll deny it,” he mumbles against your skin, the outline of his smile making your stomach tumble.

Your fingers come to curl in the tangle of his dark mass of hair at the back of his head and hold him as close as he can possibly be to your frame. “I’m glad you stopped running, Eddie. I don’t think we’d have met if you didn’t. And I’m really glad we met. Really, really glad.”

His head lifts at your words, those dark eyes of his searching your face in the barely lit room. He brushes the bump of your chin again with his thumb, resting it in the dip below your lip. His eyes flicker southward, and you lean forward a bit, just as he presses his mouth to yours, silencing all other thoughts from your mind.

There’s only this moment, this bedroom sequestered away from the world, these hands holding you, this boy kissing you, whispering how much he cares for you, and your hearts full to the brim because the world lies ahead and it’s yours for the taking.

There is no more running.

The next morning dawns bright for a winter day.

The first official day, really.

It’s all pearlescent skies, overcast, pale clouds stretched in what looks like a blanket across it. It looks like it’ll snow, the news forecasting a foot of it just before the holidays.

It’s how you wake up beside Eddie that next morning. His arms slung low about your hips, his breath at your ear, the curtains parted enough to allow you the view of the backyard.

Your fingers dance along the tops of his hands, along the hair along his forearm.

Today feels different somehow.

Your relationship has taken a new turn. A hurdle overcome. Now there’s only a blank canvas—open spaces to fill with new memories.

Eddie also sleeps easily. The few times you’ve slept beside him he’s either not slept at all and waited for the sun to rise and you to head off to work to finally allow himself rest once the night bled into day, or has fallen asleep and woken up in the throes of a nightmare or tossed and turned in his restlessness.

Now his chest rises and falls steadily at your back, his mind quieting enough for him to do so. You shift slowly, gently enough so as to not wake him, onto your side to look up at him. He’s all smooth edges now. The wrinkle between his brows is gone, face unmarked by any thoughts warring in his mind, those pillowy lips of his parted slightly. He looks younger than his twenty three years. Your fingers trail up to touch his cheek, fingertips running along smooth pale skin, earning a sigh from the man.

A hand at your back presses you closer to him, a little ‘oof’ spilling from your lips as your face meets his chest and his head comes to rest at the top of yours.

“What day is it?” He mumbles against your head.

“Saturday. We’re both off.”

“Oh,” he hums thoughtfully. “So we have the day to do nothing.”

“No, we have the day to go shopping. You haven’t gotten any Christmas presents and we have four days until the big day,” you remind him. “We’re spending it at the Wheeler’s, remember?”

You’d anticipated spending the holidays with Eddie at the very least. Your own family was traveling to Florida to seek out warmer weather instead of the bitter cold of Hawkins. Had brushed off your invitation with a simple, “Next time, honey.”

Nancy’s invitation came later. She’d cornered you at a get together over at Steve’s and said she’d really like you to come. That her house was more than large enough and that her parents were looking to have everyone get together. The more the merrier.

You were over the moon about it. Your first real “family” holiday season.

He only groans.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll spend the whole day together wrapping gifts and watching movies.”

“With Max.” He says it like he doesn’t enjoy her company, but you know he doesn’t mean it.

“Yes, with Max. She has shopping to do as well.”

He huffs out a laugh that warms your skin. “We have vastly different ideas of fun.” He pushes back just enough to drop a kiss to your forehead, before shifting up onto his elbows. “We should probably head downstairs soon. I hear them moving around in the kitchen. They’ll be looking for us.” He leans down to press his lips into the curve of your neck, sighing. “Just wanna stay here instead.”

For emphasis, he drops back down and hugs you tight, resting his head against your collar bone.

In the end, you win out, managing to extricate Eddie long enough to dress and ready for the new day. In the kitchen, Steve stands over the stove, working up some breakfast, while Max and Robin sit at the kitchen table, faces impassive as the two of you slip back into the room. When they notice the way his hand brushes your back as he slides a chair out and you move to take a seat, the mild discomfort fizzles and conversation resumes.

“Did you two sleep well last night?” Steve asks, waving his spatula like a sword for emphasis. “It’s almost ten.”

“Like a baby, Harrington.”

You snort at Eddie’s words, thanking Max as she hands you and Eddie steaming cups of coffee just as she knows you like them. You thank her, smiling warmly.

“You two kiss and make up? Because I’m not about to spend the day with you two pouring at each other non stop,” Max asks, nonplussed.

You choke a little on your coffee.

Eddie’s face hardens.

“Red.”

“What?”

She shrugs, biting into a strawberry as Steve starts shoveling breakfast onto everyone’s plates.

Your chest warms.

In the end you manage to get all the shopping you need to do finished.

It’s not without its struggles, however.

Max and Eddie separate are two different storms.

Max with her fiery, sometimes explosive energy. Not to mention that deadpan that endears you to her, her open opinions, the brashness in which she lives her life.

And then there’s Eddie. Charismatic and explosive like her, all frenetic energy as he moves in and out of stores, looking for the perfect gifts for those he cares about most.

She urges him to hurry up, he barks back at her to let him think.

It’s a constant back and forth that has you both amused and frightened, because you’re never quite sure if they’re seconds away from fighting in the mall. Onlookers question if the two of them are okay, to which you mutter back “siblings” and they nod in understanding, like they know exactly what that implies.

And later, as the three of you return to his dimly lit apartment, illuminated only by the Christmas tree the two of you lovingly decorated together, you bask in the warmth of their familial bond. The way the two of them curl up together on the couch watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas as you work on putting together something to eat for dinner. Every so often you glance over your shoulder, catching the way Eddie’s arm curls around the younger teen, how she seeks out his warmth.

It dawns on you—the depth of this moment. These two souls are so willingly open to allow you into their lives. Into their hearts. It’s taken time, months really, and the fact they trust you wholeheartedly now is not lost on you. You’ve never had a close family. Always absent, leaving you to your own devices.

You understand Max and Eddie are a family now, bound by unexplainable trauma, and yet they are family all the same. And in a way, though you wouldn’t voice it to them right now, watching them from afar like this…them allowing you into the safety of this moment…it almost feels like family for you, too.

This overwhelming sense of belonging that curls around your insides, makes them warm, brings a wave of tears to your eyes. Eddie catches the glitter on your lashes, untangling himself from Max just as you dip your head into your shoulder, ladle spinning through your freshly made sauce, trying to hide yourself from his sight.

“Hey, hey. Don’t you hide from me,” he urges, tapping at your cheek, earning a watery laugh from you.

“‘M fine,” you mumble, sniffling noisily. The tears recede and lift your gaze to his to prove it to him, but Eddie remains at your side, curling an arm around your hip to drag you close. “Really, I promise.”

He presses his forehead into your cheek. “Let me see that smile.” You snort as his lips smack a kiss there, loud enough to draw Max’s attention.

You hear her scoff, her drawl of distaste, but there’s a smile on her face all the same.

“Just feeling really happy is all,” you reassure him, a smile sliding onto your face.

He slides a hand down your arm and curls his fingers into your own, squeezing your tangled digits. “I know what you mean.”

The three of you eat your chicken parmigiana in comfortable silence, Eddie only groaning every so often in enthusiasm over the fact he’s being fed. You snort, knowing very early on in your friendship that the best way to Eddie Munson’s heart was through his stomach.

Later, it’s Max and you sitting at the kitchen table wrapping gifts as you walk Eddie through baking a tray of cookies. You’ve already successfully wrapped the gifts you all got for Wayne, as well as the smaller gifts for the kids and your friends. Eddie had told you he’s terrible at wrapping gifts, at which you had told him it’s not about the wrapping but the fact love was put into the package. But he reassures you all the same he’ll be better put to use doing something else. So you’d set him up with some baking supplies in his small kitchen, and gathered things for you and Max to get started with.

“Small round circles,” you tell him, watching his fingers hesitantly roll dough within his palms, now bare from their usual rings.

“He’s really got the easier job,” Max grumbles.

She’s been…struggling, to say the least. Every so often she curses under her breath when a tab of tape gets stuck to her fingers instead of the package, or she doesn’t have enough paper to cover a box because she underestimated. You try to assist her as much as she’ll allow, but she reassures you over and over again she’s fine (she’s not) and that she doesn’t need help (she does).

“Why is that, Red?” Eddie asks, the line of flour on his cheek a slash of white against his face.

And there on the table, in a mess of crinkly red paper and endless tabs of tape keeping things positioned in place, lies one of Lucas’ gifts.

She holds it up with an uneasy laugh and Eddie tries to hide his own chuckles into the lip of his coffee cup.

It’s not perfect, no, but this moment is.

The Wheeler’s truly go all out for the holidays. Upon entering their home, Eddie’s palm in your own, your eyes are drawn to the endless holiday decorations. Their tree is dressed to the nines, all wide and fluffy branches, glowing lights, endless ornaments that twinkle against green branches.

There are lights twined around all the railways and banisters, illuminating the room in a pale glow. There are centerpieces on all their tables, little candles with tiny wreaths around the bases, the smell of pine filling your nostrils as you take a turn about the place.

Karen Wheeler is there in a flurry, ready to take your jackets. “I hope the drive wasn’t too bad, sweetie,” she says to Eddie, brushing the snow from his shoulders.

It’s been snowing all afternoon. A few inches now blanket the streets of Hawkins, and though it did provide for a harder drive, you find that it only adds to your experience in town with the people you love. A true white holiday season.

Last year you’d been somewhere tropical, in a bathing suit on the beach, sipping a margarita funded by your parents. Now Karen moves about you and helps you slip out of your jacket, coming around front to look at you, a giant smile blooming across her face.

“You’re a doll! Eddie, she’s so beautiful.” She turns to him, then glances your way. “Come on in. Be a dear and help me with the table, would you? Nancy, your friend is here!”

It’s not long before you’re put to work, setting up table placements, smiling and waving every time another arrival comes through the front door.

Dinner is warm and bright. Full of laughter, full of quiet conversation and guests asking to pass the pasta, a roll, the chicken. It’s memories told about the kids through the years, Hopper regaling you with moments that make El flush deep scarlet in embarrassment. It’s Max leaning into Eddie when she grows a little morose, and him curling an arm around her shoulder to whisper against her ear because he knows what she’s feeling. It’s Wayne crying later when Eddie gives him a new mug that says “World’s Best Dad” and Max rushing over to tackle you and Eddie when you give her the tickets to a concert she’d been talking about taking Lucas to.

All around the room people pass around gifts, room full, hearts fuller.

Charlotte and Steve slip away after a while to go kiss beneath the mistletoe, Nancy and Jonathan hold one another close on the couch, Robin and Vickie glance lovingly at one another as Vickie holds a new sweater up to her chest.

The kids thank Karen for their new socks, knitted hats, and warm mittens.

You smile as Eddie slides your new necklace around your neck, a locket with a picture of the two of you on one side, and a picture of him on the other, just so you’ll always have him close.

He kisses you and tells you his thanks over the new cassette tapes and guitar strings you'd gotten him, the new fantasy books he’s been meaning to read, and a couple of things for his new campaigns he’s been dreaming up.

“Hey, Eddie,” you tell him, as people retreat to the dessert table and dining area, leaving the living room mostly unattended.

He brushes your hair back into place and trails his finger over the locket. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

“I have another gift for you—and before you get upset, it’s little. It’s…well, here.” You slide the little pouch into his hand, the drawstrings pulled tight.

Tentative fingers move to open the little bag, dropping the item inside into his open palm. His head tilts to the side, shifting the key with a fingertip. “What’s this?”

“It’s a key. To my apartment. So you always know you’re welcome. And also because…all my life I’ve been running from reality. Bouncing between place to place so I don’t have to really get to know people. Trying to protect my heart because I didn’t want to get hurt. Never really allowing anyone to get all that close. Until I came here…and met you.”

“I’m not understanding.”

You shift closer to him where you sit on the floor, your knee brushing his own as you lift the key and dangle it in the air between you two. “I thought about it. About the shop, about the friends I’ve made here, and how I feel about you and I want to stay. I’m going to stay in Hawkins.”

Home.

You’re finally home.

And the slow smile that starts to spread across Eddie’s lips as he finally understands is all you need to see to know you’ve made the right choice.

His eyes shine with the reflection of Christmas tree lights, and swim with affection for you.

Home.

You’re staying here in Hawkins, staying with him, choosing this.

So if his voice wobbles a little, you say nothing of it, because he’s glowing. “That’s…that’s the best gift you could have given me.”

You curl the key into both your hands and squeeze tight, the imprint of it cool against your skin.

But it’s the easiest decision you’ve made in a long time.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

Hawkins feels even more like home the next afternoon.

It comes unexpectedly, as most things do, with the door blowing open from the cold winter air, bringing Eddie along with it. His head is bent down, looking at something within his jacket. You’re worried he’s hurt from the way he’s cradling his side, but what you find instead makes you pause.

Hidden within the side of his jacket is a silvery ball of fur, with a tiny button nose, two dark eyes, and a set of ears that look funny on its small head.

“Eddie, what is that?” You ask, already knowing your answer, but wanting to hear your boyfriend fess up all the same.

He tucks it closer to his side and mutters, “Nothing.” The kitten gives a tiny meow and Eddie melts, his dark eyes growing softer by the moment as one of those ringed fingers comes to rub along the furry head.

You take a step closer, glancing into his jacket to see the little one. It peers out curiously, leaning into Eddie’s side as if it knows that he’s his protector already. “It’s not nothing because it looks like a kitten. A living, breathing kitten.”

Eddie rubs the tiny head again. “That’s because itisakitten.”

“What was that?”

“It is a kitten,” he says simply, pulling the jacket away to hold the baby in front of him.

“Why is there a kitten in my apartment?” You step closer, stroking a finger along one of the too-big ears. The kitten purrs and leans into the touch.

He rubs a thumb along the tiny little spine and says, “Well, you see, I was walking over here from work and I heard this tiny little thing meowing by the dumpster. And I had to pick it up. It was calling my name.”

You pause in your gentle stroking, and the kitten's eyes pop open. “It was saying Eddie?”

He nods, and you move to rub underneath its chin. “Yes, so clearly, you should have heard it.”

“Eddie…” you warn, just as a tiny, sandpaper tongue drags along your fingertip.

You melt a little bit, and Eddie takes note.

“My apartment doesn’t allow pets. But this apartment is yours. Fully and completely yours.”

“Eddie no.” And as much as your mind screams no, the kitten stares at you and your resolve crumbles all the more.

“Look at it. How can you deny this face?” He holds the kitten up beside his face.

And you know he’s talking about denying the kitten, but the look on Eddie’s face is just as hard to say no to. All pouty lips, bit doe eyes, lashes batting at you obnoxiously.

So it really should come as no surprise to you when the two of you spend the next day at the vet with the kitten (a boy, they tell you) and then the pet store after (Eddie tells you he needs toys, though you tell him food is more important) with a very giddy Eddie who spends way more money than he really needs to to spoil his new “son.”

Later that evening, after you’ve all eaten (kitten included) you sit around on the floor as Eddie rolls a ball toward the little one and grins widely as it pats a tiny little paw against the surface until the bell inside jingles.

You’ve been like this for hours, taking turns showing the little one new things, figuring out which toys he likes best, getting him used to the two of you and his new home.

“It is really cute,” you say as it comes to curl up in Eddie’s lap, sound asleep.

“He’s really cute,” Eddie agrees, running a gentle hand along its back.

“What do we name him?”

“He was chewing on my buttons in the car. How about Chewbacca? Get it?”

You laugh, incredulous. “Chewbacca? Eddie, this is our son.”

He snorts at that. But you suppose this is your fur-child now. Both of yours.

“Yes, I understand that, and I happen to think Chewbacca is a wonderful name,” he says plainly, not quite getting the issue here.

“He doesn’t even look like Chewbacca. He’s silver.” You rub at the little head, leaning over to kiss the tiny nose.

“How about Chewy for short? Chewbacca is his full government name, though. Chewbacca Munson.”

“What if I wanted him to have my last name?”

“We can hyphen.”

“Wow, I’m surprised you compromised that quickly.”

He shrugs, leaning over to kiss you on the temple. “It doesn’t slip my mind you’re keeping him here. Thank you for indulging a childhood wish of mine to have a pet.”

You snort, but your grin is megawatt. “You’re lucky I l—like you so much.”

Your friends are inside, the sound of music and chatter drifting from the opened patio door. The countdown to the new year is set to start soon, but you’re staring up at the sky, Eddie’s arms low around your waist, his chin against your shoulder as the two of you stargaze. He reminds you of the constellations he’s already shown you, then starts to point out the newer ones you’re not familiar with.

You’ve been like this for a while now. Him holding you close, keeping you warm, your breaths curling in the winter air. There’s a whole party happening just feet away, and yet you’re exactly where you want to be the most.

“They’re going to be looking for us soon,” you whisper, though you find you don’t really care.

A particularly loud laugh echoes from inside, the outline of Steve and Charlotte’s forms illuminated across from you as Robin tells them a story with a wide smile on her pretty features.

She waves and you wave back, returning your eyes to the stars, to the boy who you’d believe hung them if he told you so.

“Hey, sweetheart?” His voice is quiet. Timid.

You turn around in his arms to face him, his lips a little chapped from the cold, that too-big jacket of his becoming your blanket as he cradles you in the circle of his arms.

“Yeah?”

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about. Something kind of serious,” he says, and you feel your lips tug southward. At the furrow of your brows, he shakes his head, cupping the side of your cheek with his hand. “Wait—maybe not the best wording. I, uh, it’s serious in a good way.”

“In a good way…” you repeat slowly, chewing idly at your bottom lip.

Now his brow furrows, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m not…I’m messing this up. Okay, I’m going to just come out and say it…”

“You’re worrying me,” you mutter, a little breathless, hand coming to rest over his hand comfortingly.

“I…”

“Hey lovebirds, wanna stop sucking face? The countdown starts in five minutes!” Steve shouts outside, Charlotte shushing him with a hand on his shoulder. Her giggly apology reaches your ears and the two of you turn to find them staring your way.

“Can we get some privacy?” Eddie calls back, face pinching in his frustration.

“Come on, Stevie. Leave them alone,” Charlotte agrees, tugging at his arm. “We’ll catch up later. Sorry, guys.”

The patio door slides shut once more and you’re left alone with your favorite boy. He huffs out a sigh, sliding his arms back around your form, breathing a cloud between the two of you.

You’re not expecting him to just blurt out his next sentence. Not expecting the words at all, and yet they’re the same words you’ve been holding to yourself for safe keeping, for that perfect moment like this one. The moment where it’s the two of you, overwhelmed in one another, hidden away in a stolen moment captured in time.

Because it’s New Years Eve and Eddie’s just said, “I’m in love with you.”

Because it’s New Year’s Eve and your tears prick, voice a broken sob as you whisper back, “I’m in love with you, too.”

It’s New Year’s Eve and you’re spending it with the person you want to go make countless memories with in the next three hundred and sixty five days. You want all his days, good and bad. To brave the storms should they come, to chase away his nightmares, to rejoice in the happy times. You want to wake to him in the morning and kiss him goodnight before bed. You want to dance in the kitchen as you cook together, to taste his sugar sweet lips on those days you try something new to bake. You want those new adventures, dinners with Wayne and Max, play time with Chewbacca. You want the game nights with your friends, to listen to him play Dungeons and Dragons with the kids, to go on that camping trip Steve, Robin and the others talked about come summer time.

You wanted it all, want it all, with the boy standing before you with all the love in the world behind his eyes.

“I’m in love with you,” you repeat, just as the sound of the countdown spills from inside.

Ten…

He curls a hand around your face once more.

Nine…

You brush at the hair near his shoulders, feeling him warm beneath your skin.

Eight…

He tugs you closer, always closer.

Seven…

You slide your hands into his jacket, hands resting against his back.

Six…

He tells you he’s in love with you once more.

Five…

You press your forehead to his, smiling up at him.

Four…

He glances down at you through those dark lashes.

Three…

You feel his breath dance along your bottom lip.

Two…

You wish him a Happy New Year.

One…

He kisses you as party poppers explode showers of confetti inside. Kisses you as shouts fill your ears. Kisses you until butterflies dance to life in your belly, until fireworks dance behind your eyes, and the rest of the world falls away.

It all dissolves around you, and you’re just standing there in the arms of the man you love.

Nothing else matters.

All that matters is this moment, this boy, this love.

It starts, you suppose, in the car ride. The atmosphere has a new heaviness, a thrill that boils in the cabin. Your fingers slide through Eddie’s, toying with the rings resting cool from the winter air against your thigh. You’re not sure what possesses you. Not sure if it’s the happiness from the evening, the weight of his confession, the way your heart feels full to burst—but it has you feeling bolder, has you slowly trailing your fingers along your opposite thigh. A slow path, a gentle up and down, over and over again.

His eyes flash to yours, linger briefly on your exposed flesh, the warmth of your skin. You catch the way his tongue dips to his lip, the pinch of his teeth against skin, before flashing back to the road. You’re almost home, only minutes now, but you’re itching for touch. For his touch in particular, warm against your skin, along the outline of your leg muscle, inside your thigh, at your center where you want him most.

You feel the first little brush of his fingers as they slip free from yours, the tantalizing trail of them, along the thigh nearest to him. A gentle drag of skin against skin, venturing higher every time. His fingertips tease the hem of your ruched satin dress, now bunched near your hip, leaving only inches between where he lingers now and your clothed center. There is a question in his eyes, a pass of chocolate brown eyes in the night as he looks your way, and you dip your head, understanding his meaning.

His fingers start a new exploration, a curious slide along your inner thigh, a gentle sweep that leaves gooseflesh in its wake. It’s unfamiliar to him and you, and yet it elicits a soft sigh from your lips, head falling back against the headrest. Taking this as all the coaxing he needs, he pushes up higher, halting at the edge of your panties. There is a brief moment where he pauses, and you wonder if he’s about to freeze up and end this before you’ve even had a chance to begin the night, but he dissuades those fears when he shifts and presses his middle finger against the spot of slick already forming against the gray material.

He curses, his eyes sliding up to the ceiling in a silent prayer, hand tightening in a white knuckle grip against the steering wheel. “Wanna touch you.”

“Then touch me, Eddie,” you breathe out, shuddering as he pushes the material to the side and slides a finger through your folds, dragging in a curious line.

It's a wonky, unpracticed pattern that he tries once…then twice, and pulls back.

“Show me. Show me what you like.”

It sounds choked.

A little gasp, a soft plea.

Understanding what he means, you reach down to join him, dragging a line down your center, swirling in the pool of slick at your entrance before circling the bead of your clit. His eyes dart from the road to where your finger starts to move in small circles, toes already curling within your heels.

He watches like that for a few moments. Captures the way your chest rises and falls with each sweep of your finger, the heaviness of your breath, the shudder of each pass of air through lungs. And it doesn’t take long before he’s replacing your fingers with his own, following the same path you’d taken. Dragging those thicker digits from your entrance up to your clit, starting the slow slide of his fingers along hot flesh, murmuring, “You look so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

Your answer is a hum, a broken whisper of, “Right there, Eddie. Just like that.”

You’re already close.

You feel the beginnings of your orgasm beckoning, dragged closer by your own ministrations, and swifter now with Eddie’s fuller fingers, your hand coming out to grab at his thigh. You can’t help the whine that spills from you as that heat coils higher in your belly, the rubber band pulling taut, ready to snap as he moves faster under your guidance.

Your fingers dig down where they rest against his flesh. His eyes sweep back over to you, molten and dark in the moonlight, stuttering along where he’s touching you in a way he’s never done so before. He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, mesmerized by the way you look in this moment. It’s terrifying and exciting, eyes shut against the feeling. Flames lick at you as he pulls into the back of your coffee shop and parks the van. You barely register the click of his key pulling from the ignition before his mouth is on yours, face crashing into you from over the center console. You’re immediately moaning into his mouth and driving your hips up further into his hand to seek more friction as the rubber band snaps and sweet release spills into your system.

“Oh shit,” he breathes against your lips, brushing kiss after kiss along your face as your hips fall back against the seat, your eyes heavy as you try to catch your breath, looking up at him with a little laugh. “Was that good? I—”

You silence him with a kiss, whispering, “Inside,” against his skin.

He barely has a moment to lock the door before you’re grasping his hand and rushing him up the stairs, humming as the door locks close behind the two of you and you’re finally and blessedly alone. You both toe off your shoes as you maneuver your way over to the bed, connected at the mouth, hands reaching to grab at clothes, a clash of lips, tongues and teeth.

“Chewy, stay in your room. Your parents are busy!” Eddie scolds, the kitten in question already sound asleep in his little makeshift bed.

You giggle airily as the backs of your thighs hit your mattress, back falling into plush comforters as he crawls over you, walking you backward up the bed until your head rests upon your mountain of pillows.

“Say it again?” He asks, marking a path down your cheek, along your neck, pulling a whimper from you as he sucks a hickey into your collarbone.

“I’m in love with you, Eddie.”

He’s kissing you again, your head swimming with the ecstasy of the moment. It’s slower this time. Not like in the car where it’s a frantic, wild thing. There’s all the time now in the world to taste, tease and explore. His tongue sweeping low against your lip, sliding along yours, licking into your mouth with slow, languid kisses.

He moans into your mouth, a sweet thing you swallow as his body slides closer to yours, the beat of his heart a tattoo against your sternum. A frantic flutter you slide your palm up between the two of you to feel, tethering yourself to this moment—to this man.

His guitar string callused fingers drag a familiar path along your thigh, sliding your dress up higher over your hips, baring you to him once more. His fingers come to slide between your folds, still puffy from your orgasm, making you shudder and mewl against his skin. Hips move upward at the sensation, seeking friction, seeking him.

In your impatience, you fist both sides of your dress in your hands, Eddie’s hands falling away from you long enough to let you sit up and pull the material up and over your body. You feel bared to him, already nearly naked against your mattress because the dress had called for no bra lines, and a forearm moves to drape across your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie coos, cupping the side of your cheek. “You’re so beautiful. There’s no need to hide with me. I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart.”

Your arm drops away and he replaces it with his lips.

This part he knows.

This part he’s practiced on you already.

One hand comes up to knead one breast, while he pastes wet kiss after wet kiss to the other, tongue laving over your flesh, sucking into supple skin until you’re bucking up against his clothed thigh, rubbing your center against the fullness of it—seeking something, anything, to satisfy the need swirling in your gut.

“Come here,” you nearly beg, curling your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, tugging him back upward to your lips. You kiss him soundly, mewling as his thigh shifts and his hips roll forward, the hardness of him rubbing just right against your core, robbing you of all air. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here,” he chuckles, fingers dancing along your thigh. “Not going anywhere.”

“Want to touch you, Eds. But only if you’re ready.”

He leans back onto his haunches above you, hair a wild mess, chest rising and falling swiftly. He looks beautiful like this, just as he always does, all dark eyes and swirling heat living in them. They’re blown out now in his desire, in a way you’ve not seen him before. Heat flares at the thought it’s meant only for you, reserved only for you at this moment, just as his fingers reach for the hem of his shirt and hesitate.

“I can shut the light,” you whisper, hand coming to smooth up and down his thigh.

You want him to be comfortable. Fully at ease in a moment you know is already nerve wracking for him. It’s his first time with you, but it’s also his first time baring himself fully to another human after what transpired two years ago. His eyes shift to the left, to a faraway spot on the wall, like he’s mulling it over.

You stretch your arm out toward your lamp when a hand curls around your wrist like a bracelet. Eddie’s voice breaks into the silence with a soft, “No, leave it.”

He reaches behind his back and tugs the shirt up and over himself, slipping it off to toss it into the far corner somewhere. He waits. Waits for you to scream and run, to push him away you’re sure, what with the way his mouth settles into a firm line, his hands shaking where they rest at his thighs.

You’re familiar with his scars. At least the ones on his face, his neck, the spattering of them along his arms. The ones that litter his torso break your heart all over again for the boy on the floor of the Upside Down. The boy who had been close to death, and lived to tell the tale. The boy with the biggest heart you’ve ever known.

You lift yourself up to sit, hand coming up to hover over his abdomen, gaze flashing up to his momentarily. “Can I?”

He dips his head once, releasing a shaky exhale as your fingers trail along the first scar along his abdominal muscles, then further up along the two smaller ones to your left.

“Do they hurt?” You feel his stomach jolt as you drift back southward again, the softness of his abdomen dancing beneath your fingertips. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“No, not anymore. Not for a while now,” he manages to get out, watching your fingers where they linger against him, one of his hands sliding along the crown of your head comfortingly.

His left side, just over his heart, is the worst. A ridge of patchwork done by the plastic surgeons at the hospital, all puckered flesh, hills, bumps and divots. The demobats had tried to take him from you, tried to rob you of ever knowing this man, and your eyes water as you curl your palm over his ribcage, catching the soft shudder of his breath as his eyes fall closed.

You love him.

You love him fully and completely. Even in this body he resents, because it houses his soul. And it’s his soul you long for, want to entwine yourself to, want to cherish for as long as he’ll allow you. Even in this body that he rejects because it no longer looks as it used to, because it’s this body that has held you, has loved you, respected you.

It’s him.

You’ve never loved another person like this before, this feeling of fullness that makes your head swim. It drives you to lean forward, brushing a kiss over his heart, feeling him warm beneath your touch. His hand comes up to curl against the back of your head, your head turning so your ear rests over his sternum, arms looping around his back.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, as those ringed fingers curl around your chin and tip your head enough for him to kiss you sweetly.

When you pull away, you hear the first whimper fall from him. A choked garble that threatens to cleave you in two. Tears slide down his cheeks, along the bump of his cheek, salty tracks you brush away with your hands.

“I’m crying during sex and we haven’t even had sex yet,” he says pitifully, sniffling loudly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, thumbing at his scarred cheek. “It’s okay. If you want to stop, we stop. We don’t have to do this now.”

“I want to. I really want to.”

After that it’s a swirl of movement. You slide your underwear down and kick them off as he moves to clamber off the bed, fumbling with his belt buckle and struggling in the process. You jump up to help him, his hands falling to his sides, as you unhook the belt and tug it free from his jeans, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. You toy with the button on his jeans next, earning a sharp hiss from him as the zipper slides down and you accidentally brush him beneath his boxers, heart thudding when you find him hot and hard already. Swallowing, you watch as he wiggles the jeans down his thighs and stands there in nothing more than a pair of boxers, leaning across the space to kiss you once more.

You can feel the way he trembles, nervousness bubbling as he lowers you back against the mattress, elbows on either side of your head so he can cradle you. Your fingers trail along the hem of his boxers, eliciting a sigh from him, before they slip further within and wrap around silky hot flesh. He’s thick, thicker than anyone you’ve been with. You wonder for a moment if he’ll fit as you drag your thumb along his slit, collecting the bead of precum there. The curse he lets out has you slowly moving your palm up and down his length, watching him pinch his bottom lip between his teeth, shuddering above you.

His eyes flash open then, head shaking as he reaches to grip your hand where it rests against the base of him. “Wait, wait, wait. I’m gonna blow if you do that. I’m already scared I’m only going to last ten seconds. That’ll have me tapped out in five, baby.”

You snort as he leans forward to brush a kiss against your breast, your hand falling away from him to curl instead in the comforter beneath you. Emboldened, Eddie reaches down and slides his boxers off, kicking them into one of the various piles strewn about your floor now. He pops out stiff and ready, your eyes barely having time to take in the sight of him before he’s kneeling back down onto the bed, stealing a soft kiss that has you feeling warm like honey, all sticky sweet and languid.

“Do you have a condom? I didn’t think to bring one. I wasn’t…I didn’t know we’d be doing this, not that I’m sad about it. I’m actually really happy and—”

“I’m on the pill,” you explain, and the furrow between his brows softens, head slowly nodding. “But I have some right here.”

You reach over into your bedside table and he reaches over to pull a foil from the box. You watch him open it with shaky hands, chuckling to himself as it almost falls out of the packaging.

You reach out to see if he needs assistance sliding it on, muttering as you watch him roll the condom down himself. “I got them at the store the other day.”

“Oh—well that’s good. Safety first and all of that,” he says, chuckling nervously. You shift a bit beneath him, moving up further, making room for both your bodies, as his hand marks a slow path along your ribcage. “This is where my experience stops.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I’ve got you. Just remember we have nothing but time.”

“Okay,” he says, voice a little wobbly as he lowers himself against you, grabbing himself in hand. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready since we were in the car,” you laugh, making him smile as he slowly drags himself up and down through your slick, bumping your clit in a way that has your eyes clamping shut, voice hitching in a whine. “Eddie.”

He understands your breathy plea, sliding lower until his tip rests at your entrance, full and warm as he presses in slowly. You both shudder out a moan, your fingers coming up to grip his shoulder at the slight burn of the unexpected fullness of him.

He’s babbling your name into your throat, gasping at the feel of you fluttering around him, muttering how much he loves you into your neck. And you’re rolling your hips up further into him, wanting to be full of him, wanting to be as close as you’ve ever been until he’s cursing against your skin and burying himself to the hilt.

“Oh, hell. Okay. I’m inside of you.”

You snort, shoving playfully at his side as you adjust to him. “That’s typically how this works.”

He swallows thickly, hips rocking shallowly against yours. “Can I move?”

“Yeah, hon. Please.”

He starts off uneasily. Moving a little too swiftly against you as his human instinct takes its time to kick in. You grip at his shoulder, trying to steady him, gasping into his neck at the still delicious drag of him along your walls.

“Hey, Eddie,” you whimper, and his eyes pop open to look down at you.

“Oh no. Baby, I’m not hurting you, am I?” He stills inside you, hands coming to rest on either side of your face, those dark eyes round with fear.

“No…no. I just wanted to say go slow,” you whisper, mewling into his mouth as he does exactly that. Pulls back gently and rolls his hips forward in a way that has your eyes rolling back a bit, shuddering out a breath. “Y-yeah. Like that—just like that.”

“Is this good? Want it to be good for you, because—” He groans into your shoulder as your hips rise up from the bed to meet him, hands sliding up and over his back, thigh curling around his hip to keep him closer. “Shit. You feel so good. Like you were…like you were made for me.”

“You are.” You whine as he palms your breast, kissing the corner of your mouth, rocking against you in a way that has you seeing stars. If he kept going, if he kept hitting that spot over and over again—“Doing so good, Eddie. Making me feel so good, so full of you—mmmm—”

But it’s all over soon after your praises fill the room. You clamp your nails down as his shoulder as his hips move more erratically, sweat on his forehead pooling, his teeth pinching at his lip as his eyes slam shut.

“I’m close. I’m so close, I’m sorry baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just let go, I got you.”

His thrusting grows erratic as his chest falls forward and presses you down into the mattress. You feel him give one more final snap of his hips before he comes to a halt, trembling against your form with a curse. He’s gasping as he spasms inside, riding out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He remains against you like that for a moment, panting heavily against your skin, pasting kiss after kiss into your sternum before he finally pulls out of you with a low whine.

You gasp out a breath and slide a palm over your racing heart, watching him walk over to your bathroom to discard the condom. When he returns, he loops an arm over your waist, fingers wandering against your belly, the curve of your hip, the tops of your thighs.

You shudder out a breath as he grazes your center, asking, “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t…finish, right?”

He leans down to press the softest of kisses to your lips, the answering shake of your head all he needs before he runs a finger along your slit, a gentle drag from your entrance before following the pattern against your sensitive clit you showed him in the car.

“Eddie…” Your heel shifts to press against the mattress, thigh falling open, baring yourself fully to him. “It’s okay. Really.”

“Wanna kiss you there, sweetheart.”

You chuckle heartily at his brazenness as he starts dropping kiss after kiss along your breasts, down the line of your sternum, across your belly where he sucks a little hickey into the skin below your belly button until your chuckling against his smiling mouth, his hand coming up to curl with yours resting by your hip. He gives you a little squeeze and laces your fingers with his as he starts kissing along the tops of your hip bones, the span of skin between them that makes you gasp against your pillow, head rolling back.

He doesn’t stop the slow torture there. You’re not sure where he’s learned this, but you’re silently thanking them with a plea as his lips mark a scorching path along the insides of your thighs, his other hand curling around the meat of your leg to open you further to him, nose tickling your sensitive flesh until you’re shifting your hips against the mattress, earning a nip against the inside of your thigh.

“Eddie, please,” you whimper, breath robbed from your lungs as he finally slides the flat of his tongue from your center up to your clit, drawing a tentative circle there.

“Tell me what to do. What you like. Wanna make it good.”

“To the left. And just like that, keep doing that.”

You’re a shaking mess as his ringed hand leaves yours and joins his tongue, prodding where you want him most, and you practically cry out your “yes” as he slips a finger inside.

“Like that, like that,” you babble, hand dropping down to rest at his full head of curls. When his second finger eases in, you feel your walls clamp down around him, his answering chuckle vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “If you curl your fingers like that—ah, yeah, just like that—”

You break off into a sob as he mimics your ‘come hither’ motion, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue in a way that has your legs shaking on either side of his head, fingers twisting tight into his curls. You’re afraid you’ve hurt him at first, whipping your hand back, but he reaches up and slides it back into place, pressing your open palm against his hair so you can tug as you teeter closer and closer toward the edge.

“I’m so close, Eddie. You’re doing so good,” you pant, white flashing behind your eyes as he crooks those fingers against the part of you that has the flame flickering in your gut burning brighter and brighter, coil growing tighter as his tongue works you, his own sighs after a particularly hard tug of his hair against your center vibrating down to the tips of your toes.

The flames dance higher.

Burn brighter.

Become all consuming as tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

Because it’s Eddie.

Eddie Munson, the man who walked into your coffee shop all those months ago. The man with the quiet soul and loud mind. The man who cracked into a smile at your silly factoids and your ridiculous jokes. The man who had first been your friend and became so much more. Who tended to you when you were sick, helped make your house a home, created a little family with you by adding Chewy into the mix.

The man who became a safe place to land. A shoulder to rest your head. A door to walk into at the end of the day, to seek shelter from a storm with, to love endlessly and be loved in return.

It’s him, and in a way you think it’s always been him.

You snap with a low keen, trembling as your orgasm rushes over you, Eddie’s head peeking up just enough to watch it roll over you as his fingers continue their gentle slide.

You writhe beneath him as pleasure hits a peak and settles back into a low simmer, his head coming up to kiss you on the lips when he finally pulls out and joins you near your pillow. Your hand comes up to rest at the back of his neck, holding him to you, your mouths moving slowly over one another, tongues licking into mouths, neither one of you wanting to part from the other.

You’re not sure how long you lay like that in the circle of his embrace, his arm around your waist, your bare chests pressed to one another, ankles tangled beneath bedsheets. All you know is you hate to see him go as he slips out from the bed once more, sliding on his discarded boxers, into your bathroom. You hear the water run momentarily before shutting off, his frame reappearing with a washcloth in hand.

He helps you clean in silence. His fingers gentle along your still sensitive flesh, punctuating each slide of damp cloth with a kiss against your temple, before tossing it into the heap of clothing strewn about your floor. After that is a slide of hands as he helps you up and off of your bed, slipping his sweater over your head and letting it fall into place at your thighs. Your fingers skirt his side, along his bare chest, as he leads you into your bathroom and the two of you get ready for bed in silence.

He’s just been inside you, wholly and fully, but all you can think of is how these moments are your favorites. The ones only you’re privy to. The way Eddie slides lotion over his scars to maintain the elasticity of his skin, the care he takes in washing his face thanks to Steve’s incessant urging, the snap of his hair tie as he pulls his hair away from his face.

You stand before him as you brush, his larger form swallowing yours, fingers coming to toy with the hairs at the nape of your neck, thumb brushing lightly against skin. And as you spit into the sink and flush water down the drain, he spins you in his arms and presses your backside against the counter, drawing you to your tippy toes as he kisses you soundly, swallowing your sigh of happiness.

“Ready for bed?” You ask, running your hands down his chest, curling along his sides.

And he is. You find as much as the two of you slip back into your blankets, him drawing you close to his chest, pressing a kiss to the slope of your shoulder. You barely have a chance to whisper goodnight before he’s shutting his eyes and slipping off into a deep sleep.

You bury yourself closer to him and follow him into rest.

Eddie’s sure he’s dead.

Has to be.

It’s the only explanation for the way he wakes with you resting against his chest, your mouth slightly parted, little sighs filling the air.

He has to be dead, because last night Eddie Munson was Hawkin’s resident twenty-three year old virgin, and now he’s no longer a virgin and in bed with the love of his life.

Only he’s not dead. He feels the throb of his heart in his ribcage, the sound of it rattling in his ears thanks to your otherwise silent apartment.

Last night feels like a wispy dream he made up in his mind. Your hands in his hair, your body closer than ever before to his, the way you gasped and moaned in his ear. The feeling of you wrapped around him, hips rising to meet him, driving him further and further over the edge. He pictures the look on your face in utter bliss, watching you writhe for him, bringing you to that peak and watching it rush over you, leaving you shaking in his arms with him as your anchor.

All his life he’d thought himself unworthy of love. His father hadn’t been around much—always in and out of jail, and when he was around his way of showing love was teaching him how to shotgun a beer and hot wire a car. His mother, god he loved his mother, but when his father fell deeper and deeper into his poor habits, she retreated to other things to fill her heart.

Wayne had been the one to give him a home, to give him shelter, to let him know what a family looked like. A real family, at least. And then there was Max. The rough and tumble girl from across the street, with a personality that matched the fiery hue of her hair. She showed him what it was like to love someone like your own kin. Like blood. To want to cover them, protect them from the world, keep them safe.

And then there was you. The girl who had walked into his life and changed the course of it. For two years he retreated into his shadows. Craved the darkness they provided, the safety of drawing away from others. Hiding, because it seemed easier than facing the world. For a while, he was content with his core group; the same kids who had been with him during the worst week of his life, stood by him when he needed it the most, loved him when he lay broken and battered in the hospital. When the town turned on him, even after he’d been exonerated, they were there to protect his name. To try and fight back the rumors that threatened to swallow him whole. They never saw him as a murderer, never saw him as anything but Eddie Munson, loved him beyond the whispers of those who wanted to see him fall.

Loved him beyond those who wanted to run him out of town, wanted to believe the lie that he had the heart to kill all those kids, wanted to put a blame on the fact half of Hawkins had been ripped apart and sunk into the hell that lingered beneath.

You walked in and changed all of that.

Loved him despite his shadows, coaxed him out of them, wanted to see the parts of him he desired to keep hidden. You called to him, a gentle whisper, those small gestures that slowly broke away at the walls he erected to keep others out. You were patient, a constant beam of light in his world, a gentle smile on the days where he hated himself more than words could ever say.

You loved him in the light.

Loved him proudly in public, despite the way people might have looked onward in stores. Loved him even after knowing what he had gone through in eighty six, loved him despite the scar ravaged body that lingered beneath his clothes.

You’d given him a home to place his heart within. A roof to keep it covered. Your hands are there to cradle it and hold it close. And he trusts you. Whole heartedly trusts you.

Smiles against the crown of your head as he recalls telling you he loved you the night before, the way tears like stars glittered on your lower lashes, the choked hiccup of your breath as you whispered back in a broken voice you loved him, too.

“Are you awake?” You mumble beside him, humming softly as your arms come to stretch above you. He aches at the feel of your chest pressing further into his, cock stirring to life at your hip when you lean over and kiss him soundly. “Oh, good morning to you too.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, feeling his cheeks warm. Only you’re pressing further into him, hips flush against him, making him shudder. “Too early.”

“Is it?” You practically simper the words and his chest tightens further, gasping at the feel of your fingers along his chest, down his abdomen, dancing along the thatch of hair at the base of him before curling your palm around him fully. “We have no plans, it’s just us…”

He reaches down to grab your hand, already missing the heat of you around him, and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. Sighing, he leans up onto his elbows and stares down at your face. Beautiful, even freshly washed for bed, you’re so beautiful it stirs an ache deep within his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

You lean up and brush your lips against his. Tentative at first, and then coaxing as you slip your tongue along his, breaking apart long enough to rasp out, “I love you, too.”

Soon it’s a flurry of movement. He slips out of his boxers, kicks them down around his ankles, and moves to shift between your thighs. He remembers you’re on the pill and grabs himself in hand, feeling you beckon him forward with a swivel of your hips as he dips himself to the slick already pooling at your center. This time, as he sheathes himself fully, he languishes in the mutual gasp that fills the spaces between the two of you. Nearly chokes on a sob as he rolls his hips forward and back and feels you shifting to meet him thrust for thrust. You chase your end together, a slow ebb and flow, a quiet that wraps around your hearts save for your mingling breaths and moans.

You mewl into his skin that you love him.

To keep going.

Right there, you gasp out, when he hits that spot that has your eyes rolling back in your skull. Hits it over and over again as you start to shake beneath him, your impending orgasm drawing closer and closer.

It’s not like last night. The nervous, awkward feeling of exploring new lovers for the first time. Today he relishes the feeling of you around him, of rocking his hips into yours, of drawing out your pleasure, watching your face pinch, listening to your sounds. He wants to memorize every one. Every look that passes along your features as he moves against you, pushing your head further and further into your pillow.

With every movement he tries to show you his love. Tries to kiss you in a way that pours every bit of him into you.

He wants you to know that you’re it, this is it, this moment and this girl.

He’s done running.

He’s found home.

He’s found you.

Today feels like making love. Up until this moment he thought it was a cheesy thing people said about sex. But now he knows it’s real, feels the severity of it as he holds you in his arms, safe and sound from the rest of the world.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful you are.”

You only gasp his name in reply. Hands come to slide up along his back as he picks up his pace. Rolls his hips down into yours, hitting that spongy part of you that has your thighs trembling where they curl around his hips.

His forehead drops against yours, your eyes coming up to meet him as he tells you he loves you over and over again, hand curling tight with yours against the pillow beneath your head.

Forever.

For the first time, he wants that.

You shatter around him. Walls clamping down as you practically sob his name.

He’s not long after, moaning low and heavy into your skin, heart pounding in his ears. You whimper and writhe against him, as he slows in you, coming down from his own high.

He flops down onto his back and feels you shift beside him in the bed, coming to rest along his chest, hand trailing along his abdomen.

“Better?” He laughs, curling his arm beneath your head.

“Last night was perfect. Stop that.”

“Yes…yes it was. But this was better, no?”

You level him with a stare and he bursts out into laughter, waking Chewy who scampers over to hop in the bed with the two of you.

Your little family.

“Happy New Year, Eddie,” you whisper, reaching across to lace your fingers with his. “I have a feeling it’ll be a good one.”

“Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

Spring, 1991

“Baby showers are so weird,” Steve mutters, bringing the lip of his beer bottle to his mouth to take a sip.

The two of them stand near the door leading to the patio, glancing out to where Steve’s wife, Charlotte, sits in a circle of her closest friends who are all ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ over the dozens of new little girl outfits she’s received.

Steve continues, “Bunch of girls sitting around opening gifts for someone who isn’t even here yet.”

“Also kind of weird because it’s sort of like a ‘congratulations, your dick works’ celebration.”

“You two are disgusting,” Robin says. “Neanderthals. Babe, you live with this man?”

You’re at Robin’s side, wearing that dress that flutters around your thighs when you walk, looking pretty as ever. You still rob him of his breath even after the past two years.

“That I do,” you laugh, kissing him as you brush by to go grab more desserts from the countertop. “Have fun, boys!”

The two of you slip back out from where you came, Steve waiting until the door slides shut fully when he asks, “So when are you going to ask her? That ring has been burning a hole in your closet for weeks now.”

“Soon…” he says, watching as you walk around with a tray filled with cookies in your arms, passing them out to greedy guests. “I’m just waiting for the perfect moment.”

His first attempt has him sweating. Literal sweat dripping from his pores as the two of you sit at that too-ritzy restaurant Steve suggested you try. It’s not his scene, and it’s not yours. You prefer eating indoors, within the comfort of your now shared apartment, with Chewy always nearby to beg for table scraps (you always yell at him not to give him people food, but he’s quick to remind you he’s a growing boy).

This—the candles on the table, the multiple forks and spoons he’s not sure what to do with, the intricately folded napkins. He feels so out of place.

But the plan is as follows for the evening: the music will change to something soft and romantic just as the waiter walks out with your glasses of champagne and dessert. He’s requested a little note to be written in scrawling letters, set to read “will you marry me?” As you’re reading (and hopefully crying) he plans on dropping onto one knee and popping the ring box open.

It’s foolproof, Steve and Robin have reassured him only about fifty times now.

He just knows it needs to be perfect.

You deserve nothing less.

However, nothing ever goes quite as planned. You’re holding his hand, talking about the shop, when a table near you starts to shift. A trio of men start singing, actually singing, to the woman staring up wide-eyed at them, clearly enjoying a moment she’s been dreaming about. She’s a hysterical crying mess, Eddie’s horrified, and you look ready to sink into the ground from second hand embarrassment as one of the men steps forward and asks her to marry him in front of the whole room.

“Shit,” Eddie curses, and you pry your attention away long enough from the now frantically kissing couple to look over to him.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, sweetheart,” he says, glancing up to where the waiter is standing with a tray holding your dessert and glasses.

He’s waiting for him, he realizes, to give the go ahead.

But now his head is spinning, because he’s definitely not singing to you, he’s not prepared any fancy speeches or grand gestures, and definitely won’t be topping that display.

He just wanted to get down on one knee and let the words pour out of him in the moment.

The plan comes to a halt even further when you huff out, “I understand the whole public engagement idea, but I don’t think that’s for me. I feel like…I don’t know, I’d want it to be more intimate. Just you and me. Us.”

It’s like a record scratch in his ears, lungs relieved of all air as he tugs on his collar because he’s choking now too.

Is the room getting hotter?

The waiter glances over and Eddie shakes his head stiffly, reassuring you he’s fine when your hand reaches out to cup his forearm.

“Check,” Eddie mouths to the man when you’re not looking.

So no, it didn't happen that day.

The second attempt fares worse than the first. You’re cooking beside him in the kitchen and he’s about to get down on one knee when the phone blares from the far wall.

The two of you stand close to the receiver when the familiar voice of Dustin fills Eddie’s ears, grating and frantic, like he’s recently run a marathon or something.

“Dustin Henderson, resident butthead, what do you want?” Eddie drawls, earning a soft shove from you where you stand beside him.

“Aren’t you twenty-five?”

“Some things never change,” he says, and he can practically hear the kids' eyes rolling in his skull on the other end. “Is someone dying, because I was kind of in the middle of something.”

“That’s disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself,” Dustin groans.

“Not that kind of thing, you perv.”

“Look, I need help not being single and miserable…”

“That doesn’t sound like someone dying.”

“It might be soon if I don’t fix things with Suzie.”

“Okay, so how do you suppose—”

“Not from you! You’re not romantic,” Dustin continues, leaving Eddie a spluttering mess because he was, in fact, about to be romantic. Probably the most romantic he’s ever been in his life. So fuck him, he thinks. “I need your girlfriend.”

It didn't happen that day either.

The third attempt has you in the hospital, Eddie nearly wearing a hole into the ground as he asks the doctors a million and one questions. Is she going to be okay? What kind of medicine can she take? How long will she need to be on crutches for? Do they have to amputate? (He knows that one is a little dramatic, and he’s only asking because his brain is practically shaking in his skull, but he has to know).

You were taking a walk through your favorite park, following along a trail you’ve walked many times now, his sights set on the little lake in the middle of it that is viewable from a small bridge that sits beneath a canopy of leaves.

The only different thing about that day was the way you stepped funny and rolled your ankle, falling to the ground clutching at the offended limb with tears in your eyes. He’d been a mess, an absolute mess even though you told him over and over again you were okay, that it’s likely nothing serious, even though you were the one hurt in the first place.

But he drives like a bat out of hell to the hospital, only to sit in a waiting room for hours, before you’re taken for x-rays.

You have a broken ankle, and his heart aches when they cover your limb in a cast.

That afternoon it’s all dinner in bed and cuddling with Chewy and him as he props your foot up on a mountain of pillows, refusing to let you lift a finger for anything.

Not even the remote, he tells you when you grumble that you’re fine.

Definitely not the right time to propose, he decides, and shelves it for another.

He finds you a few days later sitting on the floor with your injured ankle resting in front of you and your palm upturned. He catches the sight of the velvet box next, the way your eyes behold the box like you’ve never seen anything like it before in your life.

“Oh no,” he cries out, rushing over to where you sit on the ground. “No, no, no. I had it all planned out. Well not planned out; I’ve had to change the plans a few times now, actually. But I wanted to make it special, take you somewhere or do something we like to do and ask you—”

“Eddie.”

It’s ruined.

The whole thing is ruined. He presses the heel of his palm to his forehead and groans.

“Eddie,” you try again, and he lifts his head to see you turning to look at him.

There are tears in your eyes, but you don’t seem sad. He’s just ruined your proposal and you’re not upset?

“Eddie, ask me now.”

He feels himself stumble a bit. Stutters out, “W-what?”

“Ask me now.”

You swallow thickly, handing him the ring box as he settles down on the ground in front of you. Chewy pokes his head up from the top of the couch, tail swishing at his two humans.

“A few years ago a new girl moved to town. There’s this idiot that works across the street from her shop at the bar, and he’s kind of a dick to her at first. You can laugh, it’s true. But it’s funny because she’s never deterred by it. She starts writing these little facts on his cups, and these corny little jokes that make her laugh and make it really hard for him not to laugh too because she’s just so pretty. They become friends…sort of. You see, he doesn’t really like to let many people in, and here she is with this big personality. Everyone falls in love with her, I mean—how wouldn’t they. Except for him. Or so he thinks.”

You’ve moved closer, your knees against his, one of his hands in your lap, curled in your own.

“He starts helping out with her apartment and realizes the more he hangs out with her, the more he likes her. He starts to feel less like a monster, and more like someone capable of love. She peels back those little layers and is so patient with it, never pushes him, always puts his feelings first. And then, he realizes he’d be a complete dingus to not tell her he likes her. And then the most surprising thing happens.”

You’re laughing through your tears, but laughing all the same and asking, “What is that?”

“They fall in love. Him for the first time ever, and he realizes…he wants that person every day for the rest of his life.”

He pops the box open and watches your hand come up to press against your lips, taking in the single diamond on a slender gold band.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. Every day more than the one that came before it. And I want that, I want this…us, for the rest of my life,” he says thickly, trying to hold back his own tears. “If you say yes, of course.”

“Yes, Eddie, yes,” you whisper, holding out your hand so he can slide it onto your ring finger.

It’s a perfect fit.

Then again, you’ve always been.

Eddie Munson marries the girl of his dreams six months later.

It’s a small ceremony, surrounded by your closest friends in the Wheeler’s backyard. You share personal vows with one another, words that encompass the years you’ve known one another, the love you share, the dreams for the future.

He promises to love you for the rest of his life as Steve—newly officiated for this occasion—instructs him to slide your wedding band onto your finger. And you do the same, standing there in a pretty white dress, your own words falling around him and filling his heart as you push the solid gold ring onto his own hand.

You dance under twinkling lights the kids have twined around the trees, hearts full to burst.

Wayne tells him he’s proud to call him son and wishes you well as you part for the night, Max joining soon after to hug the two of you and remind you she’ll be by the apartment often to check up on Chewy (her favorite and only nephew).

You slip into your hotel room in a flurry of kisses, a sea of white tulle around you, your hands in his suit and his working on undoing the line of buttons down your back.

You fall into one another as you always do, his lips against yours, bodies burning, sighs mingling into one as he slides home for the first time with his new wife.

He holds you close, one arm low around your back, the backs of his knuckles against your cheek. Tells you he loves you as the two of you creep closer and closer to mutual bliss.

Later, after you’re both cleaned up and spent, he tucks you close to his chest and hums the song you danced to at your wedding.

He’s happy.

Happier than he’s ever been in his life.

“Fun fact: Becoming your husband made this the best day of my life.”

You press your head further into his chest, finger toying with the new ring on his finger. “Fun fact: Becoming your wife is mine.”

Tag List: @clinicallyonline17, @sidthedollface2, @lazywillow6748, @idkidknemore, @blue-eyed-lion , @emma77645 , @bambipowerblueaddition , @aysheashea , @lezzy-bennet @yeehawbitchs

#eddie munson x you #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson fluff

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starshipsofstarlord · 1 year ago

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Got a Light?

Summary-> Norman goes to a bar after a long day on set, and he’s unexpectedly approached by a ‘stranger’ (1k)

Warnings-> implied smut, smoking, roleplaying, mentions of sex

A/N: I’m thinking of doing a second part with smut, I’d really love some feedback! And thankyou for reading

daryl dixon // norman reedus works main masterlist

The entire bar smelt of booze and sweat; it was crowded, there had been a mass of bodies entering after the clock hit 10, but it had been vastly quieter when Norman had arrived. It had been a long day on set, and all of the man had wanted was a drink before he headed home. He drank the rest of his beer, placing the pint glass back onto the sticky table, standing afterwards and shuffling his jacket onto his shoulders.

It was cool out in the parking lot, the fresh air hitting him better than the alcohol had. He rifled through his pockets, hands searching for the medicine that his lungs craved, pulling out a carton of cigarettes. Just cigarettes. There was no lighter on his body, he groaned at the realisation and threw his head back so that he was aimlessly looking up at the stars. He must have accidentally abandoned it on set or in the bar that he was facing away from, and he had no intention of going back.

One cigarette lay between his fingers as though it were ridiculing him. The sound of high heeled footsteps reached his ears, clearly he wasn’t the only soul that had gotten bored of the loud ruckus. The steps continued until they came to stand beside him, curiosity got the best of Norman and he decided to look at the company that stood beside him, and when he did he knew he was damned. Red lips and alluring eyes took his focus away from the rest of her body, and she could only chuckle at his agape expression.

“You know you need to light that right?” Her voice was like velvet, and Norman could only awkwardly lick his lips, as he tried to hold himself together in front of this beautiful woman. “Unless you’re one of those cheesy guys that are like ‘I can light it but u won’t, it just shows how much power I have.’” Her fingers had done quotation marks to imitate the kind of men that she was talking about, and Norman found it quite adorable.

Everything about her felt magnetising, he was drawn to her, and suddenly Norman felt thankful that he had lost his lighter. And then he realised that he had been silent through their entire interaction thus far, and it made him seem exactly like the type that she had mentioned. “Uh, I yeah. No I mean, sorry. You got a light?” He felt like he had made a complete fool out of himself. On the inside he was beating himself up, it wasn’t uncommon for Norman to be easily embarrassed, but he resented that it had to be seen by the enchanting eyes of this well put together and attractive woman, whose name was a mystery to him. Perhaps it were better for him if he didn’t uncover her social title, otherwise he was certain that he would never forget it.

“Sure I do.” Her hands slipped into the small object one would call a purse, and retrieved it for him, to which the man was thankful. If not for her he wouldn’t have gotten the release that he endearingly craved, but now to his own dismay, Norman thirsted for another. He thought of how her hair would look entangled in the rough grip of his fingers, lipstick smeared around her face and his cock. But he controlled himself and snapped out of his perverted fantasy, and opted for using her light so that he could smoke. “You look tense.” The nameless woman surveyed, pressing her red lips together in a decisive thought. “Sure you’re not just pretending so you can get in my pants?”

Norman had not expected for her to be so bold, and so he stifled and coughed on the trapped smoke in his throat, feeling the burn that it left behind. Whoever this woman was decided that it was appropriate for herself to laugh, relieving the panic that had momentarily subdued Norman. “I mean if that had been the case, let’s just say I wouldn’t be opposed. You’re cute, and I wouldn’t mind per say if you came home with me tonight.” There was a sly undertone in her words as she shamelessly flirted with him and ran her eyes scandalously down his body. Norman thought it to be some inkling of a continuous joke that she were playing along with, however he always tried his best to be optimistic, and this situation gave him a reason to be.

“Glad to hear it.” He responded, returning back to breathing in his cigarette that was getting shorter by the second. Ash flickered from its end, reminding Norman that the clock was ticking away until dawn began to rise, and although he was obligated by his contract to show up to work in the late morning, there was nothing written in the fine print commanding him to be well rested. Sure, it made his life and the stunts his script instructed him to perform easier, but he didn’t want this night to end despite his earlier apprehensions when he was sat in the bar alone.

“Are you ready to leave then? Unless you have someone waiting at home for you of course, committed men and cheaters aren’t really my type either.” She had made it as clear as a crystal for what she was looking for in him, and men in general. Norman stomped out the stump that was remaining of his cigarette, placing his hands that were feeling both hot and cold around her waist, pulling her closer to him, supplying the last heave of smoke to escape his lips and brush over her bare shoulders. “And I can’t help but notice that wedding band around your finger…”

This was all a rouse in her ploy, she was dragging him in for a night he’d never forget. “You’re gonna be the death of me y/n.” Norman informed her, watching as an all knowing smirk found purchase in her breathtaking face. She stepped away from him, only by a few inches as she held something rectangular and silver with her painted fingertips. His lighter. She was one devious minx, and he’d ensure that she was in for it when they got back to their home. “Don’t worry honey, you’ll enjoy everything that I have in store for us tonight.” Norman could only follow his Mrs Reedus to find out what she had planned for them.

#norman reedus x reader #daryl dixon x reader #norman reedus imagine #norman reedus fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #norman reedus fic #daryl x you

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wonsunism · 1 year ago

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I saw this scenario on TikTok and I imagined like sub!sunoo and dom!fem!reader So, they are kissing and he tells her to give him a blowjob and she says "show me first that you deserve it"

"baby, come here!" sunoo exclamed, wiggling his arms as he was laying in bed, just like a little baby. he was so cute. you were just entering his bedroom, and your face suddenly lightened up at the view of your sweet boyfriend.

you jumped into his arms, cuddling into him. you inspired his perfume, fully satisfied. sunoo smelt so good. he always did. you never asked what kind of aftershave he used, but damn, it was a good one. you couldn't stop yourself from getting high on his scent.

sunoo grabbed you by the chin, lifting your head a bit and getting closer to your face. his eyes were so deep and beautiful, hiding thousands of galaxies behind them. you were so lost in them, your gaze not moving an inch. you were so in love with this man. and so was he.

you moved your eyes to his plump rosey lips, that were waiting to be devoured. you kept staring at them for a bit, trying to see for how long you can go without becoming too desperate for his kiss, but that did not end up being your decision, as sunoo pressed his lips to yours.

kissing him felt just like a fantasy. and he just had such a certain and sweet taste. his tongue was playful too, constantly trying to tease yours. sunoo let a chuckle in between this, going back to your lips and sucking on them softly. he was so attentive. the softness of his lips just made it even better. he was a great kisser, and even by being this cute and careful, it still made you feel a lot of things.

his hands were now travelling down your back, holding onto your body and pulling you closer to him. he had a weakness for feeling your body, especially your ass. he fucking adored your ass. and he wouldn't stop rambling about it every time he had a chance.

"baby," he whispered while you still carried on with the making out session, answering with a light mhm. you were playing with sunoo's hair, curling it around your fingers and pulling it lightly every so often. "i want you to give me head" he added, breaking the kiss just to go down your neck and leave wet kisses all over it.

"aw, you really do, don't you?" you teased him. as he was on your right side, you moved him on top of you, holding onto his hard-worked thighs. you moved the hair that fell on your face, and looked at your boyfriend's cute presence from top to bottom. "convince me"

"sorry?" sunoo acted surprised "show me first that you deserve it, bunny"

sunoo's cheeks and ears turned red, just like a tomato, biting his lower lip. he became so submissive every time you'd show this side of yours. and you couldn't help but enjoy the show. "what do you want me to do?" sunoo head lowered down, your faces being just a couple of inches apart.

"suck my tits and i will suck your dick" he smirked at the thought of that. if there was a second thing he loved about your body besides your ass, that'd be your chest. it was always turning him on so much, making him barely be able to control himself anymore. "obviously, after you beg me too"

he did not wait any longer. he pulled up your tshirt, revealing your beautiful chest, held together by your purple bra. it was one of his favourites, which made him smile like a child when offered candies. firstly, he traced imaginary lines on your skin with his index finger, biting his lower lip and sighing. "your body is so hot" he whispered to himself.

you chuckled at his statement, grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand down your pussy "how hot is that one?" you smirked, as sunoo bulge started to get bigger and bigger. you noticed that fast, just as you notice sunoo beautiful smile appearing on his face. "do i make you this wet?" he asked.

his voice was the sweetest. he looked so innocent and adorable, you found it so hard not to push him on his back, get on top of him, getting rid of any piece of cloth left and suck his pretty dick for hours. just the simple effect he had on you. i mean, how could anyone resist it?

"you should see how wet i am inside baby" you grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down and biting his ear. "i asked you to do something, silly" sunoo sighed, nodding his head and pressing his lips on the surface of your chest. his shy tongue came out his mouth, tracing new lines on your skin, slowly, teasing you so much.

"your tongue feels really good, bunny" you said, caressing his hair. you kept the eye contact, making you blush slightly. he looked really good from that angle. sunoo pulled your bra cups lower, revealing your beautiful tits, which he smiled to. "i love your bra, but i love these more" he said, chuckling and rushing into taking one by one into his mouth.

his mouth was so warm and wet "you get me so satisfied" you groaned, while his tongue ran over your nipples. you arched your back while sunoo would not take his eyes off you and continue pleasing you. "is that good? do i do well?" he said between moving to the other one. he looked so pure.

"mhm" you groaned, smiling. "you do amazing, my babyboy" you felt yourself getting wetter each time his tongue played with your nips, making you cross your legs. that felt so good. that felt absolutely amazing. "i love you," he said sweetly, your tit falling from his mouth, which only made the two of you chuckle.

"i think i like this better than what i asked for before," he said, going back to work.

"i'm sure there are other ways in which i can reward you" you said, playing with his hair still.

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smut #kpop smut #sunoo smut #sunoo hard thoughts #sunoo hard hours

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b4mpyre-k1zz3s · 3 months ago

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ur such a good writer i literally love all ur fics ur like a celebrity to me i was just thinking maybe you could write something more about vampire bam with fem reader because I think it’s cute it could be smut if you want but it also doesn’t have to be and it can be all dark and stuff like the m reader one

Eternal Lust

Harboring resentment towards her elite associates in her high level trade, Y/N finds herself in an unlikely romance with an earl who has more than a few skeletons in his closet

Vampire!Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Angst, Fluff)

4.2k Words

Warnings: highly suggestive content, drinking, enemies to lovers, stalking, manipulation, scent hint, blood kink, nudity, biting, kissing, toxic relationships

An: thank you so much for this request, and happy Halloween! It’s rather fitting that I post this for the fall season, no? ;D Even though it’s not my most successful series, the whole period piece Victorian vampire!au is definately one of my favorites, and I’m touched you enjoyed it so much! There’s a lot that’s said and even more that goes unsaid in this fic, so keep an eye out for subtext as you read. Anyways, thank you for checking this out, and please keep the requests coming! <3

The space where dark compulsions meet the darkened sky- that’s where you settle in. You felt this evening, not unusual for yourself, a natural compulsion to seek out that same dark side, the forbidden- that is to say, the good stuff. The gala you were forced to attend by your position in the cargo industry was not where you found these things. Stuffy conversation about import taxes and embargos while packed in a ballroom cheek by jowl with decrepit old men wasn’t exactly your idea of a fun night out in London, but here you were- in a gown that clung to your ribs like a cage- a physical manifestation of how you felt. Opulent, gilded chandeliers and marble flooring so clean that you could see yourself in them reflected the buzzing, lively scenery around you, but you couldn’t help yourself from feeling purely dismal. But despite your fantasies, you couldn’t merely ditch this scene and take a waltz down to the east end- you had an impression you needed to make. This gala was being held by one of the titans in your field: Earl Margera, the handsome yet capricious man-child who you really had to suck up to in order to get anywhere. The only issue that came with that was that he was constantly surrounded by a flock of lick-finger supplicants which made it a nightmare to even look in his direction.

Wanting nothing more than a momentary breather away from the prying eyes of the elite, you quietly slipped away to a deserted parlor just off of the main hall- close enough to the action that you could still hear the dull thrum of the party through the walls. Sinking down in a high backed armchair, you scanned the bookshelf lined walls idly until your eyes laid upon something that piqued your interest: a large, ornate decanter filled with high quality whiskey that sparkled amber in the candlelight. Well, you’d always fancied yourself a purveyor of the finer things in life, and stealing an ounce or two or five of the Earl’s fine booze would be a quiet revenge you could exact- a way to justify why you even were here if you resented the man so severely. It would be the same as an enemy of Di Vinci wiping his ass with the Mona Lisa. Sliding out the large, crystal stopper with a pop, you grinned as you forwent a glass. Bringing the rim directly to your lips, you drank straight from the bottle like some street bum. Oh yeah, you were doing it… The delicate, sweet taste of the whiskey consumed your senses, but the satisfaction you felt was only momentary, because just as the burn that felt so good settled in your chest, the sound of leatherbound footsteps made your heart leap into your mouth.

And there, standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the golden light of the ballroom, the devil had come to play- all five feet and six inches of him. Still imposing, however, from the aristocratic manner in which he carried himself, Earl Margera’s every action was that of a predator who had no challenge for prey. Dark curls slightly tousled from whatever misbehavior he was relishing in before he graced you with his presence, he quietly slumped in the seat across from you in the study with that shit eating grin plastered across his face, “You enjoying my whiskey?” All tailored and waistcoated in velvets and silk, there was something about his wolffish arrogance that made you a little bitchy.

Glaring over at him, with his pale complexion and those fucking eyes, you spat, “It’s good. I find it’s best enjoyed straight from the bottle-” Making long, hard eye contact, you stared him down as you took a deep swig.

When he finally spoke up, there was an uncharacteristically calm tone in his voice, “I like your style, but it’s rude to drink a man’s alcohol without asking.” Those icy boy eyes fixated on you the way a hawk would spot a field mouse, you squirmed under your skin under his scrutiny, but that could have very well just have been the velvet of the chair.

One thing led to another and that led to the two of you passing around the whiskey like two urchin children, and aver the course of the evening, you’d gotten to feeling a little empathy for the demon across from you. Still, you felt the bastard oozed entitlement, and that resentment grew more and more apparent the longer you sat there. “You know, I-“ Earl Margera hiccuped, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, “I really hate these fucking parties. It's just this…” he gestured to nothing, squeezing his eyes shut, “this transient shit.”

Cracking a grin at his deceiving bluntness, you took satisfaction in how candid and disheveled he was growing in front of you. In all likelihood, he didn’t even know what that word meant… “Oh, we’re all transient…” Part of you wondered what brought this on from him- why he was here with you instead of mingling with the rest of high society, but I guess that when you own the board, you needn’t play the game. He was just as miserable as you.

“Courtesy of Earl Margera, madame...” The timid postmaster that stood at your door trembled as he handed the heavy box to you with an odd sort of tension held in his every fiber, like he was handing you a bomb that could go off at any moment, which you might as well have been sent given your behavior at that gala last week. You weren't ashamed, but you couldn’t exactly call it pride. Bringing it inside and placing it on your dining table, you carefully pulled the violet silk ribbon that held the package secure and lifted off the lid, examining the contents. You squinted at the artfully penned card stock note that read, “A token for a night of insightful conversation and spirited company.” Underneath the note, nestled in white tissue, was a very expensive looking necklace, no- it was a rosary. A shiver ran down your spine as you examined the expensive thing, sparkling silver affixed with polished garnet and onyx. According to something written on the back of the note, it was once a possession of Anne Boleyn, the irony of it being a necklace not escaping you. Who knew the earl would have such a twisted sense of humor? Running the cold metal through your fingers, you couldn’t help but feel, at the same time, uneasy and intrigued. How could he have acquired this artifact, and why send it to you?

Not wanting to risk damaging the fine jewelry, however suspicious the whole ordeal was, you returned the necklace to its case and stowed it carefully in your armoire before retrieving your shawl from where it was haphazardly tossed on a chair. Given autumn’s creeping grasp upon London, the streets ran with a chill denser than the characteristic fog that never seemed to disappear as you made your way towards the town market, mind still tangled up in the implications of, well- everything. Charming smiles, sharp wit, and frivolous gifts from the earl aside, you had the pressing matter of staving off starvation to deal with. Carriage wheels clattered and people bartered with vendors as you perused the crowded market stalls for fall produce as the thoughts swirling about your mind seemed to fade into much more manageable topics like selecting the best loaves of bread or the freshest squash.

You were so unsuspecting…It really was endearing in a way, how a woman can be so utterly transfixed in mundane little things like tins of tea and looking for a favorite variety of jam, completely unaware of your surroundings. Yes, barely even out of your line of sight- in fact, quite plainly within your vision, the earl stood half under the cover of shadow in an alleyway, studying your every move. Eyes following you from his place standing cloak-clad in that alleyway with the kind of hunger few may know, Earl Margera was practically fantasizing about you at this point. He was barely a breath away, barely an arm’s length away. Close enough that if his inhibitions were a hair lower, he would've given into every dark compulsion he’d kept hidden away for so long and snatch you away from the prying eyes of the townspeople, dragging you into the darkness he so relished. Wrap his arms around your waist and pause for a moment, canines poised to penetrate that tantalizingly thin layer of skin keeping him from getting exactly what he wanted, just to watch the look on your face as realization sunk in- what he was going to do and exactly what he was.

Disappearing back into the shadows, the earl couldn’t help but mull over the way you had struck him that evening you first met. There was something about the fire that burnt just behind your eyes, that distinct spirit you carried with you. But more than that, it was your smell. Unlike the volatile perfumes the women of high society adored, which Bam considered plainly unappetizing, you had a very clean, distinct aroma; It was simple and sensual in a way that struck just the right chords in his mind- this purity unmatched by any of the women he’d fed off of in the past. Your ability to see through the madcarades of the elite aside, which he very much admired despite his social position, he’d been obsessing over that scent as if he were a man possessed. It was the only fantasy that consumed him in those long, lonely evenings in the palace in between feedings. He had to see you again- needed to have you- but he knew a woman of your standing wouldn’t be easy to win over, especially with something as trivial as jewelry. While not unfamiliar with playing the long game, Earl Margera was all too fond of the thrill of the hunt when it came to courting his prey. Patience is a virtue he was well versed in. He would let you feel content under the assurance that you had control over the situation for a little while more, all while the snare was gradually tightening around your neck.

The palace of Earl Margera looked starkly different in the daylight than when it was illuminated by lamplight- the darkness covers up the gritty parts, you noticed. The myriad of shrubbery and meticulously kept flora that made up the front garden had withered in a recent cold snap, leaving branches winding and bare as you trotted up the cobblestone steps. You’d dressed well, while not horrifically extravagant for the occasion, but you hadn’t even knocked at the door before it was answered and you were quickly shuffled inside the front room by one of his male servants, a room which was extravagant as any other given inch of that palace, where the earl had been patiently awaiting your arrival. “Y/N.” He put on his most earnest expression as he bowed in front of you, not giving you the opportunity to remove your glove much less greet him before he peeled it off of your fingers himself with practiced grace before placing a disarmingly gentle kiss to your knuckle while making unshaking eye contact, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

You’re not sure how you managed it, but after you stole his expensive liquor and insulted him, the earl ended up asking you to return once more, this time for discussion of industry over a meal, but as things have it, you talked about everything except the cargo business. Well, besides you fulfilling your curiosity as to how exactly a man like him got into this industry. He inherited his position from his father, something you, and in all honesty, Earl Margera couldn’t give two shits about shipping.

The dinner was an intimate affair with a dining room table laid with enough food to feed the entirety of the east end; platters upon platters of golden roast pork loin and plump game birds ran alongside crisp roast turnips and carrots with fennel, but most impressive dish besides the massive ornamental coffee custard a la Religieuse was the beautiful arrangement of oranges, apples, blackberries, and plums that were surely imported from Spain given they were out of season.

As you were served by one of the handful of men that were neither his servants nor brothers that hung around his palace like flies, you mused, “I’m impressed. When I received your invitation, I was thinking I’d be dining on something closer to soused hog or crimped fish.”

Chuckling deliciously, Earl Margera eyed you from across the table and brought his glass to his lips, taking a swig of wine before he replied, “I have an impression to make, do I not?” An evil little glint sparkled in his eye as he proposed, half joking, “If you’d like, I could send to the butcher for some fresh slink veal.” The nasty thing is, you weren't exactly sure if he was joking about that, because leave it to the earl to appreciate the feeling of soft, underdeveloped lamb’s bone in his teeth, but you laughed anyway.

Delicately handing your silverware, you tried to break the tension a little, “You know, you are not nearly the man I took you for, my earl.”

As much as the preface of ‘my’ before his title made his heart jump, he waved his hand dismissively, “Who needs those formalities? All my close friends call me Bam.” A curious name, yes, and hardly a name fit for an earl, but you did not question it. You had far more pressing matters at hand. Bathed in the soft candlelight, the man across from you looked strangely soft, maybe even human- a far cry from the image he projected to the public. And as you dined and drank, which you ended up doing a great deal of over the course of the night, you could’ve sworn that those men that served you- members of his council, the ones standing along the walls just in the shadows- were shooting knowing, sidelong glances to one another as Bam regaled you on his worldly adventures, seeming to enjoy the sound of his own voice more than anything.

As the evening grew on and the candles grew shorter, something that had been occupying your mind for a while came up in conversation. Swirling your glass of liquor with half lidded eyes, you mumbled, “You know…I've only seen a fraction of this castle of yours. Why don’t you give me a tour?” This opportunity made Bam’s ears perk up. There was an undeniable romance about the palace, especially in the evening, and much like a cobra silently waiting to strike, Earl Margera had been quietly leading you along with this false sense of security. It seemed that this was the perfect moment.

“Of course.” pulling his chair out from the table with surprising grace for a man who had been drinking his weight in fine booze, Bam waved for you to follow him, “This way, if you don’t mind…” Trailing behind him at his heels, you followed him down grand, echoey hallways with moonlight filtering in through tall, arched windows onto the marble flooring. He led you through a large, heavy door marred with age and into a room that looked more like a museum and less like a home. Every wall was lined with some sort of curiosity that the earl was more than eager to flaunt, whether that be a pyxis dating back to the crusades, or a full collection of canopic jars he acquired from a trip to Egypt, not to mention menagerie of taxidermied animals. It seemed that the second you appeared at all disinterested in what he had to say, Bam hurriedly moved on from one artifact to the next.

But on the off moments you were enraptured with a painting or fine textile, you caught him just…watching you. Running your finger contemplatively along the smooth glass dome encasing a skull you couldn’t identify as human or animal, you felt this odd sensation of being loomed over or observed intently the way a hunter would track prized game, especially odd considering the only people in the room were you and the earl. Slightly unnerved, you shook off those feelings against your better judgment and chuckled, “I’m impressed…Really, wet specimens and medieval weapons are just the thing that draws the favor of women.” However, your fesistines and witty comeback were not enough to deter the earl.

“So, you’re a lady with more artistic tastes? Here-“ his voice a mere purr, Bam directed you over to a grand marble statue at one end of the room, “this is a real Bernini- genuine.” Silhouetted by a window on each side letting light flood in, this alabaster figure stood carved with precision, this beautiful angel standing with poise and elegance, frozen in time and marble. In actuality, Bam only knew who sculpted that statue because his money paid for it, and otherwise he couldn’t care less about that thing. Cocking your head to one side, the thought occurred to you that maybe you were wrong about the earl and perhaps he was less surface than you initially thought. Out of the stillness, he asked you, “Do you believe in angels, Y/N?”

It was a simple question, the kind a curious child may ask, but turning to face him, the room felt so eerily quiet as you gazed at his features bathed in the moonlight, looking almost…innocent- sinister, yet perfectly harmless. Mouth growing dry under his gaze, you replied, “I don’t think they walk among us, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Grasping your hand in his, Bam’s voice no longer had that obnoxious, arrogant edge. Instead, there was this soft, sweet quality to his words as he spoke just above a whisper, “Oh, but I think they do…See, for the longest time, I couldn’t remember a single moment where I was satisfied. I felt good drinking and flirting and carousing, but…that was it. And then you came along, and all of a sudden…” his voice trailed off a moment as he pretended to struggle with articulating his feelings, before he eventually spat out, “You’re an angel…My angel, I’m sure of it.” There was something off about this encounter that you couldn’t place as, eyes bleary from alcohol and emotion, Earl Margera brought your hand up to his lips and placed a reverent kiss to your knuckle for the second time that night and asked, more of a command than a request, “Stay with me tonight?”

You felt charmed yet uncomfortable in this moment- how he had been intensely staring at you as if he were looking straight to the core of your soul. This darkness about him; it was heavy, permeating every fiber of this young man who looked ready to be worshiped or sacrificed. With the way his hair looked disheveled and hung in his eyes, you finally saw what all those women saw in him- in that silent study, Earl Margera looks like temptation personified. “Hold me for tonight. Shelter me from this-“ You couldn’t resist. Cutting him off from what en flourishy tangent he was about to launch into, you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips because, in that moment, it just felt so right. However, instead of the tentative, playful response you expected to receive, there was this hunger in the way Bam smothered you in his kiss, like a wolf burying its muzzle into a fresh kill. Deep and primal, he nearly growled against your lips, unable to contain those starving urges that sat just below the surface.

Stumbling, you tumbled backward onto a chaise lounge and Bam landed on top of you. Black painted nails clawing at the bodice of your dress and clumsily tugging it down to bare your chest, he seemingly ignored the newly exposed expanse of skin glimmering in the moonlight for the succulent meat of your neck. You were shocked, but you couldn’t say that you weren't strangely excited and thrilled by this turn of events. Endlessly repulsed and enchanted, you were powerless against his animalistic urges, sucking and laving at the bulge of your carotid artery as if your flesh itself was this divine thing. Passion hung heavy between your ragged bodies, breath coming out in ragged pants, and Bam couldn’t hold himself back for one moment longer. A throbbing, exquisite shockwave of pure white heat rattled through your bones as he let out this satisfied little moan and sunk his jaws into you the way an animal would clamp their jaws onto its prey- purely predatory. Face smeared with crimson, his eyes flicked up to look at you with something a little less than human behind them.

If the woman you were a week ago could see yourself now, waking up naked in the earl’s bed, you’d tell yourself to knee him between the thighs and make a break for it, but there was something so utterly hypnotizing about his visage in that moment. Falling under his spell, the closest thing you could equate it to was love. You loved him like you would love a sick, stray cat that you found on the side of the road covered in blood and vomit. You loved him like a saint loves a sinner. Head swimming, you were unable to fully comprehend what had happened to you as you tried to orient yourself. Eyes fell upon where Bam sat beside you, naked and half covered by the sheets that pooled at his hips, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze from his bare form. Chest pale and slightly sunken, his ribs were more prominent than a young man’s should be, but there was still something beautiful about him with the way his soft skin against sharp edges. Slender, almost as if he was malnourished, your eyes trailed down the faint line of hair peeking above where the linens sat at his hips.

Entranced by his strangely ethereal figure, it took him meeting your eyes for you to notice the dark smears on his cheeks and around his mouth. Still, there was that purity about him at war with his fierceness as he cracked a grin, “My angel…” lying down next to you, the words of a saint fell from the mouth of a harlot as he nuzzled his face against your neck and chest, lazily licking at his leftovers. Bam stared at you, lips covered in dried blood and kiss swollen, but even after all of this, he found a way to feign innocence, looking up at you with these big, sweet deer eyes even after he had done these depraved acts. The earl asked tenderly- vulnerably, “Will you be gentle when you scrub me clean? When you purify me?”

His desire for redemption was merely a front. Simultaneously disgusted and aroused, you swallowed down the gnawing uncertainty as to what exactly he’d done to you that left you so bloodied as you uttered, “You think I can fix you? You’re- you’re beyond any redemption…”

Bam’s grin seemed to widen at your meager resistance as he pulled his lips away from where he nursed at your wound to whisper in your ear, his voice a soft whine with faux offense, “Oh, you are so cruel.” light glinted off of a far too sharp canine as he cooed sweetly, speaking to you the way a lover would, “You have no idea what you do to me…”

Sitting up sharply as the realization of exactly what your circumstances entailed, dead moments gave way for memories of the earlier evening to remain. You would’ve thought your sanity was slipping away with the conclusion you came to. Sharp pain shot through your skull like a railroad spike as you fell back to the plush bed, squeezing your eyes shut to quell the ache as you muttered to yourself, “No- no. It’s not. It can’t…”

Unsure if you should blame the trembling of your limbs on blood loss or the sinking realization of your circumstances, you nearly jumped when you felt Bam’s hand on your shoulder as if he were caressing some delicate object as he purred, “I’ve yearned for someone like you for so much longer than you could ever imagine…” The way he was talking about you was like your presence satiated every ounce of his being. Leaning over you in the darkness, the earl murmured, “I couldn’t imagine spending eternity without you, Y/N…”

Fear and restraint melting away, the line between ecstasy and agony irrevocably blurred as the idea slowly grew in appeal as if you were falling under the control of some spell. Parts of his reasoning began to make sense; this rich, devilishly handsome earl was so readily offering you his undying affection. Who cares about the implications of what he may truly be? You had to ponder- was this destiny? Were these the cards that fate had dealt you, and if so, how were you going to play them? Part of you, a sensible part, still wanted to run, but the very core of you desired nothing more but to lay with him in those very sheets for the rest of time.

#jackass #bam margera #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff #angst #jackass x reader #bam margera x reader

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hippolotamus · 1 year ago

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✨2023 writing round-up✨

Writing Round-Up: Share what you wrote this year! It can be works you posted to Ao3, Wattpad, Tumblr, or anywhere else! You can share everything you wrote or just the ones your most excited about.

2023 saw me writing a lot of unexpected and new things! It's been a unique year in the Hippoverse to say the least. Going to highlight some of my favs as well as things that never made it to AO3 💖 Putting it all under the cut to save your dash 😘

January

you spoke to me so sweetly | 2.6k | E (Twylexis)

aka the fic I wrote before shit got real

Alexis hums her appreciation, letting her eyes fall closed while Twyla repeats the circuitous route, and breathing in the blend of lavender and lemon oil her wife insisted upon for “calm and good luck”. The temporary serenity only lasts for three or four passes until a light knock at the door interrupts. She doesn’t try to hide her instant pout when the gentle pressure disappears and she’s forced to open her eyes again. Dr. Rist breezes inside, far too perky in Alexis’s opinion. Perhaps it’s a good sign. Despite her nerves, Alexis plasters her PR smile on, and clasps Twyla’s hand – the only tell she’ll allow to indicate she’s worried while they wait to find out what kind of life changing the appointment will be. “Well,” Dr. Rist says. “Alexis. Twyla. Sorry to keep you waiting. Let’s begin, shall we?”

tumblr prompt fill for but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new years day featuring David and Stevie -

Stevie turns her head and he’s very uninterested in the look on her face, what it might mean. He’s only seen it once before - in the low light of her messy apartment - which is why he’s positive she’s about to drop a bomb on him. Something that preemptively makes his insides twist. It’s too much for getting high and laying out on the roof of the high school.

March

all in the Jee-tails | 4.5k | T (Buddie)

Okay. Just a little turn aaaand- yes. Alright, only one more to go. You got this, Buckley. Buck watches with fascination as the sewing machine’s needle dips and resurfaces, piercing the shimmery blue fabric. A wave of satisfaction and pride washes over him when the final stitches meet seamlessly with the beginning ones. For only putting in minimal effort during Family & Consumer Sciences, he’s impressed with his handiwork. He eases his foot off the pedal and snips the thread, freeing his creation so he can try it on. Ever since Jee watched Sleeping Beauty and Shrek for the first time she’s become obsessed with all things fantasy. Much to Maddie, Chim and Eddie’s amusement, Buck couldn’t help himself from buying her a sparkly dress (or three), as well as a tiara fit for pint-sized royalty. Of course, once she had her clothes to play dress up, she needed a fearsome beast to battle. And, well, how was Buck supposed to be an effective dragon without his own wings? OR There is a Princess, Knight, Dragon, Wizard and Damsel in Distress and there is nothing Uncle Buck won't do for his niece.

NGL I absolutely adore this one. I had a blast writing it and assigning roles to the Han-Buckley-Diaz family.

I'm reaching for you, terrified | Buddie tumblr post

I’m leaving the 118. Buck has had his oxygen tank run out, he’s been caught in more natural disasters than he’d prefer, and trapped under a ladder truck. Among other things. Those agonizing memories pale in comparison to what he feels now, hearing Eddie’s announcement. He’s a mix of breathless and numb and tingling pinpricks dancing over his skin. Of too much and not enough and loss.

May

I know all your secrets | 4.6k | E (David/Patrick)

A fic I originally published in 2022 but added a much needed chapter to

Patrick grins, noting the warm, spicy scent filling the spaces between them. It should make him wary, but that sensation stopped long ago, replaced by want and lust. “Rose, we meet again.” “So we do,” David purrs in response. “I hope you’ve been well since Denmark.” Patrick traces a finger over the curves he’s become so accustomed to, feeling the sleek mother-of-pearl buttons under his skin until he hooks onto the V of the single-breasted tuxedo jacket. “Never better. Should we exchange the usual my country wants you dead pleasantries first or is foreplay off the menu tonight?” or the AU where Agents Brewer and Rose are rival spies who can't seem to stay away from each other

June

the only thing that matters now (is everything) | 882 | G (Twylexis)

aka the fic I wrote after shit got real

Alexis combs her fingers through her hair, letting manicured nails lightly scratch along her scalp while she stares at the ceiling. Golden wavy strands glide between her fingertips before dropping back to the pillow, a feeling she wants to take advantage of while she can. The self-soothing act had always calmed her as a little girl. Tonight she’s not exactly troubled, but ever since the tests came back, and the immediate future is wrapped in so much uncertainty, she’s found herself doing it more often. Beyond the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window, painting an ethereal line across the carpet and over the blankets, she doesn’t know what time it is. Only that it’s still night, and dawn could be minutes or hours away. Patrick, with all his lil’ nature skills, would probably know without having to look at a clock. She’ll have to ask next time they talk. ---------------------- A future fic that leaves Alexis pondering life put on hold by the unexpected

October

A lil teen Eddie sneaking out to look at the stars tumblr post

November

if this love is pain (let's hurt tonight) | 3.2k | T Buddie

a foray into angsty writing

Eddie knows it’s him immediately. Feels the weight of his presence like a favorite coat that doesn’t quite fit anymore. Of course he does. Try as he might, Eddie will never not know when Buck is nearby. They are too intertwined. Had become too embedded in each other’s lives before- well, before everything. Before death doulas and school projects, lightning strikes and gunshots, poker games and treasure hunts. Long before Christopher graduated high school, Bobby retired and Hen became captain, and Buck… disappeared. One day he and Buck were moving Christopher into his dorm room, laughing and making plans to send care packages from themselves and Tía Pepa. And the next Eddie felt like he was reliving I need some time too all over again. OR After Chris leaves for college Buck mysteriously disappears. Five years later he finally returns with some answers.

stay here honey (i don't wanna share) | 1.8k | E Lutalia

baby's first Lutalia fic!

This – laying around cuddling after sex – isn’t their usual arrangement. Not like they have a usual arrangement. The only constant is one of them needing to blow off some steam and sending a text that sometimes only consists of a question mark. Then they fuck wherever is most convenient, whether that’s a car, motel room or, on at least one occasion, Nat’s office. Once in a while, like tonight, they both have the time and coordination to meet at one of their apartments, although it’s a scenario they tend to use infrequently for the purposes of keeping things casual. OR Natalia helps soothe Lucy after a rough shift

December

Buddie-ish prompt fill for @steadfastsaturnsrings - Eddie doesn’t remember hanging up the phone, or locking the door. He doesn’t remember grabbing the baseball bat that he keeps under his bed in case someone breaks in. Or where his reign of terror began. He supposes he swung for the first thing within reach and didn’t stop until there was nothing left his brain recognized as destructible.

Buddie prompt fill for @statueinthestone (also added to the WIP pile to explore later) - Buck doesn’t remember exactly when the dreams started, just that it was sometime during his 1.0 phase. Like his subconscious realized before he did that sleeping around wasn’t cutting it. That he craved something deeper and more complex than purely physical relationships.

Fellow Travelers prompt fill for @vanillahigh00 - The words are a balm as much as they are a cut. A stabbing reminder of everything Tim can’t have. Could never have, really. Hawk was never his to keep. And as impossible as their love was before, it’s even more so now. Because Hawk belongs to Lucy. He’s a family man, a paragon of virtue within his world. Even if it’s all a lie.

Miscellaneous (edits and other things)

shall i write it in a letter? - Buckley-Diaz Family edit

And there's this boy... Buddie edit

Offering original poem

Adulting Gold Stars (part 2)

Poker Date Buddie edit

Now & Then Buddie edit

TG:M Buddie edit (is it the most amazing thing ever? not particularly but it was my first so you get it too)

London Boy Oliver edit

tagged by @exhuastedpigeon @thekristen999 @wikiangela

no pressure tagging mi amor @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @buddierights @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @spotsandsocks @elvensorceress @stereopticons @blackandwhiteandrose LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @apothecarose @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @jesuisici33 @statueinthestone @pirrusstuff @daffi-990 @watchyourbuck @jamespearce9-1-1 @vanillahigh00 @malewifediaz @chaosandwolves @heartshapedvows @hoodie-buck @loserdiaz @gayedmundodiaz @honestlydarkprincess @giddyupbuck @eowon @spagheddiediaz @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @lemonzestywrites and of course anyone else who wants to share

#i uh did a lot this year #and this isn't even everything #pretty damn proud of myself actually #2023 writing round up #hippo writes #hippo makes things #twylexis fic #lutalia fic #buddie fic #buddieedit #buckley diaz family

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druidx · 4 months ago

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A Prelude in Orange

Universe: Titan Fighting Fantasy CW: Alcohol Notes: This is written from Farren's POV because I fancied giving it a go. Y'all can judge how well I did. Tagging: @aquadestinyswriting @jacqueswriteblrlibrary & @hannah-heartstrings

The pub is warm, filled with the golden light of high-class oil lamps. I ease myself back into the soft and worn cushions of our booth after coming back from the bar, swirling the cheap brandy in my glass. Across the dark oak table, sticky with the spills of many nights, Bug's fidgeting. You know, I don't even think she knows she does it. That little tap-tap-tap of a finger against the glass. Means she's antsy about something. If I thought it'd do any good, I'd tell her to relax. But it don't. If anything, it makes whatever she's ansting about worse, cuz then it's on her mind instead of at the back of it. 'S always best to let her chew and say whatever's bothering her when she's ready.

The weather's on the turn, right now. It's been a damp day; nothing heavy, just that messy shit that soaks you through if you ain't wearing an oilcloth. There's bound to be a nip in the air when we leave. Fortunately I've already got a few beers sloshing in me, but the chaser's my jacket for the road. Not that Bug looks like she's in any mood to move on right now. Whatever's caught her, got her well and truly mired.

I cast my eye around the taproom. The Skiving Scholar's an academic's bar, foremost, and got co-opted by us coppers at the Eighth only later. Means that mostly it's a safe spot to relax away from the office. Yeah, sure, sometimes the scholars get into a bout of fisticuffs over some arcane bullshit, but it ain't often that some stupid swarf makes the mistake of tryna start something in here. Still, I look over the crowd, just to make sure it's not one of the patrons that's got my Elo chewing the mental cud.

"Brek?" she says. I turn my attention back. She's glaring at her drink, hardly touched. "Yeah?" "You have brothers, yes?" What a question, huh. "Four of 'em, for my sins." "Did any of them ever…" She rolls her hand, searching for her words. She thinks a lot, does my li'l partner. Wants to make sure she's concise and accurate and says the right thing at the right time. A proper little diplomat. But I can never make up my mind if she's just like that, or if it's a side effect of having to speak in something she ain't native to. "Have any of them ever gotten into trouble they can't handle?" I furrow my brow. "Like a fight?" I can't see what she's driving at. "No. Something worse." She's fidgeting again. Won't meet my eye, passing her tankard back and forth between her hands. Cuthbert brace me, is all I can think. It's gotta be Ashbury. Wickerswitch is a good lad, knows his leaves from his bark, got a talent for woodling plant magic, same as their Mam. Ashbury on the other hand… Boy's got no lick of sense between his ears and it shows in all the get-rich-quick schemes his and his no-good mates conjure. I say, "Not much else to get into trouble with, out in the sticks where they are." The tankard stills. "Huh." Over by the fire, the scholars are devising what sounds like a drinking song in draconic. "What's eatin' ya, Bug?" I ask when she doesn't offer anything more. She gives a quick shake of the head. "Nothing. It's fine." She lies like a sieve, but, Don't push, I have to remind myself before the drink can force the issue. We've been partners a year at this point. Long enough for me to figure out when to push and when to let her come to me on her own. If this is a family matter, then it's definitely something I can't push.

Abruptly she chugs back her beer. "We've got an early tomorrow," she says, dropping the empty with a thud onto the table. "We should be getting back." "It ain't an early early. No one's gonna worry if we oversleep a bit." I say. Such a stickler, she is. But then, 's what got her landed with me in the first place. "Let me enjoy my drink, huh? We've got time." "Breakwood." Full name, unimpressed tone, head canted to the side with a frown. Yup, not the time to push. "Sure, alright." I knock back my brandy in two swigs and set the glass on the table. She's already on her feet and heading out. All I can do is trail after.

#oc elowyn o'toreguarde #oc farren breakwood #writing #fighting fantasy #titan fighting fantasy #wandering words

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spoilerqueen · 2 years ago

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KUNG FU PANDA X WUXIA

K guys, have an idea here and i need some feedback if you know anything about wuxia, Xianxia or just a single danmei, y'know how Kung fu panda is actually based completely on not only Chinese culture but heavily inspired by the wuxia genre as well? You can even see the resemblance on some things, the qi being just like spiritual energy than CAN be stolen, like what happened with kai on KFP 3, the wuxi finger is basically a forced qi deviation, the power that you can cultivate by training, the way that oogway literally ascended to a heavenly realm as a god after years of cultivating spiritual energy, like we only needed Po to bleed from his mouth and we have literally everything for it to be an actual wuxia/xianxia story, so i was thinking, why not make a fan comic of the story of the movies as an actual wuxia/xianxia with human characters and a bit more blood and exaggeration????

You may be thinking "why tf would you want to do that with a kids movie" or even just "why?"

And my answers are: because i love Chinese fantasy and kung fu panda so i want to combine them further, and for the second question i would like to say that just because i want to...but that's not the case my fellow internet people... It is because the human versions of the furious five that i always come across on Pinterest i hate with a passion 🕴🏻

Not to say anything bad about the artists skills or to bash their designs at all, but i would love it if people weren't so forgetful about the fact the furious five are you know... Chinese I feel like people isn't taking advantage of that culture at all

And not only Chinese, we're talking about historical periods of old china were no one was allowed to cut their hair or show skin below the neck

Like why would po wear a tiny shirt? Why would po be bald? Why would monkey be black? (It kinda rubs me the wrong way how some people make specifically monkey the only dark skinned character i think it reads racist ngl 🤨) Why would tigress have a pixie cut? Why would viper show so much skin when she's the daughter of a respectable warrior and would basically be very close to being a princess? Like- things like that are completely fine, nothing wrong to the vision they have on the characters, but to the neurodivergent hyperfixating me, the fact that no one overanalizes anything about this kids movie about a panda eating dumplings is outrageous, it's not them, it's me 😔✊🏻

I've spent a few months organizing ideas on how i believe a more wuxia/Xianxia design of the characters would look like

I've been trying to keep the design closer to the animals they supposedly are but it's kinda hard (◎_◎;)

For Po i keept his body shape and decided a bun or any kind of high hairstyle would be ideal for him since he was a cook and still cooks a lot, a ponytail or half up hairstyle would get on his way a lot. I decided to give him vitiligo to mimic the panda spots on his original design, crashing his weight, height and skin to add the unique factor that was present on the movie by him being the only panda on the valley, He's the only one I've actually drawn yet but it is still in development

For tigress or however tf you spell it, English isn't my first language. I decided to go for a sharp and serious look

To keep it simple, I'll be giving her a light brown shade of hair, i want to avoid giving them vibrant hair colors but still having some nods to their color pallets on the movies, giving her an almost reddish light brown hair and mostly red and orange robes with black accents and accessories as well keeping her original outfit with a few changes. I wanted to give her a ponytail since i don't feel like she'd put all of her hair up; and instead of claws, she will have a variety of knives at her disposal for battle

Next, for viper, my favorite gal

I wanted to make her look significantly more elegant and younger that the rest of the five since, like i said, she is from a prestigious family, i wanted to accentuate how pampered a girl from a good family could look, i also decided to keep her ribbon dance plot, the only reason to why i gave her arms, since i love the idea of her fighting with her legs but that ribbon dance so i decided to give her congenital hand differences as her disability, turning the "her family uses fangs to attack and she was born without them" to "her family uses pressure points to attack and she was born with mostly dysfunctional fingers", this way she would still be considered an exceptional warrior with ribbons that she can control with her wrists and arms. I also want to give her a really really dark forest green colored hair :D

M O N K E Y

For monkey i wanted to go for a little more adult vibe as well as for mantis; i wanted to give him some scruffiness since he started out as a prankster until oogway found him...yeah that family friendly story isn't going to work, let's face it, monkey was living in the streets stealing what he could for fun, my man was a criminal and homeless, he wasn't a good person and even po said so while telling his story to the kids, so, I gave him a style that would resemble someone who once was carefree and from a low social position that still doesn't care much about material things, but cares enough to not disappoint or dishonor his masters. I will be giving him a more yellow and light brown wardrobe to resemble his colors on the movie and as for attack, he'll use a long cane like he sometimes does in the canon

Now for crane (≧∇≦)/

Crane is very simple to imagine as a human so there's not much i can say about his design other than the fans, i decided to give him a pair of fans as weapons, using them to cut down enemies as if they were blades and also to give him the stability to fly, since i won't take away his ability to fly as it is something common on wuxia and or xianxia stories, i like to think he is the only one who trained this flying technique by watching real disciples on temples he'd clean, but still needs his fans for stability and to be able to carry and support the weight of multiple people hanging onto him

LASTLY ~mantis~

The mature vibes~ i wanted to keep him looking a bit more like a warrior since that was his job before training under shifu's roof, he had a reputation and prestige, so i thought he might look a bit more professional; I'll also give him green robes but i haven't decided if he'd use a weapon or not 🤔 I'm also keeping him a short king

So, what do you guys think? Should i go more bold with the designs? Have any feedback or opinions? Because I'd love to hear it! (≧∇≦)/

I'm prepared for this post to flop so bad omg

#kung fu panda #wuxia au #wuxia #xianxia #3 am ramblings #don't let this flop #random shenanigans

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beloved-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Folktober2023 Prompt: "Coraline AU" 🚪🍷

An attempt by

Hosted by @jurdannet and @jurdannetrevels

📘 1 400+ words

😎 Characters: Cardan, AU "human" Jude, Jude

✒️ Tags: drunk Cardan, silly, sweet, hallucination (?)

📢 Summary: Cardan finds a mysterious door while drunk and decides to walk in. What he didn’t expect though, is that on the other side he’d end up in the human world, meeting a Jude that grew up there and has no knowledge of Faerie. A silly conversation ensues.

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Cardan had made it past a mysterious door in the palace. He had never seen it before though, maybe he was just so drunk out of his mind that he had imagined it. Yet past the door, there was the human world. Okay. Well now there’s no doubt about it, not only is he drunk, he’s also high off his ass.

The door behind him had disappeared. Now, how to make it back?

As he was quietly freaking out, a girl appeared out of the not so dark shadows of the human world (because of the light pollution) and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Yo, you good?"

The girl looked exactly like Jude, well, aside from not having a missing finger. But somehow he could still feel that this was Jude, not Taryn. She was wearing jean shorts, high boots that ended just under her knees and a huge red and black sweater that had a stylized "Brooklyn" print on the back. She looks like what Jude would’ve looked like had she grown up in the human world away from Faerie, Cardan thinks.

"...Jude?"

At his question, the girl looked surprised.

"Yeah? Sorry. Do we know each other?"

Cardan blinks. The very "overly-human" looking Jude blinks.

"Uh you just seemed really lost there, and it’s late. Oh wait, I know. You must be someone from my school, right? I’m really sorry, I’m bad at memorizing faces and names… Though with how handsome you are, I’m surprised I forgot."

Cardan has no idea how to react or even what to say. Should he even say anything, actually? She looks him up and down, almost scrutinizing his clothes before something seems to click in her brain.

"Ooooh so you’re like, cosplaying, right? Nice. What character?"

Under the streetlights, despite not being his Jude, this Jude is also incredibly lovely and pretty. Oh well. If this is a dream then Cardan will at least enjoy himself, why the heck not. What is she talking about? Cosplay? Cardan digs his mind and remembers his nephew Oak desperately trying to explain to him some human words and terms. He’s pretty sure cosplaying was something like a roleplay.

"Um. I’m Cardan. Cardan Greenbriar from…" He pauses. If he were from a story what would the name of the book even be? "...I suppose The Queen of Swords would be the title." Jude blinks at his peculiar way of phrasing his answer but she shrugs it off. When Cardan had first read Alice in wonderland, Alice seemed to obviously be the Jude of the story. Now, knowing her better, she might actually be the Queen of Hearts. Though swords might fit her better.

The Jude from the human world hums.

"Never heard of it. Sounds like a fantasy type of story though, with like- love, war and betrayal. Lots of frustrating betrayals that end in more wars, then more love."

Cardan laughs awkwardly. Why is she nailing this? This Jude’s fiction literacy must be high, unlike his Jude who’s less interested in books than scheming. She then asks for his real name, in a panic, since he cannot lie on his identity, he asks her to call him by his "cosplay name" whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. Hornless Jude laughs at his dedication to the character. Then they walk, she explains how he must sober up so she can lead him home to safety.

"Why don’t you think about your safety first, Jude?"

The girl looks up to the starless sky.

"Hmm. I’ll be fine, I’m familiar with the surroundings. Also…" She punches the air in a couple of swift motions. "I’m trained in MMA! Pretty cool, right?"

Cardan’s confused at whatever those letters mean, unfortunately Jude takes his confusion as disbelief.

"Oh come on, I’m serious! I know it doesn’t look like it because my sweater is hiding my upper body but- Agh. I’ll just show you!"

She takes the sweater off, revealing her abs and firm arms. She was only wearing a sports bra underneath… Cardan is unsure if checking out this Jude would be cheating but he can’t help himself. Satisfied with how the boy looks bewildered, crownless Jude puts her sweater back on.

"See? Anyway. I don’t know what you were smoking but it’s gotten you high as fuck bud. Still can’t remember where you live?"

Cardan shakes his head since he can’t open his mouth to lie. He does remember where he lives with his awesome and hot wife but he’s not sure how to make it back.

"I’ll be fine. There’s no need for you to lead me anywhere, I’ll find my way back once I’m sober."

"Uh-huh. You say that but you were getting high. Alone. In an empty street while cosplaying some ethereal elf prince."

"King now. Not prince."

"Gee, sorry." Very human Jude rolls her eyes with a smile on her lips. She must be thinking that the guy is cringy for committing to the bit so hard. Nonetheless she’s amused by this encounter as well. Cardan looks at her relaxed smile in awe, he wishes he could also make his Jude smile like this. Unfortunately, his Jude is much more difficult and shy with her smiles.

"... And you know, that King has a very amazing wife. Thus the title."

"So the wife is the main character?"

"Mh-hm. She wields a sword and is skilled in the arts of war. And she rose to power in a land where she didn’t belong at first."

Hornless Jude whistles.

"She sounds like a badass."

Now that’s a word Cardan knows. Again, thanks to Oak but this one was way easier to grasp and remember.

"She is."

"Is the King any good then?" She asks half-mockingly, yet her tone is gentle.

Cardan ponders.

"He’s… a great pillow to sleep with."

"Wooow."

"A clever and funny boy."

"Uh-huh. And let me guess: he’s fun at parties?"

"Oh, absolutely. He’s the King of revels."

"So, with a bit of an alcohol problem? It checks out."

"It checks uh- yes?"

Cardan is not sure what checks exactly, all he knows is that the alcohol problem is in fact there and oftentimes, the only way for him to not drink at all in a day is to make a promise to Jude after she scolds him about it. His Jude. Now that he thinks about it, just before he walked through that door wasn’t he drinking again?

A voice rings out in his head. Cardan Cardan Cardan. He looks at crownless Jude and his vision blurs.

The next time he opens his eyes, he’s lying on his bed, probably looking like he’s completely out of it while Jude is calling out for him, slapping his cheeks not so gently and tugging at his clothes. Probably trying to take them off so he can sleep tight.

"Cardan." Jude utters, clearly unimpressed by his sorry state.

"My Jude!" Cardan cries out happily as if he hasn’t seen his wife in days, despite him literally dreaming of her any day she might not be home in his arms. But there she is.

"God. I was gone for only a day and one night, is it really so unbearable to be without me that you absolutely need to get drunk?"

"Ahaha, you have no idea!"

She rolls her eyes, exactly like the Jude in his dreams. My recollections of her are so accurate. Cardan tells himself, proud of his visions and vivid manifestations of her. Needily, he pulls his beautiful wife towards him.

"Come here…" His eyes are sparkling over the haziness, no matter his state, Cardan always lights up at the sight of his wife in front of him. Jude thinks he’s silly but enjoys it nonetheless. Giving up, she joins him.

"You have an alcohol problem, Cardan, please try to cut down on it."

"Yesss anything for you, Queen of swords. But oh- Whenever will you call me by a sweet nickname???"

Jude laughs under her breath at how ridiculously cute her husband is.

"Yes yes hubby. Anything for the King of getting shitfaced."

Cardan snuggles in his wife’s arms and an image of the other Jude flashes in his mind. I’m trained in MMA! Pretty cool, right? It’s a comforting thought to believe that a Jude who would grow up in the human world would also have arms as strong as his Jude. But still, this is truly home and she belongs here. Not anywhere else, not in a world where he wouldn’t have been able to meet her.

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That moment when you realize that this fic is just Cardan bragging about his wife... to his wife from another world 😂 God this is just- well, it’s so very Cardan.

And don’t forget: If you’d like to decrease the amount of my sad girl hours, please consider leaving comments/tags! 💖

#the folk of the air #tfota #jurdan #jude x cardan #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #fanfiction #join the revel 👻🎃#jurdannetfolktober2023 #jurdannetrevels #jurdannet #beloved daydreams

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late-to-the-party-81 · 10 months ago

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Jen! Can I have E for extra info 🥹

And you know if I get a chance I'm going to ask about my fellow vegetarian M'Baku! Apart from eating carrots and hummus, what else are we getting up to?

Thank you, Elsie! A thousand kisses for you! This is, of course, M’Baku from [River Deep] Mountain High.

E - Extra info (any other fetishes? feet? leather? role playing? blood? fantasies that they might want to experience not on this list?)

What can we say about this man? This fucking beast of a man? To be honest I could write the whole A-Z, ya feel? So what can I say outside of all the other letters? Well start with he is obsessed with you, and I mean obsessed. You don’t quite realise how much this man, this leader, this King wants and needs you. And for that reason he loves that the way he dresses not only gives the pair of you easy access, but allows you to hold on when you’re trying to sneak in a quickie. The way your delicate fingers wrap around the leather straps that criss-cross his massive body emphasising the size difference between the pair of you. He’s a sucker for that size disparity. You are his delicate flower after all.

He also loves the simplicity of fucking you in his bed, illuminated only by the glow of the fire, watching the reflection of the flames in your eyes and seeing how your skin is brought to life by the light. It’s his one regret about having to move to the Birnin Zana - less fires needed.

But as for fantasies that you haven’t tried out yet? On the theme of clothing, you’ve taken on a lot of Wakandan traditional dress since your stay started, it’s only practical after all, especially when you were up in the mountains, but there is one outfit he is dying to see you - and then fuck you - in. The regalia of a Queen. When If that day comes, how he’s going to hold his primal self back he doesn’t know. But even then, he will treat you, and your clothes with the deference you deserve.

Find the link to the ask list here!

#m'baku headcanon #m'baku imagine #dirty a-z #asks answered #[river deep] mountain high #m'baku x reader #m'baku x you #m'baku x female reader #elsie

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consul-valerius · 1 year ago

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Submission Looks Beautiful on You

In a sudden spark of devotion, Lucio finally deals Sam a pleasant surprise that triggers long-gone memories. What other way can he repay the count than showing him a good time in return?

Rating: 18+ 🍋 Minors DNI

Word Count: 2328 (be proud of me that it’s under 5k u_u)

Content includes: canon complicit violence; established dom/sub dynamics; ownership kink/possessive language; daddy dom elements; light exhibitionism/public setting; knife play; general rough play/choking; vaginal fingering; oral play; Sam and Lucio being Sam and Lucio (aka bastard men with little to no morals lmao); T4T (some gendered language used [i.e. cunt, dick, etc.])

A/N: I got high and finally finished this LMAO was thinking a lot about Lucio’s possessiveness and devotion that he shows in his reverse ending and how it is pretty similar to how Sam felt towards Mara—and thus we got character developing finger fucking LMAO header is from the game and obviously edited (by moi✨)

Preview undercut because Tumblr formatting was hell for this one LOL😤💕 Full linked in the title on AO3 !

It wasn’t abnormal for Sam to receive some inane, snide comment from a nameless nobleman. When he was a bit younger, he relished their discomfort with his mere existence. A nobody suddenly appeared in their most esteemed circles seemingly out of thin air. They all had spent years kissing someone else’s ass, playing a game with no rules, only for Sam to sit amongst them with not so much a care in the world. It was as if this came naturally to him—and they knew it did not.

It was that alienation, that seemingly obvious marker on his forehead—that was always present to others but never himself—that wore on his nerves. His initial glee had long subsided. He couldn’t deny the queasy mortification about being made to face his upbringing (as distant as that may be) and, without it needing to be spoken out loud, understand that he was worthless in the eyes of this crowd. Decades now had passed, and yet the same prolonged stares followed him, the tittering of gossip loud enough to be heard like a gnat in one’s ear—there, but impossible to trace.

Still, Sam had learned that he could not fight every dimwitted fool that turned their nose up to him. He had exhausted himself silly trying to do it before. No, he had to be mindful of when he could have his “moments.” For instance, he could not afford to get into a scuffle at a gala Nadia was hosting. His life was easiest when she was content with him—he knew she would never break her silence to tattle to her mother, but she was crafty enough to find other ways to make his day hellish without her help. Like mother like daughter—all royals were the same: annoying .

However, what Nadia could not control was Lucio. Try as she might, she simply could not wrangle him. Of course, in the bedroom, he worshipped her like a goddess. That went without saying. But in the light of day? Lucio was an unruly pup, and Nadia was ready to toss him out. It was cute in its own right, and it made Sam’s ability to tame the Count all the more satisfying.

Lucio was his.

The thought never occurred to him until Lucio was snarling in the face of some diplomat, a blade pressing into the squirming, squealing man’s throat, his gauntlets pinning him to the wall. Despite his scathing words, tinged with such sharp teeth, Lucio was smiling , glowing almost. He had reacted before Sam could even pretend to laugh, before he could even fantasize about doing the very same thing himself. But Lucio had known, and more importantly, cared about nothing but realizing that fantasy for him.

The scene was oddly nostalgic, and Sam could only stare and blink, his lips twitching into a smile as he watched those alarming blue eyes sparkle with frenzied glee.

#the arcana #the arcana lemon #count lucio #lucio morgasson #the duke #sam x lucio #bottom writes #lemon #lucio will risk it all for that dick #and sam will give it to him LOLOL

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phillippadgettwrites · 2 years ago

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Just finished reading the Partager series a third time, it is is very good and hot and I had a great time reading it thrice over. I hope you consider adding to it every now and then. Take care and keep up the hot and good work.

These freaks can't be stopped.

Partager 6

Rated X / 5163 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

The air in Seattle is water-logged but deceptively warm. Mulder drives while Scully stares at the blur of greenery whipping by outside her window, her knee bouncing nervously and a now-ragged thumbnail pinned between her teeth. She feels the weight of his intermittent glances across the console, but he doesn’t say anything. This is a good instinct on his part, because if he asks her one more time if she’s sure she wants to do this again, she’ll scream.

She’s sure. She’s sure he’s sure. She knows they both want this, but nerves are nerves.

Bradley greets her outside his apartment building like she’s just returned from sea. He scoops her up around the waist, lifting her off the oil-slick pavement and parting his lips in preparation for a searing kiss, which she delivers after a beat of hesitation. The flood of heat that sparks in her lips and rushes to her pelvis converts her nervousness into excitement, and she suddenly can’t wait to get inside. Mulder, appearing unbothered by Bradley’s enthusiastic greeting, shakes his hand and allows him to carry Scully’s bag up to his second-floor apartment, though the weight of Mulder’s hand on her lower back as she ascends the stairs reminds her who she will belong to when all of this is over.

It’s clean but sparse, a one bedroom with a full-size mattress on the floor and a rented couch. Bradley asks if they’d like to get dinner, and Scully’s libido tells her to say no while her stomach growls loudly in protest. The men laugh, sharing a knowing look and a joke about needing to feed her so she’ll have plenty of energy later. Scully feels her cheeks warm, but she also feels a little buzz from the high of being the center of attention. From watching these two handsome men puff out their chests and make lewd innuendos about what they have planned for her.

She and Mulder have talked about the possibilities—all the many arrangements one can make with two cocks and three available orifices. It’s been the fodder of their fantasy for weeks, ramping up further after they booked their tickets to Seattle. She’s not even sure what she’s hoping for at this point, but she feels open to just about anything.

Bradley takes them to a little Italian restaurant that is dripping with romantic ambiance. Mulder insists on sitting across from the two of them, observing them together with a curious and lustful expression on his face. Tarantella Napoletana leaks from the blown out speakers in the ceiling and yellow candle light flickers across the bridge of Mulder’s nose. He catches her eye and blinks slowly, and the intensity of his gaze makes her heart skip a beat. It feels salacious when Bradley rests his hand on her thigh, slowly inching it up until the tips of his fingers brush against the seam of her jeans, because Mulder can’t see it but their waiter probably can. She feels her heart pounding between her legs, and is almost relieved when their food arrives and Bradley has to bring both his hands up to artfully wind pasta around his fork with the assistance of a spoon.

“So, how do you like the Pacific Northwest?” Mulder asks casually, like they’re just a few old friends catching up. Like both men won’t be inside her later.

“It’s not too bad, but I think Virginia will reign supreme as my favorite assignment,” Bradley tells him around a mouthful of linguine.

“Are the patients here more difficult?” Scully asks innocently, her eyes on her plate as she spears a cherry tomato with her fork.

The men are silent, and she looks up to find them smiling conspiratorially. She realizes the meaning behind Bradley’s remark, and again she feels her cheeks warm.

“It’s a lot easier to find pot out here,” Bradley says, mercifully changing the subject. “The attitude about it is more laid back. And my dealer is an aerospace engineer at Boeing, which makes me feel less like a common criminal for some reason.”

Scully sighs, and Bradley looks over at her with a mildly perplexed expression.

“You good?” he asks, and she furrows her eyebrows, mirroring his confusion.

“She’s nervous,” Mulder says levelly, and both she and Bradley turn to look at him across the table. He looks gratified. He knows her best. He knows what every sigh, eye roll, and smile means. “The good kind of nervous, though. Right, honey?”

She feels his toe bump up against her leg under the table and she smiles coyly.

“Well, let’s get out of here and get some of that Boeing grade, California grown reefer in you. That oughta take care of those nerves,” Bradley says, punctuating the statement with a squeeze to her thigh.

Scully is floating, drifting around in circles, the solid mass of Mulder’s chest an anchor beneath her cheek. Dancing had been his idea, but she happily obliged. She loves it when he’s romantic like this, wooing her with Sinatra and his own brand of feminist chivalry.

Her nerves have long since melted away, the THC in her system holding her steady in the current moment. She forgets, just briefly, where she is, and when she feels a second set of hands touch her waist from behind, she startles.

“Mind if I cut in?” Bradley asks, and Mulder passes her over to him, pulling her arms free of his neck and draping them over Bradley’s shoulders as her cheek finds a new anchor.

She inhales deeply, and her cunt throbs at the muscle memory that his smell evokes. Sandalwood and spice, and the stretch of his thick cock inside her. She thrusts her pelvis against his gently and whimpers, feeling needy and piqued.

Mulder is still right behind her, brushing her hair back over her shoulders and slipping his hands under her T-shirt to touch her bare waist. Scully smiles against Bradley’s chest. She feels so safe, so cared for, so desired. Mulder unclasps her bra and cups her breasts beneath the silky fabric, brushing his thumbs over her hardening nipples, and Scully groans.

“Does that feel good?” one or the other asks her, she’s not entirely sure who.

She hums her answer, and Bradley holds her arms up over her head while Mulder divests her of her shirt and then slides her bra down her arms. She imagines herself swathed in silk, lounging in a triclinium while the men feed her grapes and keep her cool with vellum fans, and she giggles.

Mulder turns her around to face him and she finds a mischievous smirk on his mouth.

“Having fun?” he asks, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose before he gets down on his knees.

She takes the question to be rhetorical; clearly she’s enjoying herself. She scrapes her fingers through his hair as he wraps his smart mouth around one of her nipples, and when her knees nearly buckle she leans against Bradley’s chest for support. Her eyes fall closed and she basks in the hot rough of Mulder’s tongue and the teasing fumble of Bradley’s fingers at the fly of her jeans. As soon as he gets the zipper down he slips his hand under the stiff fabric and beneath her panties, his middle finger gliding down her slick slit and settling over her opening.

“She’s soaked,” he remarks, and Mulder hums.

Scully imagines the triclinium again, but this time the crown of Mulder’s minky head is tucked between her splayed legs, and Bradley is kissing her and playing with her breasts. It strikes her that this fantasy could easily come to fruition if she’d only ask, but she doesn’t feel inclined to make requests of them. She spends so much of her time giving orders to her patients and other hospital staff, making critical decisions and solving complex problems. She doesn’t want to decide how they should fuck her, she just wants to be thoroughly fucked. She’s confident that this is already on their agenda, so she cedes control and lets it happen.

Bradley works her jeans down her hips and Mulder reluctantly releases her nipple so she can step out of them. She’s now fully nude, and the two men are still clad in their jeans and T-shirts, impatient erections straining against denim. She can’t decide which one to undress first: Bradley’s body is more novel to her and slightly more intriguing, but she never wants Mulder to think for one moment that she’d want to do this without him, or that his naked body no longer excites her. Indecisive, she lays one of her palms over each of their groins, giving their matching erections a simultaneous firm rub. The harmony of their moans makes her cunt water, and she finds herself trying to take both of their pants off at the same time, which proves impossible. Mulder chuckles and unbuttons his jeans, and she quickly slips her hand under his boxers to feel the smooth skin of his cock. He steps closer and she kisses him, her tongue tangled up with his as Bradley kicks his jeans off and guides her hand around his own length.

They stand there in the middle of the living room, Scully nude and stroking the two partially dressed men while she alternately kisses one and then the other. She can’t help but compare the taste of their mouths and the feel of their tongues. Mulders taut, silky shaft to the slightly slack foreskin that glides up and down with her fist over Bradley’s cock. She moves her hands lower and cups their balls, delighting when both sets draw tighter under her touch. She feels like Aphrodite, or maybe even Eros. She feels powerful and sexual, desirable and wanton. Never in a million years would she have pictured herself with a cock in each hand and every possible untoward intention for them, but even if she’d tried to, the fantasy would have paled in comparison to this.

Her attention is startled away by the trill of Bradley’s cell phone, and he utters a string of profanity as he jogs across the room to silence it, his erection bouncing comically. Scully continues to kiss and touch Mulder, pushing him slowly back until his calves make contact with the couch, then she tugs his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs. He pulls his T-shirt off over his head and then sits down, kicking off his shoes and the remainder of his clothes. Scully drops down to her knees and situates herself between his open legs, stroking him idly while he watches her face with an erotic mix of adoration and desire. He reaches out and cups her cheek in his palm, and she closes her eyes. For a moment it’s just the two of them, slipping into a secret world that has never been accessible to anyone else. It’s the place where their shared memories lie, and their shared heartbreak. The parts of themselves that they have given only to each other. The parts that he knows are not on the menu to be shared, and never will be. Scully sighs and opens her eyes, leans forward and kisses him, and then lowers her head to his lap and guides him down the back of her throat. Immediately his hands are tangled up in her hair, his hips flexing up off the couch and agonized groans rumbling in his chest. It’s hard not to try to make him come, as het up as she is, but she knows that they are only getting started. She eases up a bit, bathing him with the broad flat of her tongue and squeezing his balls rhythmically.

“Sorry about that,” Bradley purrs from behind her, and she feels the smooth warmth of his palms gliding over her ass cheeks. Instinctively, she moves her knees apart, humming with satisfaction when he runs his hand between her legs and brushes his fingers across her swollen clit. “Goddamn, you’re wet,” Bradley murmurs under his breath, then shifts his body closer to hers. She feels the spongy head of his cock taking the same journey down the crack of her ass and over her slick folds, and her cunt throbs in anticipation. “You ready for me, pretty girl?”

She flashes her eyes up to Mulder, and he blinks once in agreement.

“Mmmhmmm,” she hums around Mulder’s cock, and it lurches against her soft palate.

She stills, letting his cock sit idly on her tongue as Bradley pushes into her. Immediately she quivers around him, and he blows out a slow, steady breath behind her.

“Too good,” he remarks with a chuckle, and she hears Mulder laugh in response.

“Been there,” he quips, brushing her hair out of her face.

She resumes sucking Mulder off, slowly drawing him in and then dragging her tongue up his shaft, finishing with a swirl around the head of his cock. Bradley fucks her in long, steady strokes, his hands on her hips to hold her steady. At one point, the men groan in unison at the pleasure of her mouth and pussy, and she feels the very edge of an orgasm tingle in her toes.

“Shit,” Bradley hisses as his hips pick up speed, which feels amazing, but it also knocks her forward and jams Mulder’s dick against the back of her throat. She gags, and Mulder pushes on her shoulders to relieve the pressure.

“Easy,” he admonishes Bradley sharply, and the younger man immediately freezes.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away there,” he says sheepishly, and she gathers that the apology is just as much for Mulder as it is for her.

“You okay?” Mulder says quietly, his head dipped down to create a bubble of privacy.

She lifts her head off of him and smiles. Always her protector, even now. Especially now.

“Yeah,” she says warmly, taking him in her fist. “You okay?”

Mulder sighs and looks her over.

“Very. Only one thing that could make it even better,” he says playfully.

She lifts her hips and Bradley slips out of her as she climbs up into Mulder’s lap. Their bodies are so intimately acquainted that her cunt finds him without the use of her hands, and she settles fully into him with a wistful groan.

“Home,” she whispers in his ear, too quietly for Bradley to hear.

Mulder sits back and lets her ride him, smiling up at her until she hits a sweet spot and his eyes roll back in his head.

“That’s enough of that for now,” he says urgently as he stills her hips with his hands. “And that’s not actually what I meant, to be perfectly honest.”

“No?” she asks with a tilt of her head. “You want…?”

She flicks her eyes over her shoulder, and he laughs.

“Also a big fan, but also not what I meant,” he says as he pushes her up and withdraws from her. She lets him guide her down to lay on the couch beside him, and a flush of anticipation warms her pelvis as he pushes her legs open and kneels on the cushion at her feet.

“Can I come out of the penalty box?” Bradley asks cautiously, and she looks over to find him watching them, his half-hard cock in his fist.

Scully beckons him to her with a finger, and he kneels on the floor near her head. Mulder begins to lick her in broad strokes as she coaxes Bradley’s erection back to life with her tongue, all three of them whimpering and moaning in turn. The stiffer Bradley becomes, the harder it is for her to blow him at this angle, so she strokes him with her hand while she suckles at the head of his cock, drawing out a salty slick of precum.

Mulder lifts his head, though his fingers are still tucked inside her, stroking at her front wall, and she hears a quick exchange between the men. Bradley pulls his cock free of her hand and bends to kiss her, trailing down her neck and clavicle until he has one of her nipples perched between his lips and the other pinned between his thumb and forefinger.

Scully looks down and smiles as she realizes her fantasy has come true after all. There is no triclinium, no vellum fans, but there is the firm press of Mulder’s fingers and the sweep of his tongue across her clit, paired with the hot suck of Bradley’s mouth on her breast. Heaven. This must be what Heaven is like.

She lets herself get lost in sensation, basking in the novelty of Bradley and the time-tested reliability of Mulder. She has just enough reach to snake her arm down and grab hold of Bradley’s cock, squeezing and stroking purely for her own enjoyment as Mulder teases her close and then backs off over and over. He knows her body so well, so intimately, and there is no need to provide instruction. One “Yes,” from her and he knows that she’s ready. That it’s time.

She nears the edge again, and this time he doesn’t stop. He curls his fingers and brushes firmly against the top of her opening on each withdrawal, concurrently flicking his tongue back and forth across her clit. She climbs higher and higher, trusting him to take her all the way, unencumbered by the pressure to perform.

“Oh, I’m gonna come,” she keens, and Bradley grunts as his cock swells in her hand.

She stops existing in the corporeal sense that she’s familiar with. There is not a single thought in her head, not a single cell in her body that does not have its attention focused singularly on her cunt as she clutches and releases around Mulder’s fingers over and over, her clit pulsing like a hammering heart under his tongue. Bradley continues sucking on her breasts, drawing it out for an eternity, and she writhes indelicately against the rough upholstery of his rented couch. In increments, she returns to herself, slowly becoming aware of one of her hands clutching a fistful of Mulder’s hair, the other wrapped limply around Bradley’s cock. She’s wailing like a feral animal, somehow still coming. It feels like it will never end until finally the crashing waves subside into gently lapping surf, and she sighs.

Bradley sits back and looks her over with an impressed smirk, and slowly Mulder withdraws his fingers, making her shudder. He crawls over her, planting his hands on the couch on either side of her head, and smiles at her in that dopey, love-struck way that makes her heart ache. She grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss, which slowly progresses into full on making out, and she feels him hard against her lower belly.

“Fuck me,” she implores him, canting her hips.

“Mmmm,” he groans, pushing his pelvis against her. “I’d love nothing more, but I promised our host that there would be no cum on the couch,” he says against her ear, his breath hot and wet.

“Bed’s all made up. Ready and waiting,” Bradley entices them from the doorway to the bedroom, wagging his eyebrows for emphasis.

Mulder stands and holds out his hand to her, and she takes it before rising slowly onto wobbly legs. He smiles proudly and then scoops her up behind the knees, and she squeals in surprise as he carries her off to the bedroom.

“Will you get her a glass of water, please?” Mulder instructs Bradley as he moves to lay her down on the bed, and the man complies without hesitation. Mulder lays down beside her and tucks his face into the crook of her neck. A single standing lamp in the corner washes the room in warm yellow light that doesn’t allow for any shadowy corners.

“You still good? You want to stop?” he whispers, and she smiles against his cheek.

“I’m not done with you, G-Man,” she whispers back, then grabs a fistful of his ass.

“M’lady,” Bradley says regally as he offers Scully a glass of ice water, which she gulps down gratefully.

They take a few minutes to rest and recuperate. Bradley lays on the bed behind her and runs his hand along the curve of her waist and hip, palming her ass while he plays with his own cock. Mulder kisses her slowly, deeply, like that’s all he plans to do. When she reaches for him, he’s rock hard and silky smooth, a steel beam draped in velvet. She squeezes her thighs together, ready for more.

“I want you,” she mumbles against his mouth, a phrase that she long ago discovered will instantly put him at her complete mercy. Mulder groans and flexes his hips, pushing his cock through her fist. “Lay on your back.”

He quickly complies, shuffling more towards the center of the bed as she climbs over him and sits proudly astride his lap, his shaft nestled into the valley of her cunt and pinned to his belly by her weight. Scully looks over at Bradley, who is lying on his side with his head propped up on a fist.

“Don’t mind me,” he says with a smile. “I’m happy to watch for a bit.”

Previous to this, the idea of fucking with a third party lying in the bed beside you would have made her skin crawl. Now, trusting Bradley like she does, it makes her clit jump. She leans forward and kisses Mulder as she slides forward and back over his cock, her own wetness allowing her to glide effortlessly. Each time she moves back and the head of him bumps over her clit, she whimpers.

“You want to come again,” Mulder tells her, and her whole body trembles. “I want to see you come.”

She lifts her hips and he snakes his hand down between them, pointing his cock north towards her soaking cunt. She slams down onto him, feeling his balls sack against her ass cheeks. She does want to come again. She needs to.

She leans forward again, pressing her cheek against his. “Please,” she begs, even though she is the one on top. “Please make me come.”

“You heard the woman, Brad,” Mulder says tightly, trying to hold back. “Help me make her come.”

The bed shifts, and she feels Bradley move behind her. She slowly raises and lowers her hips, drawing Mulder out and back in again, and Bradley rests his hands on her ass, gently guiding her. He lets out a low wolf whistle.

“This is some view,” he says, impressed.

Scully imagines what he must be seeing—Mulder’s cock disappearing inside her over and over— and she arches her back in an attempt to make more of herself visible to him. He settles his thumbs into the crack of her ass and spreads her cheeks wider, and she feels him shift again before the soft heat of his tongue swipes over her asshole.

“Oh my god,” she blurts out, overwhelmed. “Oh my fucking god.”

She finds it hard to remember to keep moving, to keep riding Mulder, so he starts pushing up into her from below while Bradley thoroughly licks every inch of her asshole. She lifts her head slightly and makes a feeble attempt to kiss Mulder, but she can only hold her parted lips against his, moaning into his mouth.

“You want him to fuck you too?” Mulder asks breathlessly, his voice hushed. “Same time?”

They’d discussed the possibility. Scully was intrigued, but opted to wait until they were in the moment to decide whether she wanted to try it. Now that the moment has arrived, she feels every neuron in her body fire at the idea.

“Yes,” she says confidently, already limp-limbed in anticipation. “I want it.”

Mulder moves his head to the side so he can get Bradley’s attention. Scully can’t quite process the words they’re saying, too distracted by what is about to happen. Bradley shifts around again, and she feels his cock brushing around her opening, right where Mulder is currently tucked inside of her. She realizes that their cocks must be touching, and the idea of it makes her quiver around Mulder. He hums and bucks his hips a little, and Bradley puts one hand on her lower back to hold her in place.

“Down here okay?” Bradley asks, squeezing her hip gently so she knows he’s speaking to her.

“Yeah,” she says, dazed. Anywhere down there is more than okay with her. She’s ready.

“Okay with you, Mulder?” Bradley asks, and Mulder hesitates half a beat before he says, “Yeah.”

There is the plasticky tick of a bottle cap popping open, probably lube, and then she feels him there again, brushing around beside Mulder’s cock. She waits for him to move higher to her asshole, but instead she feels him press against her opening, and then a deep stretch as he pushes inside. She realizes that he’s entering her pussy right alongside Mulder, and there is a flash of adrenaline in her ears.

“We okay?” Bradley asks, his voice low and sultry.

“Uh huh,” Mulder grunts.

Scully’s mouth drops open as the girth of both men stretches her open wide.

“Dana?” Bradley asks with another squeeze to her hip.

“Yes,” she keens, on the edge of overwhelm.

She feels the bump of Mulder’s nose against her own, and she opens her eyes. He locks eyes with her, reading her demeanor.

“I’m okay,” she reassures him.

“But do you want to keep going? We can stop,” he says tenderly.

“No, I don’t want to stop,” she whines, pushing her hips back against Bradley. “I want to come. Make me come, Mulder.”

“Fuck, I love you,” he mumbles, kissing her.

Mulder begins to flex his hips up and down, pushing his cock in and out of her as Bradley fucks her from behind. They move in alternate rhythms, one retreating while the other advances, and she can’t stop thinking about them rubbing up against one another inside her. How much of their pleasure is from her cunt, and how much of it is from the other man? She’s surprised by how much that arouses her, how being the vessel for two cocks engaging in frottage feels like the most erotic thing imaginable. She wants them both to come inside her, one on top of the other. It’s all she can think about. It builds and builds, her muscles tightening and a warm, wonderful lightness spreading across her skin. It’s slow and powerful, overcoming her like a tsunami.

“I’m coming,” she announces as she clamps down on them, and the room explodes in a cacophony of moans and whimpers.

“Jesus, fuck,” Bradley bellows, and she can feel him throbbing inside her, running down the seam of her legs.

“I want you to come,” she tells Mulder, knowing that he’s holding back. “Be a good boy and come for me.”

He groans and she feels the hot spurt of his orgasm, and he keeps fucking her even after Bradley softens and slips out. With more room to move, Scully sits up and grinds against him, setting off another, smaller orgasm for herself and making Mulder’s shoulders lurch up off the bed.

“Fuck, I can’t take anymore,” he pleads, oversensitized, and she mercifully lifts her hips to free him.

As is apparently his M.O., Bradley is suddenly gone from the room, leaving them to enjoy their afterglow privately. Scully sighs and slackens, draped over Mulder like a blanket. He draws circles on her back with the tips of his fingers, and the mess of liquids between her legs begins to cool.

“How you doin’?” he asks her, his voice low and gravelly.

She hums and squeezes him, and he accepts this as an answer.

“That’s good,” he says, wrapping his arms across her back. “You were incredible.”

Scully smiles, feeling proud of herself. There is a knock at the door, and she turns her head to rest the other cheek on Mulder’s chest so she can see Bradley peeking in.

“Sorry to disturb you. I ordered a pizza, if you want to grab a shower before it gets here,” he tells them, not making any attempt to conceal his open leering between Scully’s still-spread legs.

As before, Mulder has to carry her from one room to the next, though as they stand under the hot spray of the shower she slowly regains strength in her enervated limbs. She leans her back heavily against his chest as he tenderly washes between her legs, murmuring words of praise and adoration. Given, she is still far from sober, but she cannot imagine regretting what they just did. She feels closer to him than ever.

They re-light the joint and enjoy it with their pizza, telling stories and winding down. Scully starts to doze off with her head in Mulder’s lap as he gently scratches at her scalp, Bradley rubbing her feet at the other end of the couch. She could get used to this.

“Let’s get you to bed, sleepy girl,” Mulder says fondly, and although she is more than capable of walking she lets him carry her one final time.

They emphatically assure Bradley that he is welcome to sleep in his own bed, but he insists on taking the couch and letting them have his bedroom. Scully brought pajamas, but opts to sleep in Mulder’s dirty T-shirt while he wears only his boxers. They leave the door open, having nothing to conceal from Bradley that he has not already seen, and Scully curls up with her head resting on Mulder’s chest and one of her legs draped over his.

“What are you thinking about?” Mulder says after a time, sensing that she is still awake.

Scully smiles against his chest.

“What do you think?” she quips, and he puffs a laugh through his nose. “What are you thinking about?” she asks in return.

“You,” he says simply.

“Pure, romantic thoughts, I’m sure,” she teases him, and he takes the hand that is resting on his belly, moving it to his groin. He’s hard, and she feels her body respond.

“Not quite,” he says.

Scully clucks her tongue in mock judgment.

“You’re insatiable,” she says, even as she’s pulling his cock free of his boxers and moving over him, hitching her T-shirt up around her waist.

“I’m insatiable?” he retorts, his voice tightening when she sinks down on him. “I’m not the one who took two men at once and is already back for more,” he says proudly.

Scully leans forward, rocking her hips slowly and dropping kisses across his cheeks and mouth.

“Two is nice, but there’s only one I’m interested in,” she tells him, and she hears the parting of his lips as he smiles in the dark.

“You’re my girl,” he says, running his hands over her waist and hips.

“I’m your girl,” she assures him, then sits up and begins to ride.

#x files fanfic #xf fanfic #the xfiles #the x files #xfiles #xf fic

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