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gghostwriter · 3 months

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You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

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The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face.

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.”

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.”

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.”

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?”

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?”

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice.

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?”

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.”

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.”

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?”

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater.

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?”

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk.

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation.

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?”

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed.

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth.

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.”

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory.

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up.

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who.

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.”

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?”

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them.

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language.

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?”

“What? No! No, of course not!”

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow.

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend.

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue.

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course.

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down.

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking?

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time.

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk.

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement.

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered.

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement.

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with.

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance.

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest.

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.”

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #gw fics

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ja3hwa · 1 month

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♡ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐧 || 𝐉.𝐘𝐇 ♡

【Synopsis】 : a new book shop had opened on the block, and a certain marfia leader was interested in the sweet little owner.

『Word count』 : 9.01k

-> Genre: Mafia. Smut. Romance.

Pairing: Perv!MobBoss!Yunho! X Librarian!Reader

[Warnings] : Pervy Yunho. Like I mean this man is so horny for the reader it's crazy. Really shameless flirting and a lot of flustered most likely cringe moments but it's fine… I promise. Mention of criminal activity. Yunho is a classy criminal, what can I say. Swearing. Tension. Inappropriate thoughts. Strangers to Lovers?? Domestic play. These two already act like an old married couple, confirmed. Making out, oral(f). Fingering. Edging. Dirty talk. Unprotected sex.

Author note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY DARLING YAYA!! I hope you enjoy this little treat. This is plot heavy. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I had such bad word vomit. May or may not end up writing another part, we’ll see ahh. Ah, i love you ♡ @skteezcursed ♡

Also this is not beta read so please be mindful of any mistakes ♡

Networks: @atzhouse @wonderlandnet @illusionnet @cromernet

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“I’m just saying why can’t you get one of the field boys to do it. You got a meeting in thirty, and I don’t see how explaining to them you were ‘out for an errand’ will solve your tardiness.” The driver scoffed yet again as he took the next right towards the new shop that had just opened a few weeks ago in town. A little book shop. There hadn’t been a proper book shop in this part of the city in years, and Yunho was immediately interested in it.

“Like I said, I want to see this place for myself. I don’t need one of those knuckleheads barging in like they own the place. And none of those bozos will ever say a word. I could be a day late, and they’ll all pretend they were just early.” Yunho rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his whiskey. He felt tired just thinking about that meeting. The one he’s been putting off for months. “Stop here.”

San sighed in defeat before taking a spot on the busy road. No one seemed to bat an eye as a black Chevy Suburban rolled up, but then again, most people on this side of town knew exactly who the car belonged to. “Meet me back here in twenty. Go grab us a coffee or something.”

“Wait but, Sir. You can't just—” Yunho slammed the door to the car. “Leave…”

The little bell on the top of the door rang cutely as Yunho entered the quiet establishment. There was barely anyone in here, if not no one at all. Perfect. He thought, given he wanted to be able to meet you in peace. And there you were, casually placing books in their rightful places on the shelves. You are wearing a cute sundress with an apron over it. There’s a little sun pattern all over the fabric, making it match with the pastel yellow ribbon in your hair. You were the most beautiful thing Yunho had ever laid eyes on. And the first time he noticed you were in the cafe, a few shops down. You bought a hot chocolate and a blueberry muffin. He still remembers the smile on your face when you took that first sip, getting a little foam moustache as a result.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss your sweet face then and there. So naturally, he looked you up. Finding out you had opened up this vintage-urban store. You had moved from outta town, but no one knew where, and your family and history was a mystery. Even to him and his beast detectives. You were no one. And that made you even more interesting. “Come on..just..g-go.”

You were on your tip toes trying to reach the top shelf to put a book back but you being forgetful, left the stool in the back closet and you had decided it was too much of an effort to go back and get it now. You jumping was what you resorted to. You looked like a rabbit in Yunho’s eyes. A sweet little rabbit that’s breast bounced perfectly with every hop. The scrunch in your nose and little tongue poking made him wonder what your face would look like if when you were fucked just right.

His feet moved swiftly until he was flush behind up. You felt his broad chest before you heard him as he softly grabbed the book from your delicate fingers and placed it where it needed to be on the shelf. But what ultimately caught your attention was his smooth voice. “Looked like you needed some help, doll.”

Oh right then and there you felt your life was about to change very dramatically and oh, how it did excite you. “T-thanks.”

“Anytime.” His deep voice spilled in your ears like butter, and his cologne danced around you making the outside world cease to exist. He was walking sex on legs, something out of a dark romance novel and you knew exactly who he was. “So, have you got any book suggestions?”

Your smile grew when he asked the question but Yunho was cringing inside. That was really the best he could do. He’s been watching you for weeks and that was all he could mutter up. You on the other hand, chirped, plodding off deeper into the store. Yunho followed as he watched you scanning the shelves, your fingers tracing the spines of multiple books as you passed them, your mouth quivering out the titles of each one. “Here we go!” You grabbed a black book off the shelf. It had a red misty design all around it with bold white lettering in the centre. It looks magical, like you. “This is one of my favourites. But be warned, it’s a lot of info dumping at the start. But the ending is worth it.”

“Thanks doll. What is it about?” Yunho’s smile makes your heart shake, your fingers grazing his as you hand him the book. Your throat became dry, unable to think of the right words to describe the novel…”Oh it's fantasy…”

You snapped out of your brain as you see the man scanning the blurb on the back, his smile growing into a sly smirk as he read some of the words, Romantic, erudite and suspenseful. You put your jittering hands in the pockets of your apron as you tried your best not to blush. “Y-yeah.. yes. I. It's really good. It’s got witches and vampires, all sorts of creatures.”

Your little ramble caused Yunho to smile ear to ear. The way your face slowly lit up the more you spoke about it, the dramatic movements of your hands as you used them to further express your emotion. He had come to the conclusion you were the cutest thing on the planet. And he would do anything to protect that. “Well I’ll definitely give it a read, sunshine.”

Your like deepened the shade of pink upon hearing the cute nickname that slipped from the tall man. You felt like your legs were slowly turning to jelly at the thought not only was he hot as all fuck, but he was in fact a reader, like you. “T-Tell me what you think when you finish it.”

“I shall.” His remark was quick, the smirk making your heart race. When was he this close to you? Was he always this close to the point you can smell his cologne mixing with the whiskey on his breath. You gulped, watching his eyes scan from your eyes to your lips, before letting his own by swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. “I needed to speak with you about something as well.”

His deep authorial voice rattled in your mind, suddenly shaking you from your fantasy, making you remind yourself who exactly was standing in front of you. You nodded with a small ‘of course’ before walking towards the front counter. Yunho followed you as he spoke, “I’m assuming you know who I am…” his throat felt dry at his own words.

“Everybody knows who you are, Mr Jeong.” Your words seemed flattened, almost worried. In truth you were scared, but the murmurs that circled when you first entered the city was not something you took lightly. The cruelness people spoke off. The ruthless man known as the Viper. Mr Jeong Yunho. Too young to be a mafia lord, yet here he stood, powerful, feared and wealthy. “I suppose you were here originally for business then...”

Yunho watched as you took out the logs of the shop, no longer making eye contact with him. Of course you knew who he was, why was he so stupid in thinking he could pretend for one single moment to be someone else. To be a normal guy that could sway the sweet sunflower that owns the book shop. A fantasy, he thought, one that won't come true. “I protect these shops on this street. And I was wondering if you would be interested in getting into the same agreement.” he bit his tongue, trying his best to be professional.

“And what do I have to do to get this sort of treatment…” Your hands were shaking more than you’d like them too, not wishing to look into his cold eyes. But his eyes weren't cold, in fact they were swimming in conflict. He didn’t need anything from you, just like the other shops. No, he protected people that needed it and in return he asked for their favour. Nothing more nothing less. But he didn’t want a favour from you. No he just wanted…

“A smile.” Yunho said sternly.

“W-what?” You finally looked up at him to see a soft smirk on his shaded pink features and then he replied again..

“I want you to smile.”

You couldn’t help but yearn for Yunho every time you opened your shop. Waiting for him to walk in through those doors like he did almost two weeks ago now. you still remember the butterflies in your tummy as he said his goodbye…

“Like that.” Your smile grew bigger as he stepped closer to the counter. “It suits you so much.” He picked up your hand gently before placing the softest kiss on your knuckles. You swore your heart stopped at that moment. “I’ll be seeing you, sunshine.”

And with that he left, leaving your blood rushing to your ears and a hefty tip on your counter.

“Hey, so do I sort the biographies by title or by author.” The young worker so reluctantly hired comes rushing in from the store room, his shirt on the wrong way and his laces barely tied… his mother had practically begged you to give him work since he was almost twenty-three and still without job experience. And now you can see why no one wanted to hire the poor thing. He wasn’t the brightest.

“Uh yeah. By author and make sure they are put in the end row by the nonfiction section, please.” You pinched the bridge of your nose as you watched him stumble away to the back of the shop, his laces making him side step.

And then you heard a crash. Followed by a quick, “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” You felt like you needed to ask.

The young boy rounded the shelf, looking back at you with a face as bright of a pink as the poor flowers he was holding. He had broken another vase... perfect.

“Just put it in the back.” You scratched your chin sighing as he repeated over and over ‘I’m sorry’ while cleaning up the what you’d count as the fourth vase filled with flowers. You shook your head, looking back at the receipt logbook again, going over all the money you’d have made since opening. It was surprising, to say the least, the amount of people that have purchased or borrowed books in such little time made you giddy. You felt a sense of accomplishment at the idea people were reading. The sound of the doorbell chimed, shifting your attention to a possible new customer. “Hello, how can I help…”

“Hey Sunshine.” Yunho’s face beamed with happiness upon seeing you. His casual wear catches you off guard. He almost looked normal and not some big bad mob boss who could get away with your murder. “I’ve read your book.”

“Y-yunho.” You perked, closing the logs before quickly rounding the front desk until you were almost inches from him. Close enough to smell his gorgeous cologne. “That didn’t take you long…”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, reminding himself he had spent hours reading the book when he should have been working. But who was going to yell at him for it anyway? No, he needed to finish the book quickly so he could have something to talk about. “No, I fell in love with it on page one. And besides, the quicker I read it. The quicker I could come back here and ask you for another.”

Your face blushed as he took a step closer. You gulp at the proximity, practically feeling his body heat. His on hand leaning on the counter behind you, closing the distance. "D-do, you have any in mind..."

Yunho watched your eyes flutter close, taking in his aura. He couldn't help but smirk at how much he affected you. Infecting your perfect little innocent act, because from what he read in that novel, he knew you were the sunshine he depicted you as, no, there was a dark streak inside you, and he wanted desperately to draw it out. "I was curious if you got something more spicy. Hmm."

"S-spicy!?" You gasp, opening your eyes to gaze into Yunho deep ones, his pupils blown out, almost consuming all the chocolate in his eyes. His smile only grew, placing his other hand on the other side of your body, now trapping you between his large body and the counter.

"Oh, I know you've got ideas, baby. That book wasn't as innocent as you remember, hm." The tilt in his head made you dizzy. His face inches from yours. If you wanted, you would only need to move an inch to close the gap. To finally feel those lips you'd been dreaming about for the past couple of weeks.

"I could give you some suggestions..." You whispered your breath, mixing with his. Yunho bit his bottom lip, inching closer and closer until his lips graze yours and just enough to—

"I think I lost the log book again in the...." The young boy, frozen, almost dropping some of the books that he held tightly in his hand. Yunho sighs, reluctantly pulling away slowly. You looked down at your feet, feeling like your heart was going to jump right out of your chest. "S-sorry."

"It's okay, George. Just.. Did you leave it on the desk in the back again?" You answered the poor boys' question, making his face light up with cringe. He muttered to himself before scurrying off towards the back room. You look back at the man still caging you against the counter, but his gaze was elsewhere. On the young boy, in fact. Yunho could explain it, but he knows that kid. He's seen him somewhere. His face is so familiar yet lost. "Are you okay?"

Your little murmur caught the mob boss's attention, turning his attention to you once again. He cleared his throat before standing up straight, almost making himself bigger than normal. His gaze still flickered to where the back room was. His gut told him something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. "Yeah, don't worry, sunshine." He finally looked back at you, gifting you one of his award winning smiles, "I'm good."

"Well. I should be getting back to work." You felt a slight twinge of embarrassment circle in your tummy. Getting caught in the arms of a man like Yunho but being caught almost kissing him. That was a scandal and a half. Argh, you can practically hear all the old bettys in the street gossiping already. You go to turn away from him, but his hand grips your upper arm, swinging you into his chest. His free hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Let me take you out." He smirked.

"A date?" You questioned.

"Yes. I like you, sunshine. If that wasn't obvious enough." He could see your ears start to turn pink as you tried to look everywhere else. Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears, feeling an overwhelming sense of every emotion under the sun. He leaned closer until his lips grazed your ear, whispering, "Think about it. I'll come back Friday afternoon before you close, and you can tell me your answer."

He lightly kissed your cheek before letting you go, walking out another thought. You just stood there, shocked, thrilled and absolutely terrified.

"You can't go."

"What?" You knitted your brow as you turned to George standing in one of the aisles. He jumped, changing his expression from a plan and cold expression to one of bewilderment.

"Uh, what I mean is you shouldn't. He's not a good man." You can see his grip on the books tighten as he grits his teeth. Your expression stayed the same as you turned your back to him, opening the logbook to where you were before.

"I know who he is." Your words were cold, blunt, almost shocking the young man. He was taken aback, to say the least, but then again, he expected your response. In fact, he hoped for it.

Through the following days, you found yourself staring at the clock, waiting, begging for the day to end. You wished desperately for it to be Friday every time you woke up. It was finally Thursday when your craving died a little. An old lady had come in to return a few books, and she had said a fine looking man had asked her to give you a piece of paper. A letter. To say your heart nearly jumped through your throat would have been an understatement. "Hey, George. I need to do some paperwork, watch the store."

"You've never let me work the regis—." You didn't even let the poor boy finish his statement as you sped off towards the back room. Your shaky fingers locked the door as quickly as possible before you practically jumped into the swivel chair. ‘Open it’ you told yourself ‘it has to be from Yunho’. Your smile only grew bigger at the voice singing in your head. You open the paper and see it's written in the most beautiful hand writing you've ever seen. It read;

To my sunshine,

Even though our interactions have been brief, I have to confess that crossing paths in your bookshop was not the first time I've noticed your beautiful presence. I first saw you in the cafe, three shops down. The way you were lost in your book while sipping on your hot chocolate made me want to dive into your mind and see its wonders. Curious what could be lying within… You’ve been on my mind ever since. I have found I am unable to sleep at night without the thought of you. Call me old-fashioned with this letter, but I needed to get this off my chest without blabbering like a fool in front of you. I can't wait for our date tomorrow that I know you’ll say yes to. But until then. A gift…

You look at the bottom of the page and note there is a phone number. If the confession of love wasn't enough, him giving you his number was certainly going to kill you. You had already planned to say yes to his date but now an idea sparked in your mind. In truth, you have found feelings towards Yunho, like you had been made for one another. No amount of time, whether little or long it was, you know your feeling would stay the same. So you wanted to take the reins for once, even if deep down you knew you wouldn't be able to hold them for long.

Sunshine// I got your letter. I want you here out the front by 6 pm, wear something casual.

You left no room for argument as you shut your phone off and held your head high. George’s expression of unpleasantness couldnt… wouldnt, stop you from the growing butterflies in your gut. You were finally going to be happy, and Yunho was the one going to give it to you.

You swore it wasn’t this cold yesterday afternoon, the keys almost sticking to your ice cold fingers. You checked the locks to the doors one final time before letting out a sigh of relief and nerves, ready to call it a night. “Well hello, Sunshine.”

You turned with a smile, seeing the man of the hour. He was wearing a less-fancy dress suit. No tie, or cuff links. You couldn't help but giggle. “I said casual wear Yun…”

“What do you mean love? This is casual.” He chuckled, taking two large steps to you, closing the gap. His hand snuck around your waist, squeezing the flesh on your hips. “Where are we off to tonight?”

“A surprise. So you’ll just have to trust me.” You giggle, your palm resting on his chest. You could feel his heart racing a million miles, yet he looked so composed. But then again in his field of ‘work’ he needed to show almost no signs of emotion.

“I’d trust you with my life.” Yunho had never used those words so lightly, but it was the truth. He couldn't explain it but he could easily lay his life down for you. You could crush it if you wished and he wouldn't say a thing. You blushed at his confession, reaching on your tiptoes you kiss the rugged man's cheek, before pulling away towards the street.

“I loved your letter by the way.” And with that you turned to start walking, letting Yunho trail after you like a love sick puppy.

“Just this way…” Yunho followed you curiously as you weaved through the streets. There were no restaurants or diners around in this area he knew of and given he owned half the city he should be aware of almost everything. So where on earth were you taking him? You turned your head over your shoulders spotting the confusion on his face, you couldn't help but giggle at his wide boba-like eyes. You outstretched your hand, waiting for him to take it. Yunho swore he felt his heart stop when he locked his fingers with yours. Yunho has never put this much trust in a person before and yet he has found himself being led by you through the front door of an apartment complex and up three flights of stairs before coming to a stop at a door that read 117. “I..”

All the words you had prepared to say had suddenly flown out the window as you slotted the key into the lock. Yunho’s smirk grew as he watched your brain scramble, finding enjoyment in watching you squirm. “And here I thought you had an innocent date planned. But my cheeky little sunshine just wanted me all to herself, hmm?”

“N-no!!” you whipped your head to his direction, leaning against the door with blush riddled on your cheeks. “I-i just wanted to make you a home cooked meal. I-i prefer cooking over going out.” You dipped your head to the ground feeling a little ashamed of your introvertedness. Bringing such a dangerous man home wasn't exactly the thought that crossed your brain when you thought of this evening. In truth you were only thinking about treating him to your cooking, something you took pride in. “I’m not very good with other people.”

He brought his hand to your chin, lifting your face up so he could look at you in the eyes. There was no judgement in his soft gaze, heck even his killer smirk was now only a small simple smile. “As long as I'm with you, we could be doing anything, besides…” He leaned down to give the side of your face a kiss before whispering, “I’m not one for crowds either.”

You gulped, nodding slightly as you turned back to open the door. Yunho’s gaze shifted from yours as soon as he heard the creek of the wood, finally getting a peek inside your little place you call home. Your place was riddled with a vintage, cottagey-like aesthetic. It was like Yunho had stumbled into a fairies hut that was hidden away in the woods.the smell of your salt lamp was strong but not as strong as the calming lavender. He felt like the air around him was giving him the warmest hug. Everything was soft, cute, and dainty… just like you. You lead him deeper into the apartment, letting him take the lead once you get to an archway. It led into the lounge room he found, spotting the emerald couch and various bookshelves encasing a tv cabinet. “Uh..I… make yourself at home, i just got to put away some things and i’ll start to prepare dinner.”

You scurried off before he had the chance to protest, not that he would have that is. He was almost scared to take a seat, his black on black attire completely stuck out to the surroundings. Slicked back hair, expensive accessories, shoes worth more than most of your furniture… He was so out of place. Taking a seat he felt himself sink into the cushions. He was being bombarded by plushies falling onto him as he shifted to get comfortable. Everything smelled like you, sweet, sugary, a hint of freshly baked goods and old books. He couldn’t help him, leaning down he brought his face to a blanket you use regularly when lounging on the couch. He took a deep inhale. ‘God help me’ he'd think to himself as his fingers tangled in the soft fabric, feeling his hips twitch at the thought of your scent round him. Paint him as a pervert, he didn't care, all he cared about in this moment was the feeling of you. Craving, begging to see if he could have you as more.

A loud clunk caught his attention, making him snap out of the haze clogging his mind. He’s never sat up quicker, swiftly moving towards the kitchen to only find you with a pot on the ground and the lid firmly in your hand as if you were using it as a shield. “Whoops…” was all you could mutter, feeling like your nerves had been shot from the loud noise. Yunho scooped up the pot, trying to see if you were okay only to see your face completely red. The same red as the tomatoes on the counter. “I can't stop my hands shaking,”

You tried to laugh it off lightly at how nervous you were with such a man like Yunho being in your house. You were starting to regret bringing him here and wishing you just sucked it up and took him to a restaurant instead. Yunho's free hand placed itself on your upper arm, gently rubbing up and down on your soft skin before giving the flesh a squeeze. He hadn't even realised you were dressed in something different, another sundress, but this one was black with lace accents on the hems. the ribbon holding up your hair matched it accordingly. “Hey It's okay. Just take a deep breath, baby.”

Him calling you all these pet names weren't helping but you obeyed him as best as you could nonetheless. “I just feel a little silly bringing you here. You know since we barely know one another and I don't want you to get the wrong impression…”

“And what kind of impression would you be giving me, hmm?” He didn't mean to come off as teasing but his deep tone caused him to always sound alluring.

“I..uh. That I wanted to just get you to my place to sleep with you. Cause that's not the reason i just really dont l-like—” you stopped rambling as soon as your eyes met Yunho’s. His dark blown out gaze causes your words to get caught in your throat.Yunho had put the pot down a while ago, his spine straight as he stepped closer. You instinctively took a step back and then another before your hips made contact with the counter. Yunho placed a foot on either side of yours and his hands on the marble behind you. You were caged.

"And what if that was the reason? Would it be so bad?" It was like his voice got deeper, more sultry as he took a deep grumbling breath, taking in the scent of your perfume and shampoo.

"I j-just don't want to ruin anything we could have." You whispered, your eyes fluttering close. But Yunho simply stared holes into your flesh, like he could see straight to your soul. This cute little thing in front of him wants more than a hookup? Wants to actually get to know him? He doesn't know if he had just won the jackpot, or this was, in fact, a cruel dream he hadn't woken up to yet.

"Trust me, darling. Nothing you can do will ruin anything between us..." he leaned down to your ear, "Even if it's sex."

You choked when you heard him groan that unruly word. Your hand clapping over your mouth to hide your gasp. Never in your life have you been put into a situation quite sultry as this one. The men you’ve dated were only stereotypical, self-centered or mama’s boys. Worse if they were all three. But Yunho was different. He is no gentleman but yet, if you asked for the moon he would do anything to give it to you. He is not a nice man but if someone were to hurt the old lady that runs the little shoe shop down the street he would not be afraid to kill the fucker who did her wrong. He is not a lover but he’d be damned if he didnt wife you up the moment he could. Yunho was different and that's why you had quickly fallen for the man even if those around you did not approve. “W-what if I were to ask for more tonight. Not just dinner…”

Yunho’s heart stopped, he was sure of it. His body moving closer his lips inches from your own, “I would give anything your pretty little heart desires… all you gotta say is, please.”

You opened your eyes to see his dark ones locked on you. Moving your hand slowly, you snaked them gently around his neck, feeling his soft locks tangle between your fingers. “Please…” His lips locked onto yours, stealing the yelp from your throat. His hands that were gripping firmly on the counter now tugged at your hips, bringing you flushed against him. You could feel his body heat pool where you needed him most. You’ve never been kissed like this before. The softness with pure desperation lingering. It was as if your nerves exploded with little fireworks across your spine as you shiver under him. “Y-yu..y..” He was quick to swallow your cries, using his leg to spread your thighs more so he could easily slip between them.

“If we keep going, We aren't having dinner.” Yunho groaned against your tongue, pulling away with a tug on your bottom lip. He could hear a slight ring in his blushed ears, feeling his whole body shaking, craving to keep going. But he needed you to take the lead. Tell him what you wanted… for now.

“My bedroom is the first door on the left.” Your smile seemed to be contagious as Yunho couldn't help but give you a cheeky little smirk in return. He wasted no time in taking a hold of your lips again, but this time he took a step back, letting you both shuffle ungracefully towards the hallway. You huffed as you almost tripped, giving up with the kiss. You grabbed a hold of his hand that was still tightly against your hip, intertwining your fingers withs his. You both stood there for a moment. Nothing but battered breath and racing heart beats could be heard. It was like the world had ceased to exist around this very moment. His hazy gaze travelled from where you were both connected, up your soft arms, until he reached your lips. They were swollen, puffy and pink. Beautiful… Yunho thought. Everything about you was simply beautiful.

You gave him a soft smile, one he has never seen ever pointed in his direction, and with your hands tightly interlocked, you lead him slowly into your bedroom. A shy grin decorated your features. Something that Yunho's dark stare didn't linger from, as if he needed to map out every curve and twist to keep it perfectly accurate in his mind for years to come. From the intense gaze, you look away and towards your bed.

As soon as you opened the door, Yunho was met with the sweetest scent. It was so much stronger than the one that painted your apartment. Strawberries, vanilla, and brown sugar. The room wasn't much different from the rest of your place. It was neat, tidy. But there were blankets and plushies galore on your bed. Like a little nest to keep you safe from the outside world. The bedding was a forest green that matched the similar greens on your desk that sat in the corner. You, of course, had a bookshelf in here, too, filled with a number of different kinds of novels. Yunho reminded himself to bring up the one you recommended to him when you first met.

"Cute..." Was all he spoke, making your red face become even more hotter. You turned back to him, seeing his gaze glued to you, eyeing you with a devilish smirk. "...Just like you.”

Yunho lowered himself to place his lips on yours in another heated kiss. His hands wandered lower and lower, making your own fly to grab his shoulders. He backs you up slowly, step by step. Your hazy mind was too focused on the deepening kiss to notice any movement. It wasn't until you were suddenly startled by the edge of the bed hitting your thighs that you pulled away from the man in front of you. Yunho didn't hesitate to push you back gently. The little yelp that escaped your throat would have sounded pathetic if in a different scenario, but Yunho couldn't help but groan in response to the sound. Before you could protest anything, Yunho quickly stifled any noise as he followed you to capture your lips once more in a fierce kiss.

Teeth clashed against each other, and tongues danced like there was no tomorrow. It was like Yunho couldn't get enough of you. He needed to taste you in every way possible. The whimper that slipped from him as his mouth ventures lower to your jaw, biting and lapping at your skin. Then the same is done to your neck, your collarbone, all the way to the part of your breasts that was exposed by your sundress. You gasp, tipping your head back onto the plushies behind you while your hands loosen from the fabric on his shoulders.

Yunho suddenly stopped, his dark gaze looking up at your flushed expression. You're as red as a tomato with glossed over eyes, and God is it a delicious look on you.

"Such a pretty little thing." He groans, his voice all but a hushed whisper, slowly snaking his hands to your knees, playing with the lacy hem of your dress. "May I, Sunshine?" You nodded while biting your lip, a little too enthusiastically, shifting a little side to side. You tried to ease some of the ache between your legs.

“Use your words, Darling,” He grins, his touch unmoving.

“Please Yunho,” you finally squeak out. He shifts his body lower until he is snuggly between your legs. The sight of him looking at you through his lashes while his tongue coaks a thin layer of spit on his lips was enough to make you wet. You shiver as his large hands run from your knee, up your thigh, under your dress before returning back to your knee, tantalisingly. As if marvelling at what was before him. What you were gifting him. He does it again, this time letting his finger tips linger a little bit longer on your inner thigh before pulling away completely, leaving a thrilling chill to run down your spin. “I need you…”

His ghosting hand places itself back on the soft parts of your thighs, squeezing as he heard those three words slip from your pretty mouth. “You need me, sunshine? Need me to take the ache away? Tell me what you need, baby.”

“I want you to taste me…” You felt shy whispering such filth but Yunho on the other hand, simply raised an eyebrow at your daring comment. It was something so daring it brought a smile to his older features. His little sunshine wasn’t innocent and he was slowly drawing the darkness out. His thumbs hooked on the edge of the dress hesitating before pulling the fabric up, agonisingly slow.

“Hmm, I knew my girl had a dark side.” He spoke with a lightly chuckle escaping his reddened lips from him biting them in anticipation. My girl…those words played in your head on loop, like your new favourite song. My girl. Argh you would never get over him saying that. He hikes your dress up higher to reveal your cute purple panties with a deep wet patch on them. You’re soaked right through. It was like he couldn't help himself, taking his pointer finger he pressed firmly on the patch watching the fabric stick to your core. He couldn't help but groan, “All this talk and here you are…dripping.”

Yunho dragged you underwear down your thighs. The cool air that crept from your bedroom window immediately hits the warmth of your core below. His fingers snatch the fabric clean off your legs, flicking them off to the side somewhere before his lustful gaze finally sets on the prize he had been yearning for ever since he first met you.

He swipes his thumb over your aching cunt, collecting some slick with his finger. It sent a jolt through you, your thighs twitching without your control. He coated his fingers more, watching your juices spill down his digit onto his knuckles. He does it once more for good measure, this time rubbing over your clit to earn himself a delicious whine from you. You grip at the bedsheets, widening your legs further for him unconsciously as he continues to play and rub at your clit just right. "Fuck...Yun."

"That's it sunshine, feeling good?" He chuckled watching you flinch as he pressed harshly on your clit. He snaked closer before his face was inches from you. He blew onto your wet lips, causing a gasp to leave you, but the gasp quickly turned into a high-pitched whine as you suddenly felt the warmth of his mouth upon you. He begins to lap up your pussy all the while still harshly circling your clit, moans escaping your parted lips. The noises turned into something desperate when the thumb was replaced by his firm tongue, pressing down and licking at your swollen bud, again and again. Yunho groaned against you, bucking his hips into the mattress at a stuttering pace. You took notice of his whine, feeling another one while he ground his hips just right against the sheets.

"Please, yuyu, t-that. I..ah."

You've never had any man pay this much attention to you before, let alone find enjoyment in eating you out. You can feel yourself becoming absolutely soaked just under the sensation of his mouth. Your legs quiver and shake, unable to control your movements as you feel yourself tip closer to the edge.

You try to take a deep breath. Feeling yourself already so close has made you feel slightly embarrassed. But as he sunk his long finger inside of your cunt, all the nerves seemingly washed away. Another one slid in easily and "Nh-ah YUNHO!" He curls them upwards, right to the spot that sends a spark of electricity crackling through your core.

He begins a steady rhythm along with his tongue continuously lapping your clit like he was a starved man taking his fill of a goddesses nectar and you're unable to control the noises and pants that fall from your throat. You grip one hand into the sheets as flies to grab the back of your thigh. lifting your leg up further to give him more access. You need more. You craved more. You've never felt this good before, and your being was demanding to be selfish for once.

He added a third finger as if he knew you needed something more. It made your head slam into the pillow behind you, turning to almost shout into the soft cushioning, muffling yourself for your poor neighbours. He works up a good rhythm, finding what buttons to push, succeeding in getting to know what your body wants. Groans from him and other lustfulled sniffles fill the room, as your thighs clamp down around the mob boss's head, keeping him where he is.

He could barely breath as your hips buck against his soaked face. But he couldn't care less. In fact, he would be happy if he died like this. In between the legs of his best girl, his pretty little sunshine. You felt like you were about to explode but the euphoria didn't last long as Yunho used his free hand that had been holding onto your outer thigh to pull your legs apart, holding them in place so he could sit up slightly. "You close, baby? Do you need to cum?"

"Yes!" You answered in a choked whine needing to feel his mouth on you once again.

"Yes, what sunshine?" Normally, he would be one for punishment, and given you kept breaking rules, he was most certainly craving to punish you. But it decided to let it slide this one. He has more than enough time to mould you and shape you into his perfect angel later. But for now, he'll see what type of filth he can draw from you.

"Yes, please, Yunho." Your glossed eyes finally opened for the first time in what felt like years, your tears clouding most of your vision but you could still see the darkness in Yunho's gaze and how his chin was dripping with slick. Your slick.

He drove his fingers deeper, his knuckles brushing your walls as he slammed his digits in a calculated thrusts. Harsh, slow, and powerful. You become louder, needier, and you can’t get your breathing under control. You’re teetering right on the edge. Ready. Right there and then...

He stops.

His glistening face had the cheekiest, wet grin across it like he felt proud of edging you. You on the other hand looked almost shocked panting louding, heart beating in your ears with flush brilliant red cheeks. You lick your lips as you run your hand over your mouth before raking it through your slightly dishevelled hair. Your eyes grew narrow as you stared at the man between your shaking legs. He holds your thighs apart so you can’t clamp them shut to try and stop the intense tingling between, causing you to huff in frustration.

“Don’t need to ruin the fun now, princess,” he inquired as he stood up off the bed, towering over your weak looking frame. The moon light that was pooling in the room caused his shadow to engulf you, covering your body in his darkness. He looked powerful. He looked dangerous. Like the man everyone warned you about. The feared mafia leader of the Destiny clan. He pulls you by your ankles, yanking you until you were sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand gripped the back of your neck gently bringing your face to his so he could kiss you. But you kept your hand over your mouth, your other hand coming to place on his chest, holding him firmly in face with a hidden smirk.

“You are a cruel man.” You gestured to him not letting you finish, but in truth, the word cruel hung in the air like thick tension. Cruel. A word he was sadly used to. But not in this kind of way. It almost delighted him. You felt your heart jump as he raised his brow, coming closer so that he’s only a hair’s breadth away from the back of your hand. His dark eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail.

“Hmm why? You taste so sweet,” He bit his lip, “I want you to have a taste?” He mimics what you asked prior. You swallowed thickly with wide eyes nodding shyly. Slowly, you moved your hand away as he paused for a moment, just to see your flustered face once more. “Cute…”

He dives in, kissing you, lapping at your lips. His teeth nibbling, and his teeth clashing against yours. You could taste the muskiness of yourself on his tongue, the sweetness that lingered. You deepen the kiss, allowing his hand on the back of your neck to hold it still in place, giving up any power to give him everything of your being. Your hands shift to his shirt, catching the hem between your finger tips before tugging at the fabric. He seemed to get the gist as he pulled away for only a mere couple of seconds to pull his shirt off, snatching your lips against his once more.

Your fingers trace his body with your sight, feeling all the bumps of scar tissue and muscle. More proof of his status, of who he really was. But yet you still couldn’t pull yourself away. You’re not sure if you ever will. “Yu..” You huffed against his lips, “Yun I..”

He pulls away, letting his nose rub against yours while his eyes stay tightly sealed, taking in the moment like he was never going to be able to get it again. “What is it, my sunshine.”

“I need you… please.” You voice was barely above a whisper, only you and him being able to ever hear your little plea. His smile. His addicting smile made the butterflies in your tummy swoon. His hand that was firmly on your neck slid down until it found the zipper to your dress, playing with the metal between his digits.

“Can you stand?” He gently asked, waiting for you to nod a small ‘yes’. He helped you stand, the backs of your thighs still tightly against the edge of the bed, as if they were helping you stand. He finally pulled away, letting your eyes wander down his toned, damaged chest. He had tattoos up both arms, one of his right peck and one faintly sticking out on the top of his low slacks. You licked your swollen lips unconsciously as you gawked at him. Yunho on the other hand couldn't help but grin sinisterly at your reaction, delicately grabbing the zipper on your dress, he unzipped it until the straps of your dress loosened and fell from your shoulders.

The fabric pooled at your chest, your arms tightly holding it in place. “I…”

“Are you okay, love?” Your eyes snapped to his deep chocolate ones when he called you ‘love’, feeling your nerves crackling like fireworks. He tilted his head to the slide marginally, his smirk fading to a simple smile but his eyes never dimming their darkness. His hands gripped tightly onto his belt, unlooping it before throwing it somewhere in the room. He had made you watch his every move as he unzipped his slack unhurriedly. He could see the darkness begin to cloud your colourful eyes, your pupils growing large as the fabric fell to the floor, leaving him in his boxers. “Your turn.”

His voice somehow got deeper. His fingers gliding along your goosebumped skin. You took a deep inhale through your nose before letting your dress drop, pooling at your ankles. "Fuck..."

"Yun..." You dont even know why you called his name, but he was immediately on you, his one hand resting on your bare hip while the other effortlessly unhooked your bra in one quick snap, watching your plump breast spring free. He almost bent you in half when he brought his face to your tits, taking a deep breath, smelling your perfume on your sweaty skin. His tongue licked along the valley, groaning as he latched his mouth to your left nipple. "Fuck yuyu, nargh."

Your hands tangled in his hair as you feel back, dragging him with you as you fell on the bed with an 'oof'. He used his strong arms to throw your body upwards until your head hit the pillows, not leaving your breasts alone. He painted every part of skin he could with beautiful purple marks. Neading your chest, tugging on your nipples and wetting every surface. You could lay here and suck your tits for hours if you let him. But he knew you needed more. He needed more. Feel what it's like to be inside you.

"Such perfect tits. A pretty body. Everything about you is perfect sunshine. Hmm. My perfect girl." His praise made you whimper, a tear creeping out the corner of your eyes. You've never had someone say such kind things to you, praised you the way Yunho has been. For a cruel man, he was the kindest person you've ever met.

"Yu..yunho, please. I need you inside me." You whispered, tugging his head up by his hair so his lips were inches from your own. He gave you a small peck before sitting up slightly so he could wrap his legs around his waist, sliding the tip of his cock along your folds.

“Whatever my girl wants, she’ll get.” He sunk inside your soaked cunt inch by inch, bit by bit, until he bottomed you out. He shivered at the feling of your warm walls clenching tightly around him. His eyes squeezing shut and face burring in your neck. He could feel the coil in his gut already tug. he was going to cum any second and he felt embarrassed how quick you’ve made him feel like he had died and gone to heaven. “Fuck sunshine, you feel so nice. You’re pussy is sucking me in ngah.”

“Yunho please move.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, grinding upwards onto his public bone, feeling the friction ease the ache only just. It was like a switch went off when Yunho heard your little plea, snapping his hips into yours are such a pace it caused the air to be snatched out of your lungs. If you werent being fucked by the inch of your life you would of felt sorry towards your neightbours as a string of cries, swears and pet names bounced off the thin walls of your bedroom. Yunho drug his nails in the soft flesh of your waist, surely creating deep indents that you’d been flaunting for days to come.

You’ve never felt such a connection to another person before let alone a man. You were brought up with the idea that love didn’t exsit. That it was only a dream that settled in the books you’ve read. But the way Yunho made you feel, the way he made you want to feel. It was like you were in those books you’ve read.. “Yu..Yu I—”

“It okay baby. Let go. I wanna feel you cum around my cock.” He sat up just slightly grabbing both of your wrists he held your hands above your head, lacing his fingers harshly around your appendage. Bending one of your legs over his shoulder, he jackhammered into you at a sped that was just what you needed, feeling his waist grind on your clit, giving you the right amount of simulation to let go. “That’s it, darling.”

Your foggy eyes, riddled with tears, stared up at Yunho’s never leaving his gaze. He watch every detail your face made as you came crashing down from your high. The way you brows cross, you mouth hung only ajar and savlia dripping down your chin. You were the hottest thing he had ever laid eyes on, he was certain. “Fuck, sunshine, can I come inside you. Can I feel this pretty pussy up?”

His eyes begun to flutter closed as he felt a rush of need spill down his spine. You whimpered out a daring ‘yes please’ making him bust his load deep inside you, coaking your walls before some of his cum leaked out around his cock that stilled in you. Clouds daced around you, the softness of air tickling your sweaty flesh. Every nerve in your body was on an all time high and it was all thanks to the dangerous man above you. Yunho had let go of your wrist, kissing each one tendly. You simply lazily watched him, basking in the moment, never wanting it to end.

-♡

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kizzer55555 · 6 months

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DP x DC: The Most Dangerous Card Game

Ok so Danny has essentially claimed earth as his. And he is fully aware that there are constant threats to the planet. Now he can’t stop a threat that originates on earth (that’s something he’ll leave to the Justice league) but he can do something about outside threats. Doing some research on ancient spells, rituals, and artifacts, he cast a world wide barrier on the planet to protect it from hostile threats so they cannot enter. This will prevent another Pariah Dark incident. However, barriers like this come at a price. You see, there are two ways to make a barrier. Either make one powered up by your own energy and power (which would be constantly draining) or set up a barrier with rules. The way magic works is that nothing can be absolutely indestructible. It must have a weakness. The most powerful barriers weren’t the ones reinforced with layer after layer of protective charms and buffed up with power. Those could eventually be destroyed either by being overpowered, wearing them down, or by cutting off the original power source. No, the most powerful barriers were the ones with a deliberate weakness. A barrier indestructible except for one spot. A cage that can only be opened from the outside. Or that can only be passed with a key or by solving a riddle. So Danny chooses this type of barrier and does the necessary ritual and pours in enough power to make it. And he adds his condition for anyone to enter.

Now the Justice league? Find out about the barrier when Trigon attempts to attack, they were preparing after he threatened what he would do once he got to earth. How he would destroy them. The Justice league tried to take the fight to him first but were utterly destroyed, so they retreated home to tend to their injuries, and fortify earth for one. Last. Stand. Only when Trigon makes his big entrance…he’s stopped.

The Justice league watch in awe as this thin see-through barrier with beautiful green swirls and speckled white lights like stars apears blocking Trigon and his army’s advance. The barrier looks so thin and fragile yet no matter how hard the warlord hits, none of his attacks can get through and neither can he damage said barrier. That’s when Constantine and Zatanna recognizes what this barrier is. Something only a powerful entity could create. For a moment, the league is filled with hope that Trigon can’t get through yet Constantine also explains that it’s not impenetrable. And clearly Trigon knows this too for he calls out a challenge.

And that’s when, in a flash of light, a tiny glowing teenager appears. He looked absolutly minuscule compared to Trigon and yet practically glowed with power (this isn’t a King Danny AU though).

And that is when the conditions for passing the barrier are revealed. And the Justice realize that the only thing stopping Trigon and his army from decimating earth. The only way he can get through….is by beating this glowing teenager in a card game.

Not just any card game though. The most convoluted game Sam, Danny, and Tucker invented themselves. It’s like the infinite realms version of magic the gathering, combined with Pokémon, and chess. And Danny is the master. So sit down Trigon and let’s play.

(The most intense card game of the Justice league’s life).

After Danny wins, this happens a few more times with outer word beings and possibly even demons attempting to invade earth, yet none have been able to beat the mysterious teenager in a card game. Constantine might even take a crack at it and try to figure out how to play. He’s really bad though. Every time this happens, the Justice league worry that this might be the time the teenager looses. Yet every time, he wins (even if only barely).

Meanwhile, Danny, Sam, and Tucker have gotten addicted to the game and play it almost daily. Some teachers might seem them playing the game are are like ‘awww how cute’ not realizing this game is literally saving the world. Jazz is just happy they aren’t spending as much time on their screens playing Doomed.

#DPxDC #Kizzer55555 ideas #Danny makes a card game to save the world.#Technically he worded the ritual so that they had to ‘beat’ him as those are the most powerful barriers and most reliable.#keys can just get lost or stolen (like the one to Pariah’s Coffin)#A riddle would be useless once someone figured out the answer. Like how no one takes the sphynx seriously anymore.#(Sorry Tuck. But it’s true).#And there is NO WAY Danny is just leaving a hole open for anyone to pass through. No thank you!#So…beating him. But it’s not like Danny wanted to fight so…he edited the ritual a TINY bit. Card games are good. Much less painful too.#Danny Tucker and Sam made the most complicated card game they could imagine.#It’s based on their strategies for fighting ghosts. Capturing them in thermoses. And MUCH based on a on field battle strategy.#It often requires spontaneous thinking on the spot. So Danny? In his ELEMNT. It doubles as practice for his actual ghost battles too.#They had SO much fun making this.#Sam added an entire series of plant cards that act as traps and healing ointments and duds that just take up the field.#Tucker added legitimate hyroglyphics combined with Latin as well as English and ghost speak.#Yes. You actually have to speak that language to play. With proper pronunciation. (Amity Parker’s think the three are talking gibberish.)#I headcanon Sam and Tucker are fluent in Ghost.#Constantine WILL figure this game out SO HELP HIM!#Some of the cards also have combinations related to constellations either in name or placement on the board.#By the way the board is based on a Hexagonal summoning circle with Rhunes along the edges #And the placement of the cards on the board and on what rhune MATTERS.#Also the cards move disintegrate and have certain abilities. Think of Harry Potter Wizard Chess.#But they are normal when Danny plays at school. This is just for ✨effect✨ Against invaders.#Danny faces multiple opponents. He also halts alien invasions.#While Danny COULD stop crime on earth he’s not sure how to fight a normal human and hold back so he sticks to ghosts.#The Justice league are going crazy trying to figure out who this entity is and after deep research are convinced this is some sort of #Ancient being who has protected earth for millenia. They have paintings on ruins and everything.#Danny is not aware they think this.#Raven starts praying to Danny as if he is a god and wrangles the other Teen Titans into doing so as well. Danny is still unaware of this.#Danny is not a King or an ancient. Just a very VERY strong ghost.

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mooooonnnzz · 1 month

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Forward Beckons Rebound

Dad!Stanford x teen!reader

⚜ 9,8k words OH MY GOD is anyone actually going to read this?

⚜ this was such a pain to complete but writing it was so fun? mixed feelings

⚜ book of bill major spoils

⚜ quick summary: ford is soooo obsessed with finding the secrets of gravity falls and learns to regret making a deal with bill because he almost loses you and he lost fiddleford?? erm...

⚜ bit of gore and blood is described here! u r warned! it's not bad tho i promise

⚜ angst!! + gender neutral reader also instead of stan and ford not seeing each other for 10 yrs, i changed it to 17 cuz it didnt make sense before 😭

⚜ DONT KILL ME PLS but i unintentionally wrote fiddleauthor BUT IT'S NOT LIKE, in your face, nothing is ever stated so take it as you will?

⚜ to anyone who fully reads it, i hoped you enjoyed!! this might flop ngl

Ford stared at his billboard that was filled to the brim with photos of all of Gravity Falls anomalies. A thin string of red was strung across the board, ultimately leading to the middle where a big question mark was laid. For days he’s been theorizing theories on where all the abnormalities came from. Was there a rip in their universe where it expelled all their strange creatures into your world? Or was this a natural occurrence that happens only in Gravity Falls. Ford couldn’t figure it out. Tapping his chin with his pen, his mind raced with thoughts. “Where did it all come from?” He uttered under his breath, eyes squinting in thought. “Where did what come from?” You slip in his lab, placing a plate of food on his table.

“Oh!” Ford yelped out in surprise. “You scared me there, Kiddo.” He says, chuckling.

“Sorry,” You sheepishly smile. “I brought you dinner.” Ford’s eyes graze the plate for a second, making a mental note in his head to eat the food you prepared later. Eating was a waste of time and he can’t waste any time when he’s on the brink of solving the mysteries hidden within this town “I’ll eat it later.” He said with a dismissive tone, his attention going back to the board.

“This again?” You roll your eyes. “Dad, can you back away from this just for a second and eat dinner with me?” You walk into his view, hands locked together as you pleaded with him. “It’ll be quick! You’ll be back to your work in no time!” You add. Your eyes search his face for any sign of him changing his mind but none came. All he did was side step you, his attention so sucked up in his own head he didn’t even notice what you were saying. He only noticed that you were standing in his way. “Dad,” You let out an exasperated sigh, hands falling down to your sides.

“You’re not even listening to me.” You said, your eyes landing on a table. An idea sprouted in your head. You kicked the leg of the nearby table, eyes darting over to Ford, looking for a reaction, anything that’ll give him a reason to look at you but be doesn’t budge. Your heart shatters a bit, he’s been so caught up in his work that you and him haven’t properly spoken in awhile. Him being wrapped up in his work wasn’t abnormal, but to this degree, it was very rare for him to cast everything aside and hyper-focus on his findings. You mindlessly kicked the floor, eyes glued to the ground.

“I’m gonna…” You pause for a moment, voice getting caught in your throat. You couldn’t fully focus on what you were trying to say. You were too absorbed in retaining the tears in your eyes, too ashamed to let them fall. You felt so pathetic for being so deeply wounded that your very own dad pushed you and the food you spent a lot of time making away. There are other problems in the world and you’re over here, on the brink of tears because your dad was being too dedicated to his lifelong work? It all felt so stupid in the grand scheme of things, but it didn’t alleviate the sadness that was bubbling inside of you.

“I’m gonna go,” You meekly said, rapidly wiping the tears that escaped with your arm.

“Not now, sweetie. I’m this close to breaking this case. I can feel it!”

Silence overcasted him instead of your usual banter. Odd, he thought. Whipping his head over to where you stood, he visibly deflated. You were no longer there.

Ford smacked his head in annoyance that was directed at himself. He was doing it again. Discarding the pen in his hand, he went to look for you. “Sweetie?” Ford calls for you, heading towards your room. Not wanting to intrude, he cautiously knocked on your door. “Can I come in, kiddo?” He had his forearm resting against the casting of the door, hand over his eyes.

After hearing some shuffling and quiet sniffs, you open the door. “Yes?” Your eyes are glassy when you look at him and his heart cracks in two. He’s the cause of this. “I came here to apologize.” He said, voice audibly full of regret. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. It was out of line and not a way I should treat you when all you wanted was to spend time with me.” You wracked your brain for a moment, debating whether you should accept his apology or mull over this heartbreak just a little longer. You fidgeted with the door, moving it side to side as you continued to think, prolonging it just to purposefully bug with Ford.

Falling right into your trick, Ford bit his lip, anxiously chewing on the skin. “Are you going to say anything or you’re going to leave me hanging over here?” His hand dragged down the trim of the door, finger tapping on the wall, nervously waiting for your answer. You couldn’t stay mad at him. A small smile pulls to your face and you wrap him in a bone crushing hug. “You better not ignore me like that again!” Your voice muffled through his long sleeved sweater. His arms wrap around you tightly, kissing the top of your head. “I won't, I promise.”

He wasn’t lying when he promised you he wouldn’t get so enraptured by his work like that ever again. He saw how he secluded himself from you and swore up and down he was going to spend less time researching, even if it meant that he had to shove his hungry curiosity away.

But he would be lying if he said he never laid in bed thinking about what he could be doing instead, what mysteries he could be unsolving and what discoveries he could make that would bring him closer to the question that had been gnawing on him ever since he arrived to this peculiar place.

Many nights were spent restlessly imagining what could be the final piece to his concluding mystery. And one day, he had enough of sitting around. Curiosity killed the cat, a phrase you’d tell him whenever his relentless interest in the unknown occasionally backfired on him, circled throughout his brain but he paid no mind. The yearn to find answers was too great. Slipping on his trench coat, he grabbed his bag. Stringing it over his shoulder, he told you that he was heading out. Completely unaware of his plans, you bid him goodbye from your room.

Ford came back a little while with nothing new other than discovering an old inscription carvings in a cave. He had hoped that reading them outloud would at least summon something that would give him answers! But his actions were fruitless. Defeated and annoyed, he came back. Entering the house, he called out for you.

“In the kitchen!”

He removed his coat and hung it on his coat hanger, along with his bag. He walked over to the kitchen, the smell of spices and cooked meat lingered in the air. “Smells good, kiddo.” He comments, grabbing a Pitt Cola from the fridge. You turn over to him, exaggerating an angry look on your face. “I would have normally taken your compliment but I’m more curious on where you went for practically the whole day!” Ford playfully rolled his eyes at your joking tone. “I was out, sweetie. I lost track of time.” He says, popping the soda can open. Your eyes lock on the Pitt Cola can in his hand. “You don’t drink soda,” You turn off the stove, putting the dirty cooking utensils in the sink “Drinking some once and awhile doesn’t hurt.” He shrugs, ruffling your hair. “dad!” you smacked his hand away from your hair. “Go sit down!” You grumbled, to which he complied.

While you were setting up dinner, a terrible headache overcame Ford. Clutching his head with his free hand, he threw away the Pitt Cola, thinking the soda was the cause of his headache. When you called him for dinner, his brain squirmed in pain. He walked over to the table, sitting himself down as he gripped his head. Too lost in the mind numbing pain, he fails to hear your calls.

“Dad?”

No response.

“Dad?” You called out again, kicking him from under the table. He jolted up in surprise.

“W-What?” He groaned out, his hand still on his forehead. “Are you okay?” You reach out to him, hand on his arm as your thumb moves side to side. Ford weakly smiles, appreciating the gesture. “I’m fine, sweetie. Don’t worry about me.” He looked at you, offering a timid thumbs up. “I’m just getting old.” He said, the pads of his fingers pressing against his temples.

“Do you want me to get you tylenol or—?” Ford waves you off. “It’s okay, kiddo. I’ll tough it out.”

For the past few minutes, you’d catch him staring off into the distance, eyes wide and mouth half open. Everytime you would have to snap him out of his trance, worried if he stayed like that any longer something bad would have happened. Abruptly getting up from the chair, he mumbles, “Heading to bed.” Leaving you alone in the dining room. Unsure on how to react, you watched him leave. No goodnight? No kiss on the forehead? You frowned and got up from your chair, grabbing your plate and his. While washing the dishes you thought of all the possible reasons on why he’s acting so weirdly. But nothing came to mind. Drying your hands on your pants, you walked over to his room.

Opening the door, you peeked your head in. You found him fast asleep on his bed. Carefully stepping inside his room, you pull his blanket over his shoulder and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Sleep well, Dad.” You whisper.

The next morning was weird to say the least. You woke up to the smell of breakfast wafting into your room. Curious and hungry, you quickly brushed your teeth and skipped down the hall. “Dad?” You walk into the kitchen to see him cooking up breakfast, a large smile to his face. “You look happy?” You say rather confused, watching as he flipped the pancake up in the air.

“Today is a good day, kiddo!” He said with so much energy you were convinced that your dad was kidnapped and replaced by a poorly made replica during the night. Never once in your life have you seen him so chipper to be up so early. “Is that so?” Ford finishes up the pancakes and sets them on plates. He hands you a plate and puts his down on the table.

He grabbed butter and syrup from the cabidents, popping the syrup bottle open and drenching his pancake with the sweet syrup. “Want?” He asks you. “No thank you.”

He sits down on his chair and picks up his fork. You watched him closely as he cut a piece of the pancake with the side of his fork, the smile never washing away from his face. “Did you have a good dream or…?” He laughed, stabbing the piece of the cut pancake with his fork. “Guess you could say that.” He looked at you, a flash of yellow ignited in one of his eyes. You blink and his eye is back to normal. You shake your head, brushing it off as your mind tricking you. “Okay?” You looked down to your plate, the fluffy pancake suddenly looking unappetizing. The whiplash of his sudden change in attitude really struck you hard. You pushed the plate away from you, taking in a breath through clenched teeth. “I’m gonna eat later, okay?” You got up and headed to your room before Ford could respond.

“That was weird, wasn’t it, Sixer?!” A voice boomed in his head. Ford jumped, dropping his fork. “Can you give me a heads up when you do that?” He grumbled under his breath, recollecting himself. “Oops! Sorry,” Bill laughed loudly in his head. “Heads up!” He warns.

“There’s no point if you say it after.” Ford mumbles, grabbing his fork to continue eating his breakfast. “You humans and their foods,” Ford could imagine Bill rolling his eye. “Hurry up or else I’m going to rip my eye out of boredom!”

Months ticked by and Ford was still strung up on building a portal. When you’d ask him about it, he would vaguely respond by saying; “This will break the boundaries between our worlds!” And continued to mumble incoherently to himself, pacing around the room as he stewed in his thoughts. He also began to collect weird art of this godly being. His lab was shrouded with tapestries, paintings and statues of a yellow triangle. Questioning about the art led you nowhere. Ford would act like it wasn’t such a big deal and make it seem like you’re the crazy one for finding an issue with his sudden obsession with this triangle. You just pinned it as him obsessively worshiping whatever this god is. As long as it doesn’t get too out of hand.

Even if he was knee deep in his work, he still managed to find some time to spend time with you. Outings were pretty common and you made it known that you appreciate him stepping out of his little man dungeon just to spend some time with you.

Everything was going good for Ford and you. He was slowly reaching his answer he’s been desperately looking for this whole time and you were happy to see him in such high spirits all the time. Not that he never was! He just seems more confident in himself, like he knows his self-worth. You wondered what exactly happened to him to make him so assured of himself.

Although, there would be times where his usual outgoing spirit was washed out for weeks at a time, even months. You were always there to cheer him up, to ground him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay during those times. You never thought much of it, just chalking it up as him going through mental exhaustion. It made the most sense to you. After all, he practically spends most of his day going out to that UFO crash landing site to collect scraps for the portal. There’s days where he’s all beaten and bruised and you’re left to take care of his wounds. You pestered him like a mother would to their child.

Ford sat down on the couch with a loud sigh, unbeknownst to him, you were in the kitchen browsing the cabinets for any snacks when Ford started mumbling to himself. “My muse,” He says. “Gone without a word once again.” He groans. You could hear him take off his glasses and place them somewhere. “Muse?” You whispered under your breath. You waited for him to say anything else that you can latch on to, but unfortunately for you, the TV sparked to life. Latest news reports filled the room and you were left stumped with new information.Was this supposed muse the reason why he gets all sad and anxious? Is this Muse a partner he hasn’t introduced you to yet? Your head is thick of conspiracies and feasible reasons but it was cut short when Ford interrupted your thoughts by walking in.

“Sweetie?” He’s surprised to see you in the kitchen, hunched over in thought. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Uh,” You look at the open cabinet, flipping your eyes between the cabinet and your dad. “Not long! I was…looking for snacks!” You grabbed a bag of chips. “Oookaayy?” He walks to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Like a flash of lightning, your face is sprayed with Ford’s mouth water. “I’ll take that as a no,” You said, voice raspy. You waddle out of the kitchen, dripping water onto the floor. “I’m sorry, kiddo!”

At some point, he needed a few extra hands to help assemble the machine. Ford chose you and an old friend of his, Fiddleford, to be his helpers. Meeting Fiddleford was a delight. He’s a kind hearted soul who had the brains of a genius. When there were slow days in building the portal, he’d play a song on the banjo to lighten up the mood. You all grew close as time went on and you felt like you had your own little family. You cherished every laugh, smile and conversation that passed between you and the others.

“What songs can you play?” You ask Fiddleford who was strumming the strings of his banjo without any thought. Catching his attention, he takes in your question. He considered his answer for a minute or so. “I don’t think it’s a song you’d know.” He says, beginning to play the opening tune on his instrument. “I know Ford will know this one though!” He smirks, head craning over to Ford who was drawing the outline for the portal. As Fiddleford smoothed into the middle of the song, Ford was turned over on his chair, head swaying to the beat. Once the song came to a close, the lab erupted in rounds of applause. “Thank you, thank you all!”

“I remember that song all too well.” Ford grins. You furrowed your brows. “I’m curious. Why do you two know the song?” Your finger switching between Ford and Fiddleford. “There’s nothin’ really special behind it,” Fiddleford lightly shrugs. “I just played this song whenever Ford had trouble concentrating on his work.”

“And it worked?” Ford nodded his head. “Worked seamlessly.”

You weren’t surprised when Fiddleford would start playing the song whenever Ford was stressed out.

June 15th rolled by, Ford’s birthday! You and Fiddleford secretly planned a surprise party for him, something small between the three of you to remind him how much you and Fiddleford love him. You knew he never was a fan of his birthday. Celebrating one without his twin grew harder each year, but you seemed to lessen the ache in his heart and with Fiddleford a part of the little family now, his birthday surely won't be as bittersweet!

Walking over to his lab, you felt your shoe press against something squishy. Looking down to the floor, you saw a pile of dead rats that spelled out his name. The one you stepped on was flattened, mouth hung open as its bloodied guts pool out of it. You let out a scream, stumbling backwards in disgust and horror.

The door to Ford’s lab flew open, a concerned Ford stood behind it. “Kiddo, are you alriighht…?” His words trailed off into the air, his attention now shifted to the pile of dead rats on the ground. “What the…?” His eyes flicker between you and the rats. He looks equally horrified and disgusted. “I’m gonna get something to clean—“ A gag interrupts you. “To clean that up!” You said in a hurried flash, hands cupping your mouth as you scurried away from the scene.

When you came back with a mask covering your nose and mouth, disinfectant spray, a broom and a trash bag; You saw Ford sweetly smiling at the pack of dead rats. “Uh, dad?” Why was he looking at the rats like that? His head flew up, eyes locking with yours. “Oh, kiddo! Th-Thanks! I’ll clean this up, don’t you worry.” He says, grabbing the cleaning product and broom.

“Uh, okay? Me and Fiddleford are upstairs. We made you something.” You tell him, fidgeting with your fingers. A quick “mhm,” leaves him and you’re left to walk back to the kitchen, a little weirded out by his smile. “Did you clean it up?” Fiddleford asked, adding the finishing touches to the cake. “dad’s cleaning it up. He was acting weird though,” You look at the cake. Gorgeously decorated with white frosting all by Fiddleford’s amazing handiwork. “Weird in what way?” He curiously asked. “Like, there was a pile of dead rats that formed his name and he was disgusted at first, but when I came back with cleaning supplies he looked…” You stop, searching for the word in your head. “Touched?” Your voice high pitched with uncertainty “He looked at the rats as if they were a gift almost.”

“Now ain’t that something.” He looks at you with a shake of his head. “Listen, I love your dad but he’s been actin’ weird.” He pushes his glasses up, setting the piping bag aside. “I sometimes catch him talking to himself. I knew to a certain degree he talked to himself, but I don’t remember it being that bad.”

“I notice that too, do you think it’s that–”

“What is all of this?” Ford asked, amusement trailing his voice. The conversation between you and Fiddleford evaporated in thin air and was replaced with you and him both yelling out, “Happy Birthday!”

His birthday went smoothly and perfect in your eyes, if you ignore the hiccup from earlier. Your dad was laughing heartily at what Fiddleford told him, drinks in both of their hands. Plates of eaten cake were left on the table, confetti was strewn about and you were more than satisfied with you and Fiddleford’s work. You watched as the pair happily conversed with each other, sharing old memories of college together. As the mini party came to a close, Ford turned to you as he hugged Fiddleford goodbye. “Thank you for this, truly. I needed this.” Hugging him, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Anytime, dad.” You smiled.

Soon enough, Christmas was right around the corner. The small little town of Gravity Falls was celebrating the festive cheer by blasting music from every corner and littering their house with decorations. Something you also partook in. Standing on top of the very tall ladder, you decorated the roof with Christmas tree shaped lights.

“Kiddo!”

Looking down, you saw Ford waving at you. “Hi, Dad!” You wave back, slowly ascending down the ladder. Once you reached the bottom, Ford had shoved a snowglobe and a 6-fingered mitten your way. “Look at what Fiddleford made me.” Ford beamed, a small hue of pink flushing his cheeks. You picked up the snowglobe and shook it. You watched in awe as the glittery snow cascaded down to the bottom. “He’s so good at making things.” You say, handing back the adorable snow globe. “And a six fingered mitten?” You slipped the glove on. It covered your whole hand and almost up to your forearm due to how big it was.

“Give me that.” Ford chuckled, removing the mitten off your hand with a swipe. “That’s so sweet.” You say, seeing Ford bleed out utter joy. “And look what he got you!” Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a picture frame. Within the frame was a photo of you, Ford and Fiddleford at Gravity Falls local park. All three of you were stupidly posing in the photo, faces pulled in different ways to make the weirdest face ever. The frame was decorated with a mini wreath and tinsel. On the back, he wrote “To my family,” with a tiny heart scribbled as a period. “He thinks of us as his family!” You held the picture frame close to your chest. “dad! I’m going to cry. This is so sweet.”

“He’s one of a kind.” He says, staring at his gifts longingly. “Where is he? I need to go thank him.” Your eyes search around the premise. “I’m afraid you’re too late, kiddo.”

“What?” You quickly turned around. “Is he dead?!” You practically yelled out. “What? No, no.” He shook his head. “He’s out of town. Spending time with his wife.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “Why did you say it like that!” You shoved his shoulder with your hand. He let out a snort. “Sorry, sorry!” He raised his hands up defensively. “Whatever,” You said jokingly. “Are you done decorating the house?” He wonders, peering his head up to see the lights flashing on the roof. “Not quite. I still need to decorate the front porch and such. Wanna help?” Ford didn’t hesitate to agree. He grabbed your gift and placed it inside where it was safe and started helping you decorate.

Wordlessly, you disappeared into the house for a moment. Ford was puzzled but it all made sense when he heard loud Christmas music grow near. The door burst open and there you were, radio in hand with a multitude of DVD’s in the other. “I had to play some music.”

“Just don’t play the songs Fiddleford plays!”

“Those are the exact songs I’m playing.” A groan was heard from Ford and you had to stifle a laugh. That day was spent entirely accessorizing the whole house. The next few days progressed nicely. The christmas spirit was thick in the atmosphere and nothing could shatter it. And as if it was a Christmas miracle, Ford had told you that Fiddleford came back earlier than intended due to relationship problems back home. He also slid in that he had just met The Krampus before crashing down on the couch. The next hour was you trying to shake your dad up from his slumber to get the full story. How could he drop the mention that he met Krampus and knock out like that?

Later that day, Ford was magically possessed by the spirit of Christmas and chose to decorate the portal with lights and a ‘Happy Holidays’ banner. “What’s all this?” You point towards the portal that was covered in flashing lights. “I just wanted to make the place look festive.” There was another reason why he did this and you read him all too well.

“I bet it’s for Fiddleford.” You tease. He scoffed, waving you off. “I may or may not have called him over.” You squeal, hugging Ford with all your might. “Is this how having a full family feels like?”

“What! Did you not like when Christmas was just us two?” He took your comment very personally, even though a smidgen of him thought the same thing. “No. I loved it, but it’s nice to share the festivities with someone else.”

After a bit of waiting around, a knock resounded through the house. Ford perks up from his chair. “That’s him!” He exclaims. Quickly turning to you, he throws the remote to the lights to you. “When we walk in, turn on the light and throw the christmas confetti.” He instructs you.

“You can count on me!” You said, puffing out your chest. Hiding behind the wall, you heard Ford’s footsteps lull to whisper. Quiet chatter was heard and soon, the footsteps drew near. Your finger hovered the On button. You overheard a tiny little yelp and the sound of something unraveling. Looking towards the portal, you saw a little gnome hanging upside down by his foot.

“Oh, c’mon!” You smack your head. You didn’t have time to unwrap the lights off his ankle. Mouthing a “hold on!” to the gnome, you watched as Ford and Fiddleford’s shadow crept into view. You smashed your fingers on the On button, the lights flickering to life.

A gasp left Fiddleford. “First you decorate the house and now the portal? Gee, Ford! And to think I thought you were a mini grinch.” He jested, delivering a slight punch to Ford’s arm. “I’m glad you like it, Fiddleford.” He said softly. He then coughed to his hand, his eyes moving to the general direction where you were at. “Imagine if we had CONFETTI thrown at us. That would be AWESOME.”

Your eyes widen. You forgot the confetti! Jumping right in front of them, you threw the ball of confetti in their face. Your vision was full of confetti fluttering down. When it cleared out, you saw Ford’s unimpressed face and Fiddleford’s large smile. He cracked into full blown laughter, hunched over as Ford coughed out confetti from his mouth. “Really?”

“Oops?” You awkwardly laugh.

“Is that a gnome?” Ford points over to the gnome who waved at him enthusiastically. “Ignore him…” You said quietly.

Half of the cold night was spent warmly tucked in the lab, all huddled up behind blankets and hot cocoa in hands. Sooner or later, they swapped out their hot cocoa with nog. They both told you stories from their past together, stemming from embarrassing stories to really heartfelt ones. Each story either had you hooked on every word that left their mouth or a messy ball of tears.

“You know,” Ford begins, leaning back, looking at Fiddleford and you adoringly. “Maybe we should stop building the portal.”

Shock strikes you and Fiddleford. “What happened to making scientific history?” He asks.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still want to make history but…” His eyes trail to the portal. “I just want to spend time with my favorite people in the world outside of this lab.” His fingers tapped the floor mindlessly. “I have people around me who love me. Why waste that, you know?”

“Am I goin’ crazy?” Fiddleford whispers to you. “I think it’s the nog talking.” You whisper back.

“I can hear you guys talking!”

Facing Ford, Fiddleford had a light blush on his cheeks. “You tell me I’m the sappy one but I think I’m rubbin’ off on ya,” He nudges him. “Don’t make me take back what I said.” He threatens with no actual meaning behind it.

“Why don’t we go outside to build snowmen? That way I can see you wear that six-fingered glove I tirelessly worked on.” Fiddleford suggested. Liking the idea, Ford got up to his feet. He lent out a hand to Fiddleford who graciously took his hand. “Last one to go outside is a rotten eggnog!”

You and the boys rush to their respective rooms, hastily changing out of their thin long sleeves to their thick jackets and pants. Throwing the door to your room open, you stumbled out of the house and onto the snow where you tripped. Laughter sounded around you. Lifting your head up from the fluffy snow, you saw Ford and Fiddleford already out, all bundled up to protect themselves from the cold. “No way!” You gasped, scrambling to your feet. “Yes way!” Ford said.

The other half of the night was spent building snowmen, making snow angels and snowball fights. You tapped out after a while, hugging the both of them closely. “Best day ever!” You said, throwing some snow in the air. “I’m glad you had fun, kiddo.” His hand patted your back, giving you a kiss on your temple. Fiddleford ruffled your hair endearingly.

“Night, guys. Don’t go too crazy on the nog!” They did exactly what you told them not to do.

A month passed and you believed everything was going alright, you thought everyone was getting along but something happened to Ford a few weeks ago. He’s been more paranoid now, snapping at you or Fiddleford and erratically going off on tangents of how he needs to finish the portal. The talk of discarding the portal many nights ago was lost to the wind. Now it rested as some silly little pipe dream.

Fiddleford was noticeably putting less and less effort in the project. You’d often find him daydreaming on his desk, mind far away from the lab. Your work was beginning to become sloppy, head full of thoughts and worries. You stressed over the thought of how everything was just fine a few weeks ago. Now it was slowly falling apart.

You were taking a break outside of the lab when Fiddleford stormed out. His face pinched with a mix of anger and sadness. “Fiddleford?” You rushed to your feet, running over to him. “Fiddleford, what happened?” You stood in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. His lip trembled, looking off to the side. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Go ask your dad since he’s so keen on yellin’ at me.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. Your dad did what? “D-Do you wanna stay here? I-I can talk to him and you guys can make up or something!” Your words stumbled over each other. You can see your whole world crumbling down right in front of you and it was all because of your dad. “It’s alright, pumpkin. I’ma head home now.” A somber yet reassuring smile pulled to his lips.

“I’m going to talk to him, I promise.” You tell him with a firm nod to your head. “Thank you.” His voice was weak, something you’ve never heard from him before. You brought him into a hug, squeezing him before letting him go. He wished you a good afternoon and left, leaving you alone to deal with your dad.

You sucked in a deep breath and trudged towards the lab. Walking in, you saw Ford pacing around anxiously, a scramble of words tumbling out of his mouth at rapid speed. “Dad?” His head snaps to you, a light yellow glow in his eye. The same one you saw almost one year ago. He blinked and suddenly it was gone. “What do you want, kiddo?” His tone was harsh and clipped.

“I just wanted to talk to you.” You cower a bit. His anxious energy and rude tone shook you to your core. He’s never talked to you with such anger before. “Are you here because of what happened between Fiddleford and me?” He inquired, taking a step towards you. Seeing his face better, you could see that it was pulled into an irritated scowl. “What happened, dad?”

“He was going through my stuff! Without my permission!” He said, his hands cupped towards him, directing them at himself. “And to think I trusted him!”

“He probably got the cabinets mixed up or something.” You shrug, not getting the whole show he’s throwing. Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. “You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” Your lips quivered. You felt so little compared to him. He towered over you with such burning anger you couldn’t process that he was your dad. “You don’t understand what’s going inside my head!” He jabs his finger to his temple repeatedly. “You can’t trust anyone, especially him!”

“This is Fiddleford we’re talking about, Dad! He wouldn’t even hurt a fly.” You said. You couldn’t grasp the words that were coming out of his mouth. Since when did he start doubting Fiddleford’s loyalty? What planted this ridiculous idea into his head? Your heart was pounding in your ears.

“So explain to me why he was rummaging through my belongings!”

“I’m not Fiddleford, I can’t answer that question!”

Ford scoffed, he opened his mouth to say something when it faltered close. He was quiet for a moment, lost in his thoughts when he took a step back. His expression screamed betrayal. “Unless you’re siding with him to work against me.” He murmured, eyes narrowed at you.

Your stomach twisted into knots. “Seriously?” Your voice wavered. You closed your eyes, biting your lip to suppress your cries. When you opened your eyes, you were locked on a tapestry of that yellow triangle. That’s when it all clicked. Swallowing your sorrows, you pointed to the tapestry.

“That triangle,” You start. “Ever since you started hanging up those stupid paintings or whatever, you’ve been acting strange in all kinds of ways.” You walk over to it, fingertips brushing the material. Ford eyes you warily. “Is this your Muse I hear you talk to yourself about?” Your fingers wrap around the tapestry.

“Don’t.” His finger pointed at you. You felt like you were a kid again, being disciplined by him for acting irresponsible, for breaking something you shouldn’t have. It made the reality of the situation a lot more serious. This wasn’t something that Ford could shrug off due to your poor impulse control. This is something you chose to do. “Please don’t.” He begged, his eyes glossing over with tears.

You yanked it, ripping it in half. Ford reached out to grab the ripped tapestry but you were too quick. You moved to the side and observed the art designed on it. A flying yellow triangle was depicted as the saving grace of our world. In the background there were people on their knees, while some stood behind them. What stood out to you the most was their eyes yellow, their pupils replaced with a black straight line. You’ve seen those yellow eyes before. You turn your head over to Ford, your heart crushing against your chest. You could barely recognize the man in front of you. He had deep dark eye bags under his eyes, the whites of his eyes had dark crimson veins that irritated his eyes. His hair was disheveled and his chin had little stubbles of hair growing out.

“What is this?” The back of your hand smacks against the tapestry. “Who is this? Why am I just making sense of all of this now?” You shoot questions at him like rapid bullets. “Why haven’t you told me anything about this?”

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back. “I don’t know if I should tell you.” He says, voice low. “I don’t want you to jeopardize our main goal.”

“What main goal, Dad?” You shot back. “The one you said you didn’t want to do anymore because you didn’t want to lose track of what’s in front of you?” Your hands clenched the tapestry. “I changed my mind.” Ford rubs his forehead, looking away from your eyes, clearly ashamed of himself. “Clearly!” You stared at him for a moment. “Why?” He looks over to you, his face riddled with exhaustion. You soften your tone and repeat it. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He responds. “Did the triangle guy give you shit for it?” You watch as he winces. Right on the dot. So this entity, this being, it speaks to him. “Does he talk to you?” He nods slowly, as if he’s unsure that the information he’s sharing is allowed to be told. “Dad…” You drop the tapestry. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

A prolonged silence entraps you and him. You stare at him and he stares at you and he looks so terribly conflicted with himself. He looks at you like he doesn’t know what’s right or wrong. He pushes his glasses up, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I need you to get out of my lab.”

“What?” Your whole body tingles with cold chills. You can’t tell if he's joking or not. He has to be joking, right? There’s no way he’s demanding you to leave, right? “Dad I—“

“—I said that you need to leave. Why haven’t you done that already?” His voice is dangerously low. His irritation seeps deeply into his words and punches you right in the heart. You open your mouth, ready to protest, ready to fight with whatever energy you had left in you but closed it.

You backed out.

Kicking the tapestry over to him, you forcefully knock your shoulders with him as you leave. Hot tears escaped your eyes as you ran to your room, shutting the door of your room.

Ford sighs out, despair riddling his body. “And you’re sure that [Name] and Fiddleford devised a plan to turn off the portal?” He asked Bill who floated in front of him. Bill flicked his hand down. “Don’t you worry, pal! You did the right thing.” A distant look was evident on Ford’s face.

“You do a good job at listening to me, you know that, Fordsy?” Ford could only grumble in response.

Bill spun around to face the portal “When do you think this portal can turn on?”

“Tomorrow.” Ford firmly says. “Do you think you can rally those two knuckleheads tomorrow? You need a test dummy afterall!”

“I might be able to.”

The morning blooms to life and you’re left rotting on the bed, not wanting to move from the only place that provided you constant comfort. Hours pass by when you hear Fiddleford’s voice. You sprung up from the bed. What is he doing here? Making a beeline to the bathroom, you quickly brush your teeth and hurry on down to the living room. They’re nowhere to be seen.

You rush to the lab and open the door. The ground shifts as the portal powers to life. You watch as they approach the roaring portal, test dummy in hand. What happens next all happens too fast. Fiddleford’s wrist got tied to rope that was on the test dummy and got pulled along with it, his head getting sucked in. You run over to your dad, hands latching on to the rope that was conveniently on his ankle. Together, you and Ford pull him back in. You fall back to the floor. Fiddleford violently trembles as he speaks some garbled nonsense.

“Fiddleford?”

He sits up, staring blankly ahead of him. “When gravity falls and earth becomes sky, fear the beast with one eye!”

“Fiddleford, get a hold of yourself. You’re not making any sense!” Ford reached out to Fiddleford but he flinched away before he could. “This machine is dangerous,” He states, hugging his arm. “You’ll bring about the ends of the world with this!” He grabs onto Ford’s shoulder. “Destroy it before it destroys us all!”

“I can’t, Fiddleford. This is my life's work!”

Fiddleford looks down to the floor. “I fear we unleashed a grave danger on the world.” He looks petrified. Whatever he saw on the other hand has mentally taken a toll on him within a matter of seconds. He looks up to Ford, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m not gonna ask again.” His body tremors in fear. “You need to destroy the machine, Ford. Please, I beg of you.”

“Fiddleford. I can’t just throw this all away.” Ford says.

Fiddleford studies his face, hoping that a part of Ford was lying. But when Ford’s stern face unwavering, Fiddleford broke. “Then I quit.” He stands up from the floor, his eyes gazing at you one last time before he marches out of the lab, leaving you and Ford stunned.

“Fear the beast with one eye,” You echoed, your mind instantly flashing to the image of the yellow triangle Ford has everywhere. Ford had seemed to make the same revelation. He shuffles to his feet, still shaken up by what had just happened, he stumbles a bit as he goes back inside the lab, pulling out his journal 3 notebook. “Shut off the portal!” He commands.

You don’t waste a second getting up and switching off every knob, lever and button. Sneaking careful glances to Ford, you can see him writing, his pressure on the pencil is so hard that the words he writes come out thick and black. You just stand there and watch him visibly break down, his mental health deteriorating as the minutes go on.

“I need to destroy the portal and burn the journals,” He finally speaks up after a long minute. “And we’re leaving Gravity Falls once I deal with everything.” He slammed the book shut and tucked it inside his coat. “We’re what? Leaving Gravity Falls?” You follow him closely as he leaves the lab, eyes clouded over with fear. “It’s not safe here, [Name].”

The whole day is such a messy blur. Too overwhelmed with your emotions you couldn’t grasp the severity of the situation. You were still hung up on the fact Fiddleford left. The look in his eyes will be forever ingrained in your memory. Everything around you is falling apart and you can’t seem to pick up the pieces and fix it. Sleep was unachievable. Closing your eyes would replay the memories of what happened hours prior.

Footsteps approached your room, but they weren’t the ones you were familiar with. These were messy and uncoordinated. Bangs of someone slamming against the wall shook your room and before you could have any time to react, your door whips open, revealing Ford. You breathe out in relief. It was just your dad.

Ford’s head pulls up as if it’s being controlled by a string and stares you down with a wide smile. His comforting brown eyes weren’t there anymore. Instead, they glowed a disgusting yellow. His pupils were a black slit and you felt your blood run cold and the world around you stopping. You felt like a fool to think you were safe.

“Nice to finally meet you!” Another person’s voice spoke using your dad’s mouth. “Names Bill, Bill Cipher!” He hung out his hand for you to shake. Your body felt like cement was encased in your veins, preventing you from moving. His eyes switched from his hand to yours a few times before pulling his hands back. “I see you don’t do handshakes. I get it! You’re probably thinking where’s my dad right now? What is inside of him? What is going ooonnn?!” He lets out a laugh. “Right? You’re thinking that?”

Your voice dies in your throat, your words failing you. “Hmm, maybe I chose the wrong day to come out…Should I have done it tomorrow?” He thinks out loud, tapping his finger on his chin, exactly the way your dad did. “Well, too late to think about what could’ve happened!” He jolts towards you, his hand grabbing your wrist. You break out of your trance “Let go of me!” You screech. Your fist clenched, ready to blow a punch to Bill’s arm when it hit you, this is your dad’s body. Any injury you inflict on Bill is also harming your dad. “What? Are you too scared to hit me because I’m in Ford’s body?” A cackle leaves Bill. “This will make this so much easier then!”

“Make what easier?” Not knowing what Bill was scheming made everything feel so much scarier. “I’m breaking into Sixer’s lab! But I just need your help.” A warm sensation drips onto your hand and slides down to your arm. You feel bile climb up your throat when you see that it was blood seeping out of the various open wounds Bill had given to Ford on his knuckles. “W-what did you do?!” The wounds weren’t deep, but the skin was ripped open and Bill dragging you down to the lab only peeled the skin open even more. “Just tried bashing the door down. Is it obvious that it didn't work?”

You reached the lab’s door. Blood was smudged on the door, some dripping down to the floor. The strong scent of metal hung in the air and you could feel your stomach churning. “Unfortunately for me, Sixer can be a real genius at times. He implemented this stupid security system so I couldn’t get in!” Bill’s other hand grips your hair. “It won’t work with my eye, but it’ll work with youuurss!” His hand in your hair pushes your head towards the eye scanner. You yelp out in pain. “Oh, stop complaining!” His finger pressed a button and the scanner began inspecting your eye, before it could do a proper scan you screwed your eyes shut. “Oh no you don’t.” Bill pries your eye open and starts the scanner all over again. You tried struggling against it, but his boot stomped down on your ankle, twisting it sideways. “I just wanted to do that!” You screamed in agony, tears pouring out of your eyes.

A loud beep sounded and you thought you were granted access when Bill cursed under his breath. He throws you against the wall, you head knocking against it. “So useless!” He delivers a punch to the door. “I will get access to that portal.” He shoots over to you, a large toothy smile that spreads ear to ear unnaturally took over Ford’s face. “Or maybe I can think of other ways to convince him to–” His eyes roll to the back of his head and he falls back. “Dad!” You crawl over to him, hands on his cheeks as you watch his eyes flutter open. No longer were they yellow.

“Oh, thank god!” You wrap him in a hug, tears falling down your face. “D-Did I fall asleep?” Ford slurred out. As Ford’s surroundings came back to him, his face scrunches up when he’s assaulted with the stench of blood. “[Name], what happened?”

“Bill tried breaking into the lab to use the portal.” You say, giving him a squeeze before giving him space. “Did he get in?” He groans as he sits up, body terribly sore. “No, he didn’t.” His eyesight focuses on you, eyes blowing wide when he sees blood staining your hand and arm. “Did he hurt you?” He grabs onto your hand, looking for any damage. “He didn’t make me bleed. Just gave me a tiny concussion and a twisted ankle probably.”

Ford stays silent for a moment, his head replaying your words. Anger boiled in his chest as he thought of the ways he hurt you while he was possessing his body. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m fine!” You assure. “I’m more worried about your knuckles.” You say, looking at the splintering skin. “My knuckles?” He casts his gaze over his knuckles and winces at the sight. “He does not know when to give up.”

The rest of the night was you patching Ford up and him patching you up. Conversation floated between you and him as if the previous days were nothing but a nightmare. That’s when he unloaded everything about Bill onto you, from the moment they made the deal to when the portal was revealed to be nothing but a way for Bill to take over Earth. You could see the remorse on his face as he talked, speaking on how he felt so stupid for falling into his tricks, believing the lies he told and how he almost caused a rift between the two of you. You already figured out most of what he told you prior to the conversation, but having it proven to be true and not baseless guesses was astounding.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting for the past year.” He says, holding you tightly to his chest. “It’s okay, Dad. You were under his influence and believed him more than you believed yourself.” You tell him.

From then on out, you and Ford searched for anything that’ll help defeat Bill. Ford stumbled across a book with armor that was supposed to keep Bill out of the mind. The machinery was horribly outdated but by growing on their ideas, you and Ford had a solid outline of a modern alternative. Assembling it was another story.

“Does this go here or here?”

“No..I think it goes here?”

The idea was scrapped and Ford was back to square one. Without Fiddleford’s brilliance in machinery, the protective armor was pretty much unachievable. And right before you knew it, the inevitable came. Ford fell asleep. You walked into his room with what you originally thought was him hunched over his desk, sticky notes stuck to every part of the wall and desk. Bill heard you walk in and shot up from his chair. “Oh, am I glad to see you!” Bill approached you with open arms.

“What are you doing, Bill?” You tried your best to sound menacing but your voice betrayed you. “I’m just trying to convince your dad to talk to me again. Do you think that’s possible?” He grabs your arm and pulls you to the desk. “Or maybe shedding your blood on the post-it notes would fasten the process?” His hands dig in the cabinet, pulling up a box cutter. You watch in horror as the blade pops out. “My blood won’t solve anything!” You said, trying to yank your arm away from his grip but it was too tight. “Then should I spill your blood and his?” He has the blade to your arm and you do your very best to stay still. Any movement and you'll surely rip some skin open. You sit in a pool of your own anxiety, waiting for Bill to slash your arm open but he never does. He drops the box cutter and shoves you. “Doing that will only make him hate me even more!” He yells, bashing his head on the wall repeatedly.

“Hey!” You pull him back by the shoulder. “Are you trying to give yourself a headache!” Bill ignores you and sits back down on the chair, obsessively writing post-it notes where he begs for Ford’s forgiveness. And for a while, that’s how they communicated. Through notes. At some point, the whole room was covered in writings of both Bill and Ford. When that didn’t work, he tapped a snake to Ford’s journal. It was back and forth of childish antics between the two of them.

The more this progressed the more sleep deprived Ford became, the more paranoid he grew. “There’s no other options left.” He said, running his hands down his head. “I was stupid to believe I could defeat Bill and I thought Fiddleford would’ve had something, but he didn’t. Just a ripped up picture of us from college.” In his hands were the two pieces of the photo. You reached a dead end and you’re not sure if you can escape this one. “Has Fiddleford answered your calls?” He asks, thumb caressing the photo of Fiddleford.

“He answered.” You crack your fingers. “He, uh…Doesn’t remember us.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t remember us?”

“I don’t know, he just asked who I was and why I kept calling. And when I told him about you and me he said I got the wrong person and hung up.” Heartbreak, after heartbreak. Nothing good seemed to come out of this situation and you were growing tired of all of it. You haven’t even gone outside to catch a breath of fresh air. You were too afraid Bill was lurking, waiting for you to be alone so he could find a twisted way to convince Ford to be on his side again.

Ford clenched the hand where the photo of himself was. Tears dripped from his eyes and down to the floor. “I’m so sorry for pulling you into this, kiddo.” He says. “You didn’t know that this was going to be the outcome, Dad. It’s okay.” You pull him for a hug. “I was so obsessed with finding answers that I–” Ford stopped himself with a garbled sob. “You didn’t know, Dad.” This was all too real, all too scary. You didn’t even want to think about how it would end.

The months passed through your fingers and before you could sit back and relax, winter was here. Your favorite season. You were unsure on how to feel. The last winter was filled with memories to remember but thinking back on them only brought a chill to your heart. One day, a knock was heard from outside. “Dad!” You run over to get him, your heart bashing against your ribcage. “There’s someone at the door.” A year prior to this, you would’ve been more than happy to open the door, but considering what has happened the last few months, anything that dealt with leaving home was mind numbingly terrifying. “It’s okay. If anything happens, hide in the lab.”

Arming himself with a crossbow, he opened the door. Aiming the crossbow at the person in front of him. “Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” A gruff voice spoke. “Stanley,” Ford drops the crossbow. “Did anyone follow you, anyone at all?”

“Eh, hello to you too, pal.” Ford grabs him by the collar and pulls him in, shutting the door behind him. “[Name], flashlight please! And hurry!” Ford holds out his hand and you place the flashlight you found discarded on the floor in his hand. “W-What? Who?” Ford flashes the lights in his eyes. “Ah! Hey,” The man in the beanie pushes Ford’s hands down. “What is this?” Then his eyes trail over to you. “And who is this?” The gears turn in his head and his eyebrows furrow in shock. “You have a kid!”

“That’s not the point.” Ford urged him to come in. He followed, his eyes never leaving you. “Hi, Uncle.” You nervously waved at him. “Does he talk about me?” Stan asks but he was pulled away from you before you could answer. Ford began spilling to him how he couldn’t trust no one, no one except him. Collecting all the books in his hands he went to the portal, you and Stan behind.

Showing him the portal, he explained how he’s the only person he could trust with the last notebook. He tells Stan to sail far away to keep the book from getting into the wrong hands. ”That’s it?” Stan clenches the book in his hand, a scowl on his face. “I finally get to see you after 17 years and the first thing you tell me is to get as far away from you as possible?”

“Stanley, you don't understand what we’re up against. What we’ve been through!” Ford walks past Stan, his hand gripping his hair. “We? C’mon, Stanford. Don’t tell me you dragged your kid into this.”

An argument unfolded and no matter how hard you tried to stop them from fighting, they continued on. It got to the point where it got physical and where Stan got injured. Ford came to his side, asking if he was okay. Stan, overrun by anger pushed him, Ford’s back slamming against the lever which powered on the portal. Your stomach drops. Last time that portal was on, you lost Fiddleford, you can’t lose your dad too.

Shoving the book into Ford’s chest was the last straw that broke the bridge. The portal sucked up Ford, suspended in the air he threw the book towards Stan. You ran over to grab your dad but he was too far beyond your reach. Your breathing was quickened and your head was spinning. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Uncle Stan, do something!”

“Stanley, do something!”

His name was being shouted in his ears, overwhelmed he didn’t know what to do. Ford was fully sucked in and the portal shut off, blasting you and Stan back. When you recovered from the initial blast, you got up to your feet and grabbed the switch. You pulled with all your might, but nothing worked. “Uncle Stan!” You sobbed out. “Do something, please! Help me!”

“K-Kid, I…” He walks towards you. His words were failing him, he didn’t know what to say. He had just ripped your father away from you and he lost his brother. Not knowing what else to do, he wraps you in a hug as you painfully sob into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

@catr4dora @squ4respace i hope u guys liked it!! i wrote it with u guys in mind LMFAO and if u didn't im so sorry gulp

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines #stanford pines x child!reader #stanford pines x daughter! reader #stanford pines x daughter!reader #ford pines x child!reader #ford pines x daughter!reader #ford pines x daughter #ford pines x reader #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #stanford x fiddleford #fiddleauthor #fiddleford x stanford

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taegularities · 8 months

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entertainer (teaser) | jjk (m)

Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, sexual tension, he is so attracted to her :'), mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, dark past(s), crying, fear, confrontation and fighting, cocky kook, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content (kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, etc.), more warnings on drop day once the fic is finished!! not much for the teaser itself, though <3 ➳ wc: 1.8k :') (around 20k for the full thing) ➳ a/n: scratches head. this has been a long time coming and i'm beyond curious how y'all will like it :') very new and experimental, so let's see how it goes!! as always, drop a message to lmk what you think of this lil glimpse, i'll be waiting with dangling feet hehe!! <3

➳ give the Entertainer playlist a first listen! 🖤

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”

“Fuckbo—”

“Nevermind.”

If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done that a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.

You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?

Yet.

You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.

Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices once the two of you halt in front of another piece of work. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me like that?”

You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.

“So,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”

You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.

But somehow, he only recognises a tranquil ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is tender, but wrapped in dark mystery.

How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?

When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly odd things.

“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”

“But it’s not, yeah?”

“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must be a trigger, or a thought on something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”

Interesting…

“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.

You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”

“Ahhh. Like what?”

“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibition made me realise how that colour makes me cry.”

Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.

You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who've earned it.”

Earned it? How?

Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?

And then…

If that’s what it is.

He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack.

“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.

“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your gaze. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”

Someone…

Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.

He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t. Yet.

Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”

“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — a nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”

Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like this when you were at the meeting, or in his office. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.

And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.

But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.

One who shrugs all the puzzles away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.

He inquires, “Are you always this much of an open book?”

“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”

“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”

“Hah. Well, I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Strokes his ego, though. And then, out of the blue again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”

Jungkook has barely inhaled half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.

Perhaps this is enough for now, visiting the overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.

Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.

But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.

Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake to go with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”

“Oh. One?” you ask, “Don’t you want one?”

“I do.”

“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”

Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as hell. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for us two.”

You laugh — a candied, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”

Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip of his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. While he does avoid them, it’s still always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.

He sighs.

“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.

And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, serving two perfectly prepared cappuccinos and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge piece.

You thank her with a gentle smile, and tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your dangling silver earring.

And he watches.

Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”

Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.

And then… oh God.

He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head.

All the way through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag the wet tip of your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.

Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance in snail’s pace… makes him sick.

When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sound around him comes alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.

You catch him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.

But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try.”

You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — and maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.

Making you smile must be an achievement, though, right? If only… you didn’t think of him like…

He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.

He wishes he could.

His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him live, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… that’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”

“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you interesting. And somewhat attractive.”

People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?

Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”

He shakes his head, clicks his tongue.

“You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”

Is it the habit of never failing; getting what he wants? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?

You’re just a person.

Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel.

He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before.

No matter what it is; Jungkook only understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.

Wants you to be the colour green for him.

wrote most of it now and while sick, so it might change hehe! but i hope it's okay so far, and it shall only get better!! i'm so so excited for this, like i've been working on it and putting thought into it since october, so i hope it's worth the wait <3

as always, send your thoughts, questions, complaints lol lemme know what you think or i might perish sniff. super curious to know!! also, here's the taglistttt 🤍 love and appreciate you all <3

#jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook

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armenianwriterman · 8 months

Text

I want there to be a scooby doo show with a recurring bad guy who technically doesn’t do anything illegal, he just goes around pretending to be a ghost to mess with people. He can’t be prosecuted cause he doesn’t actually break any laws and every time, the gang is just like “god fucking damnit it’s Frank again”.

Like they all hate this guy more then any of the actual criminals they catch.

Velma: “We spent three days trying to solve this mystery, and it’s FUCKING FRANK!”

#scooby doo

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cowboybeepboop · 1 month

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Lovesick

"You don't have to beg, princess," he mutters gruffly in your ear. "I'll touch you as much as you want."

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 8k

Summary: Storm chasing with Scott turns into a night of passion.

Warnings: P in V sex, no protection, soft Scott

a/n: Tbh this is really similar to the first Scott oneshot I posted 😭 I just really like the idea of Scott w/ a soft spot for reader. Also I’m currently working on a request but please feel free to message/send requests my way if you have any

Scott is your *most* annoying storm par colleague, you get along with the rest of the team just fine. In fact they all really enjoy your company, but Scott? He’s just such a dick.

Scott has never been one for social graces, his charm as rough as the storms he chases. Yet, every time he tries to get under your skin with a snide remark or a deliberate shove, you respond with a gentle touch or a soft laugh that seems to disarm him completely. You're the one person who can cut through his tough exterior with ease, and he hates it.

But as he takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving your frame, he knows he can't stay away. You're the puzzle he can't solve, the riddle wrapped in a mystery, and it's driving him mad. But he's also painfully aware that every time he pushes you away with his cruel words and harsh actions, he's losing a little more of you, a piece of the very thing he craves. And that, more than anything, is what keeps him coming back.

”Hey Scott,” you smile at him, setting your coffee on the table across from him. “Can I sit with you?” Scott looks at you for a moment before taking another sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on yours as if he’s studying you. He lets out a small sigh before responding.

”Yeah, sure.” He motions for you to sit, his tone a mixture of reluctant acceptance and a hint of irritation. The air between the two of you is tense, a mixture of lingering annoyance and the ever present spark of attraction.

”Thank you,” your smile widens as you sit down, taking a small drink of your latte as you look at his cold face. Scott watches you closely as you settle into the seat across from him, his expression remaining aloof and unreadable. The tension between you is palpable, but there's also a flicker of something else in his eyes that he's trying to hide.

As you sip your latte, he can't help but notice the way your lips wrap around the rim of the cup and the small noise of contentment you make. His fingers drum impatiently on the table, betraying his uneasy exterior.

”So, do you know where we’re gonna chase today?” You set the cup down, looking out the window admiring the morning sky. Scott leans back in his seat, his gaze following yours out the window. He takes a moment to reply, his tone slightly less gruff than usual.

”Probably the outskirts of Tornado Alley. The weather report is predicting a major storm system moving through the area by mid-afternoon. Might be a good one to chase.” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but his eyes dart to you for a brief second before shifting back to the window. The storm is brewing inside him, just like the one outside.

“Sounds great!” You reply with a cheery tone, shifting your eyes back to Scott's face. Scott’s jaw clenches and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

Your cheerfulness is both intriguing and infuriating. He can’t stand how easily you can flip a switch from serious storm chaser to cheerful chatterbox. “Don’t get too excited,” he replies gruffly. “Storm chasing isn’t all fun and games.”

“Well I’m not too excited,” you reply with a laugh, “But it’s good we know where we’re headed for the day.” Your attention is drawn to Javi, who just walked into the cafe, you smile at him with a wave.

Scott’s eyes flick to Javi, and for a brief moment he frowns at the sight of the other man. He’s particularly annoyed by the way you greet him with such warmth and ease.

He takes a sip of his coffee, his tone betraying a hint of annoyance. ”Yeah, it’s good we know where we’re headed. Can focus on prepping the van instead of worrying about wasting our time.” Your eyes flick back to him.

“That’s true, we can get off track sometimes.” you stand up grabbing your cup, “I’m gonna go talk to Javi, I'll see you later Scott.” Your hair bounces with your step as you walk up to your friend. He grabs your coffee and takes a sip before cringing and handing it back to you, saying it's too sweet.

Scott watches you walk away, his eyes lingering on your every move. The sight of you and Javi talking and laughing together only serves to stoke the fire within him. He watches as Javi takes a sip of your coffee, wincing at the sweetness before handing the cup back to you. Scott can’t help but smirk to himself, thinking of how your taste in coffee is as sickly sweet as your personality.

You laugh at something Javi says, your hand falls to his arm squeezing it with your giggle. Scott's jaw clenches as he watches your hand on Javi's arm. The casual familiarity between the two of you ignites a spark of jealousy within him.

He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the pang of irritation in his chest as he watches the two of you banter and laugh. Javi smooths down the top of your hair earning a sweet grin from you, he pats your hip before he walks over to Scott.

Scott's eyes follow Javi as he walks over, his irritation still evident. He takes a nonchalant sip of his coffee as he awaits whatever is coming next.

"What’s up?" he mutters, his tone gruff and guarded.

Javi smiles, “Hey man we’re gonna head out in ten, so finish your coffee, or do whatever else you need.” He smiles at Scott, putting his hand on his shoulder.

Scott eyes Javi's hand on his shoulder with a mixture of annoyance and acceptance. He knows he can't argue with the order, even if the touch feels like a bit of a jab at his loner tendencies.

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbles, taking a final sip of his coffee. "I'll be ready." You bound over to them interrupting the awkward conversation.

”Hey boys, want any drinks for the road? My treat!” Scott's irritation is momentarily pushed aside by your sudden appearance. He is reminded of your presence when your hand brushes his arm, a brief but distinct touch that sends a small shiver through him.

He glances at you with surprise before responding gruffly. "Uh...sure. Just a black coffee."

Javi grins at you, always enjoying your friendly nature. "Actually, I’d appreciate a sweet tea if you’re getting drinks."

“Iced?” You question, Javi responds with a nod. “Okay, got it. I’ll meet you both outside.”

You hand them their drinks, “Hey, Y/N why don’t you ride with Scott today?” Javi flashes him a smirk.

“Yeah, of course.” You reply, Scott's eyes widen slightly at Javi's suggestion, his heart dropping into his stomach. He hadn't expected to be saddled with your presence for the entire ride, and he certainly wasn't looking forward to it.

Scott lets out a low grumble of protest, but Javi's grin only widens, clearly enjoying the situation he's put Scott in.

“Great!” he says with a clap, “Have fun, you two.”

”Would you like to drive?” You turn your attention over to Scott. His grumble turns into a frown, his annoyance evident in his expression. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing as he processes your question.

"Why wouldn’t I want to drive?" he mutters, crossing his arms. "You probably drive like a grandma anyway." You laugh at his response, opening the truck door and sliding in.

Scott watches as you slide into the vehicle, amused by your cheerful nature in spite of his grumpy demeanor. He lets out a low sigh and walks around to the driver's side, getting in and starting up the truck.

He checks the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of you in the passenger's seat. He can't help but notice how the sunlight hits your face, illuminating your features in a soft, flattering glow.

You notice Scott’s look and your hand subconsciously goes to your face, “What’s up? Do I have something on my face?”

Scott's eyes dart back to the road, silently cursing himself for being caught in the act. He clears his throat and mutters a quick "No, nothing's wrong."

He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, but he tries to dismiss it as a reaction to the sun shining through the windshield.

"Just checking you weren’t falling asleep over there,” he adds gruffly, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

”Well, you don’t have to worry about that, I’m 100% awake.” You face him with your lips curving up. Scott glances over at you as you speak, his own lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

He does his best to hide it, but the sight of your curved lips and the lilt in your voice only serves to soften his gruff exterior even further. "Yeah, I can see that," he murmurs, his voice gruff but less guarded than usual. "You're like a hyperactive Energizer bunny."

”You’re funny sometimes, I mean when you want to be.” you laugh softly before turning your attention to the road ahead of you. “But why are you so grumpy all the time?” You ask.

Scott's eyebrows furrow at your question, his jaw clenching for a moment as if you've hit a sore spot. He lets out a low sigh, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel for a brief moment before loosening again.

"I'm not grumpy all the time," he mutters, the gruffness in his voice betraying the slight defensiveness in his tone. "I just don’t see the point in being all cheerful and upbeat like you all the time."

You look over at him with an awkward smile, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Scott lets out another sigh, his expression softening slightly as he senses your unease. He glances at you, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment before going back to the road.

"You didn’t offend me," he mutters, his tone a little less gruff than before. "It’s just... I don’t understand how you do it, that’s all. You’re always so cheerful and friendly, even when things get rough."

“It’s easy,” you turn to him with a shrug, “People tend to return the energy, anyway.” Scott listens to your explanation, his mind racing to process your words. He takes a moment before responding, his tone still gruff but less than before.

"I guess that makes sense," he mutters grudgingly. "I’m just not the type to put on a mask or fake being cheerful for the sake of others. I like to keep things straightforward and blunt."

”Are you saying I do?” You question, becoming slightly defensive. Scott senses the sudden change in your tone, surprised by the defensive edge in your voice. His eyebrows furrow again as he tries to backpedal.

"No, that's not what I meant," he hastens to clarify. "I didn’t say you were. I just...I don’t understand how you’re always so positive, that’s all." You burst into laughter.

”Lighten up, I’m just messing with you,” You shove his shoulder gently, “I know what you meant.” Scott’s eyes widen at your playful shove, surprised by the unexpected physical contact. He can feel his heart rate spike momentarily before he reigns it back in. He shoots you a quick glare, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“You little…” he mutters, shaking his head. “Don’t go shoving me while I’m driving.” You giggle, your hand sliding down his arm as you look ahead to the tornado you’re following.

Scott's heart skips a beat at the feeling of your hand sliding down his arm. It's a small but unexpectedly intimate gesture that sends a shiver through him. He stares out the windshield, trying to focus on the storm in front of them, but part of his mind is preoccupied with the warmth of your touch still lingering on his skin.

He swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady as he speaks. "So, uh...how does this one look to you?" You smile at him, your eyes twinkling a bit

”You usually don’t care what I think about the storms,” Scott's expression hardens as he glances at you, his heart thudding in his chest at the sight of your smile. He isn't sure what's come over him, but he finds himself strangely drawn to your bright attitude.

He lets out a soft huff, acknowledging your observation. "I guess I don’t usually ask," he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I figure since we’re stuck together for this drive, I might as well take your opinion into account."

”Well, I think we’re gonna get some good data. The conditions are looking really great and it looks like the cap is about to break soon,” you say while peering out the window.

Scott nods, his eyes flickering from you to the storm ahead of the car. He can’t help but be impressed by your enthusiasm and knowledge, even though he’d never admit it out loud.

"Yeah, you’re probably right," he concedes, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Looks like things are falling into place for a good chase."

You grasp his thigh roughly, “Scott watch out for the truck!” you say urgency in your voice as another storm chaser cuts in front of you.

Scott's eyes widen at your sudden outburst, immediately snapping back to the road. He jerks the wheel as the other storm chaser cuts him off, swearing under his breath as he struggles to avoid a collision.

"What the hell is that idiot doing?" he growls, his heart racing from the near miss. "Do they not know how to drive?" Your hand relaxes, but stays on his leg.

”Here, speed up, you have room to pass them on the right.” You point toward the road in front of you.

Scott takes a couple calming breaths as his heart rate begins to slow, silently thanking you for your quick thinking. He glances over at you and notices your hand on his leg, the weight of it sending a slight shiver through him.

He does as you suggest, quickly accelerating and maneuvering his way around the truck. He lets out a sigh of relief as they pass it without any further issues. "Thanks," he mutters gruffly. "Good eye."

Your hand moves up his thigh as you relax into your seat, “That almost gave me a fucking heart attack.” Realizing your hand was still on him, you pull it away. “Oh uh sorry about that.” You smile.

Scott feels a pang of disappointment as your hand slides away from his thigh, leaving a trail of warmth in its path. He secretly wishes you had left it there, but doesn’t comment on it.

He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to hide the effect your touch has on him.

"Uh... it’s fine," he mutters, his voice a little huskier than usual. "Just glad we missed that idiot." Javi gives him instructions on where to go, Scott turns into the directed area.

You and Scott set up the panel according to Javi's instructions, his mind still lingering on the brief moment when you had your hand on his thigh. It's the most physical contact you've ever initiated with him, and he can't stop thinking about the sensation of your touch.

As the tornado appears in front of you both, your eyes light up with wonder, and Scott finds himself watching you more than the storm itself. He's never seen you so enchanted, and he can't help but be endeared by your passion.

Scott watches as the storm approaches, its ominous presence growing larger and darker. He suddenly feels the need to protect you, his instincts kicking into overdrive.

"Y/N, get back in the truck," he barks out, his voice urgent. "It's getting too close." You follow his instruction, quickly getting in and buckling.

Once you're safely inside, Scott rushes to the driver's door and jumps in. He shuts the door behind him and starts the engine back up, the sound of the storm battering the outside of the truck growing louder.

He glances over at you, making sure you're buckled in and safe. There's a hint of worry in his eyes, but he tries to play it off.

"You okay?" he grumbles, his voice betraying a hint of concern. He pulls off into the road, quickly driving toward safety.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft on me Scott,” you tease with a sweet grin. Scott scowls at your teasing comment, his grumpiness coming back in full force. He grumbles under his breath and focuses his attention back on the road.

"I'm not getting soft," he mutters gruffly, his voice trying to mask the slight tinge of defensiveness. "I just don't want you getting hurt, that's all."

”Aha! You totally are getting soft, when was the last time you worried about me getting hurt.” You exclaim with giggle, “but yes I’m fine.”

Scott's scowl deepens, his ego bruised by your teasing. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, partly from annoyance and partly from the truth behind your words.

"I... I was worried you'd get blown away," he tries to sound gruff, but the hint of admission in his tone gives him away. He can't deny his growing attachment to you, but he'll be damned if he ever admits it out loud.

”Oh, don’t act like you wouldn’t like to see me get blown away,” you smile at him.

Scott huffs, a mixture of annoyance and amusement flickering in his eyes. He can't deny that the thought of you being away from him is slightly appealing, but he also can't help the pang of protectiveness he feels towards you.

"It'd be quiet for a change, that's for sure," he mutters gruffly, his lips twitching into a reluctant half-smile. Your smile falters as you notice his small one, I mean does he really hate your company that much?

Scott notices the small flicker of hurt in your expression and immediately regrets his words. He didn’t mean for it to sound quite so callous, but his gruff demeanor often led him to say things without fully thinking them through.

He realizes the implication of his comment and quickly tries to salvage the situation. "I was just kidding, you know," he mutters gruffly. "I don’t actually want you blown away."

”Yeah of course, I know that,” you regain your usual composure. “Should we go back to the motel? To meet Javi there…” your voice trails off as you try to change the subject.

Scott nods, sensing your desire to change the subject. He knows he's said the wrong thing, but he's not quite sure how to fix it. Instead, he focuses on what he's good at: driving.

"Yeah, that’s a good idea," he mutters gruffly. "Javi’s probably waiting for us back at the motel. Let’s get going." You yawn, deciding to pretend to sleep in order to avoid the awkwardness.

Scott notices your yawn and your intentional attempt to avoid conversation. He realizes that you're trying to escape the uneasy atmosphere that he himself had created.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his gruff demeanor softening, “I… I didn’t actually mean what I said back there, you know. I was just messing around.”

”Yes, I know” you grumble, “I think I’m just tired..” Scott notices the way you wrap your arms around yourself, a clear sign that you're still bothered by his earlier comment, even if you won't admit it.

He pulls into the parking lot, turning to look at you. "Look at me and tell me what's really bothering you," he demands, his voice gruff but softened by a hint of concern. You close your eyes stubbornly to avoid looking at him.

“I don’t know, Scott. You really didn’t do anything,” you sigh, Scott huffs in frustration as you stubbornly keep your eyes closed, refusing to really talk to him.

He reaches out and gently pries your eyelids open, demanding that you look at him. "Bullshit," he growls. "You're not fooling anyone. You're pissed at me, even if you won't admit it. Just tell me what's going on in that big brain of yours, dammit."

Your hand reaches up to his wrist, holding on softly. “I’m not pissed at you Scott.” You open one eye peeking at him, “I guess it's just… I don’t mean to bother you with my talking. Even though you didn’t mean it, it just stung a little.”

Scott's expression softens as he looks at you, your hand lightly gripping his wrist. He can feel the hurt in your words, and it hits him harder than he'd like to admit.

"You don't bother me," he mutters, his voice losing some of its gruff edge. "I was just being a jackass, as usual. I didn't mean what I said. You know that, right?”

”I know you didn’t mean it,” you reluctantly open your eyes, “you’re a big sweetie at heart, but I won't share your little secret.” Your smile returns to your lips as your hand slides down his muscular forearm.

Scott's heart rate spikes at the feel of your hand tracing down his forearm. He tries to mask his reaction, but a small shiver betrays him.

He lets out a grumble, pretending to be annoyed by your comment, “I'm not a sweetie. I'm tough as nails.

”Scott?” You lean closer to him, his breath hitches as you lean closer to him. He can smell your scent, and he suddenly becomes very aware of the small distance between you.

He swallows hard, his gruff exterior faltering for a moment. "Yeah?" he mutters, his voice a little hoarser than usual. You move his hand from your chin to your shoulder.

”Do you have a soft spot for me?” Your voice is gentle, Scott's heart thuds in his chest as you guide his hand to your shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath as he feels the warmth of your skin under his palm.

He looks at you, his eyes flickering with a mixture of vulnerability and gruffness. He wants to deny your question, to maintain his tough exterior, but the truth is undeniable.

"Maybe," he mutters gruffly, his voice just above a whisper. "Maybe I do. So what?" Your smile turns into a small smirk as you guide his hand to your chest, over your heart.

”I have a soft spot for you too..” you murmur, Scott's breath catches in his throat as he can feel the rapid beat of your heart underneath his palm, a tangible sign of your own vulnerability.

His gruff demeanor falters for a moment as he looks at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

"You do?" he mutters, his voice a little hoarser than usual, your cheeks flush.

”Can’t you tell that I do?” You lean closer, Scott's gaze flickers down to your lips as you lean closer, his heart racing rapidly. The proximity between you is dangerous, and he feels a mixture of vulnerability and desire.

He swallows hard, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "I... I didn't think you felt that way about me," he mutters gruffly. "You could have anyone you wanted, why me?"

”I don’t know about that..” you say with surprise in your voice, Scott's brow furrows in confusion, his gruff exterior faltering again.

"What do you mean, you don't know about that?" he mutters, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of genuine surprise. "You could have any man you wanted. You're intelligent, charming, and..."

He trails off, swallowing hard as his gaze linger on your lips. “Any man that I wanted?” You hum, his heart rate spikes as you question his words. He can see the playful gleam in your eyes, and he can sense that you're testing him.

"Yeah," he mutters gruffly, his voice rougher than usual. "Any man at all. You could have your pick. So why would you..."

He lets the sentence hang in the air, the implication clear. “What can I say, I like the chase,” you tease, his gruff exterior faltering even more. The thought of you 'chasing' after him makes his stomach flip with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

He tries to maintain his composure, but he can't help the hint of a smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. "The chase, huh?"

You lean in to give him a soft peck, he’s caught off guard by your move, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he lets out a soft, guttural sound as he feels the warmth of your lips against his.

"You've been driving me crazy for weeks." he mutters gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of desire.

”And yet I was the one who had to make the first move” you murmur against his lips, giving him another peck. Scott's fingers dig into your hips, his body instinctively pulling you closer, craving more of your touch.

Your words, whispered against his lips, send a wave of desire through him, erasing any pretense of indifference. "You... You are a goddamn tease," he growls, his voice thick with longing.

You pull away and slip out of the truck, Scott's eyes widen in surprise as you slip away from him, a pang of disappointment mixed with confusion. He follows you out of the truck, a mixture of desire and frustration etched on his face.

"Where are you going?" he demands gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of desperation.

”To your room, so don’t make me wait too long.” You turn to look back at him with a smirk.

Scott's eyes widen at your words, a mixture of surprise and excitement passing over his face. He stands there for a moment, processing what you've just said. Then, a sly, cocky smile spread across his lips. "You'd better not be screwing with me," he mutters gruffly, taking a step towards you.

”Well… maybe if you play your cards right we can do a little screwing..” you bite your lip as you turn to him, your back against his room door.

Scott's heart rate spikes at your suggestive words and the sight of you leaning against his door. He closes the distance between you, his body pressed against yours, his hands on either side of your head, trapping you against the door.

"You're damn right we will," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "But first, I need to know one thing."

”And what’s that?” You look up at him, your hand pressing to his chest. Scott leans in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his body pressed tightly against yours. He can feel the heat radiating off of you, and it's taking every ounce of his willpower not to lose control right then and there.

"Is this... Is this real? Or are you just playing some kind of game?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in his voice is undeniable, as if he's letting you see a side of him that he doesn't let just anyone see.

”Scott,” you say his name firmly, reaching up and cupping his cheek. “Why would I play with you?” Your thumb runs over his cheekbone. “This is real, all of it.”

Scott feels your touch on his cheek, and it sends a wave of emotion through him. The sight of your earnest expression, coupled with the soothing touch of your thumb, melts away any doubts he may have had.

Scott shakes himself out of his thoughts and fishes in his pocket for the key. He inserts the key into the lock and twists, opening the door and stepping aside to let you in.

He follows you inside, closing and locking the door behind him. The room is small and dimly lit, with a queen size bed taking up most of the space.

You reach out for his arm pulling him to you. He stumbles slightly, surprised by the strength in your pull. He stands before you, his body inches from yours, his eyes locked on yours. You capture his lips in a heated kiss.

Scott's thoughts are cut off as your lips crash against his in a hungry, heated kiss. His eyes widen in surprise, but it only takes a moment for his instincts to take over. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him as he returns the kiss with equal intensity.

He groans against your lips, his grip on you tight and possessive as he loses himself in the moment, you press your fingertips into his waist. Scott lets out a low growl, his body shuddering at the feeling of your fingertips on his skin. He looks at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and frustration.

You press a kiss to his jaw. Scott's eyes flutter closed momentarily at the feel of your lips on his jaw. The touch is gentle and yet it sends a wave of heat through him. He lets out a gruff huff, his grip on your waist tightening as he tries to hold onto his composure.

You kiss his Adam’s apple, your hand sliding up his abs through his shirt. Scott's breath hitches at the feel of your lips on his skin, his body reacting with a mix of pleasure and longing. Your hand on his abs makes his muscles tense, his body instinctively arching into your touch.

He groans deeply, his resistance weakening as you continue to press kisses to his sensitive skin. "Damn it," he mutters gruffly, his voice strained. "You really know how to drive a man wild, don't you?"

”Scott..” you murmur against his neck, Scott's body trembles at the sound of his name on your lips. The feeling of your warm breath on his neck sends a shiver down his spine, awakening every nerve ending.

He closes his eyes, his head tilting back slightly as he mutters your name in response, his voice thick with longing. "Yeah, princess?"

”Sit down,” you reply softly. Scott's eyes open, the command in your voice catching him off guard. He looks at you, a mixture of surprise and curiosity on his face.

"Sit down?" he echoes gruffly, his confusion evident.

”Mhmm” you draw out, despite his surprise, Scott finds himself obeying your command, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He looks up at you, his eyes never leaving yours as he waits to see what you'll do next.

"I'm sitting," he mutters gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of anticipation. "Now what?"

”You're like a puppy,” you tease with a giggle. Scott's jaw muscles clench at your comment, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Did you just compare me to a puppy?" he grumbles gruffly. But despite his gruff exterior, there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He can't help but find your teasing endearing, even if he'd never admit it out loud.

You start slowly unbuttoning your shirt “You listen well, you have soft hair, and you’re cute. Just like a puppy.” you pull your shirt off, letting it fall to the ground. Scott's eyes widen as you start unbuttoning your shirt, his gaze immediately fixated on the exposed skin beneath.

His breath catches in his throat, and his hands clench into fists at his sides, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "You think I'm cute?" he mutters gruffly, his voice gruff as he tries to maintain his composure.

”The cutest,” you smile sweetly, stepping between his legs and bringing his hands to your bra. Scott's hands twitch slightly at the sudden warmth under his palms. The feel of your skin and the soft lace of your bra against his calloused hands sends a jolt of electricity through his body.

He looks up at you, his expression a mix of desire and surprise. His eyes rake over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, his mouth watering at the sight of you. "Damn," he groans, his voice husky. "You're beautiful, princess."

You bite your lip “Scott..” you look down at him, eyes full of lust and desire.

Scott's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes dark with desire and longing. He swallows hard, his throat dry as he registers the look in your eyes.

He tugs you closer, bringing his hands up to the small of your back, his palms pressing into your skin. "Say my name again," he mutters gruffly, his voice rough with need.

”Scott, touch me please..” you practically whine out in desire, Scott's body shudders at the sound of your voice, desperate and needy. Your plea sparks something within him, igniting a fire of desire that he can't hold back anymore.

He swallows hard, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he looks up at you. "You want me to touch you, princess?" he mutters gruffly, his hands roaming across your back, caressing your skin.

”Please,” you groan, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pull yourself closer to him.

Scott's breath hitches at the sound of your groaning plea, his heart racing in his chest. Your arms around his neck and your body pressed against him, pleading with him to touch you, it's driving him wild.

He leans his head forward, burying his face against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he responds. "You don't have to beg, princess," he mutters gruffly in your ear. "I'll touch you as much as you want."

You settle into his laps, grinding down against him. “I really need you, Scottie.” You whisper into his ear. Scott's body jerks involuntarily as you settle onto his lap and grind against him. A guttural moan escapes his lips at the sound of your whispered plea, his hands immediately grabbing onto your hips, holding you against him.

He buries his face against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You need me, huh?" he mutters gruffly, his voice strained as he struggles to maintain control.

”More than anything.” You’re desperate for him to take complete control.

Your words, full of need and desperation, ignite a primal fire within Scott. He can't deny you any longer, can't resist the need to claim you, to give you everything you want.

He growls deeply, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he lifts you up and moves you further onto the bed, laying you down with a thump. He prowls over you, his eyes dark with unconcealed desire.

"You're gonna get what you want, princess," he mutters gruffly. "I'll give you everything you need." You moan at his words, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

Without breaking the kiss, Scott's hands start to explore your body, his fingertips tracing the lines of your waist, sliding up to the clasp of your bra. He fumbles with it for a moment, his urgency palpable, before finally releasing it.

The fabric falls away, revealing your bare breasts to his heated gaze. He groans into your mouth, his hands cupping you gently before his thumbs begin to tease your hardened nipples. The sensation sends a shock wave of pleasure through you, making your body arch off the bed.

His touch is rough but tender, each stroke setting your skin alight with a passion that's been smoldering between you for so long. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as your kiss deepens. The room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing and the rustle of clothes being removed, the air thick with anticipation.

Scott's eyes never leave yours as he moves to kiss down your neck, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting more of you. The intensity of your connection is undeniable, a powerful force that's been building for too long, finally ready to be unleashed.

Scott's desperation is undeniable as he kisses you with a fervor that leaves you breathless. His hands roam over your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he peppers your skin with urgent kisses.

He moves down to your collarbone, sucking gently before moving to your breasts, taking one in his mouth and flicking the nipple with his tongue. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you gasp. His teeth graze your skin, leaving a series of love bites that feel like a brand, marking you as his.

Each suck and nip is accompanied by a soft groan of satisfaction from him, the sound vibrating against your chest and making your toes curl. His mouth moves further down, leaving a path of love marks across your stomach and hips, as if he's claiming every inch of you.

His teeth sink into your skin harder now, leaving dark hickeys that will be a delicious secret between the two of you. Each mark is a declaration of his desire, a physical testament to the passion that's been simmering just beneath the surface for so long. His hunger for you is insatiable, and you can feel it in every touch, every kiss, every possessive groan that rumbles through his chest.

Scott slides down the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, until his face is level with your hips. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your pants and pulls them down along with your underwear in one swift motion, exposing your wet and eager sex to his gaze.

He takes a moment to appreciate the sight, licking his lips in anticipation. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs gruffly, his voice thick with desire. He leans in, his breath hot against your skin, and you can feel the heat of his gaze as he looks at you. His tongue darts out, teasing the outer folds of your pussy before delving deeper, tasting your sweetness.

You moan, arching your back, as he begins to eat you out with a passion that's both rough and tender. His tongue circles your clit, flicking and stroking, as his hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him. He's relentless, his mouth working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling.

Each stroke of his tongue sends a wave of pleasure through you, each suck making you moan louder. He's not gentle, but you don't want him to be. You want him to devour you, to claim you, and that's exactly what he does. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge with every pass of his tongue, your body tightening in anticipation of the orgasm that's building within you. "Don't stop," you whimper, your voice needy.

He doubles his efforts, his tongue delving into your wetness, his teeth grazing your sensitive clit. The pleasure is almost too much to bear, but you want more, need more of him.

His hands move to your hips, his grip tightening as he laps at you, his tongue moving in rhythm with the pulsing of your desire. You're so close, so very close, and he knows it.

He slows down, teasing you, making you beg for the release that's just out of reach. And when you're on the brink, when you think you can't take it anymore, he speeds up again, sending you hurtling over the edge with a scream of pleasure that fills the room.

As the last waves of your orgasm ripple through your body, you pull Scott up to you, desperate for more of his touch, more of him inside you. Your hands are everywhere, tangling in his hair, gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer as you kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.

The room spins with the intensity of your need, and you can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, a testament to his own desire. You rock your hips against him, seeking the friction that will bring you both to the brink again.

He groans into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you closer as he grinds against you. The raw need in your movements, the way your body responds to his, it's like nothing he's ever felt before. He breaks the kiss, panting heavily, his eyes locked on yours as he reaches for his own pants, fumbling with the zipper.

With a swift motion, he shoves his pants down, freeing his cock, which stands thick and hard, ready to claim you. He reaches for the nightstand, grabbing a condom and ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on.

His gaze never leaves yours as he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your wetness. You bite your lip, your eyes wide with anticipation, your body aching for him to fill you. "Are you ready, princess?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

You nod eagerly, and with one swift thrust, he's inside you, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out, your nails digging into his back as he stretches and fills you completely. He stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust to his size, before he starts to move, his hips pumping into yours with a rough, primal rhythm that matches the beat of your racing heart.

Each stroke is deep and demanding, claiming you over and over again, making you his in every way possible. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, your body moving in sync with his as the pleasure builds once more.

You're lost in the sensation, in the feeling of him inside you, the way he makes you feel so alive, so wanted. And as he continues to drive into you, you know that no matter what happens next, this moment will change everything.

Scott's groan deepens as he feels your body tighten around him, signaling your impending release. His thrusts become more urgent, his hips pistoning into yours with a force that shakes the bed. "Come for me, baby," he grunts, his voice a low, desperate growl that sends shivers down your spine.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as you arch up to meet each powerful stroke. The pressure inside you builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps, sending a cascade of pleasure through your body. You scream out his name as you climax, your muscles spasming around his cock.

The sound of your pleasure is like music to his ears, pushing him over the edge as well. He drives into you one last time, burying himself deep as he releases, his entire body shaking with the force of his orgasm. For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the harsh gasps of your breathing and the wet slap of skin on skin.

Then, he collapses onto you, his weight a welcome warmth as your bodies come down from the high together. His forehead rests against yours, and you can feel his heart pounding in time with yours. "Fuck," he whispers gruffly, his voice filled with awe and wonder. "That was..." He trails off, unable to find the words to describe what just happened between you. You smile, feeling the same sense of amazement.

"Yeah," you murmur, your voice still shaky with aftershocks of pleasure. "It was." Scott's body trembles above you, his breathing heavy and ragged. He supports himself on his forearms, his weight pressing you into the bed. The heat radiating off of him, the feel of his skin against yours, is both overwhelming and exhilarating.

He looks down at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire, awe, and vulnerability. His rough exterior has cracked, revealing the man beneath - the one who desires you so fiercely.

"I don't think I've ever... felt anything like that before," he mutters gruffly, his voice raw with emotion. You smile, looking up at him lovingly.

”Yeah?” You hum sweetly, Scott nods, his eyes searching yours as he gazes down at you. He reaches out, his hand caressing your cheek, his touch gentle.

"Yeah," he mutters gruffly, his voice still hoarse. "I've never been as completely consumed by anyone the way I am with you. It's like..." He falters, struggling to find the right words to express what he's feeling.

You pull him down on the bed next to you, blushing at his words. “That’s a good thing, right?” Scott lets himself fall onto the bed next to you, his body molding against yours instinctively. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

He looks at you, his eyes soft and affectionate. "Of course it is, princess," he mutters gruffly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It's the best damn thing I've ever felt."

”I’ll be right back,” you mumble against his ear, slowly pulling away from his warmth. You grab his shirt and bound off to the bathroom.

Scott lets out a low growl as you pull away from him, the sudden absence of your warmth against his body leaving him feeling cold and empty. He watches as you grab his shirt and head off to the bathroom.

He sits up in bed, his body still buzzing with the aftershocks of your intimate moment, his eyes following you until you disappear into the bathroom, he pulls his boxers back on.

You clean up your appearance, fixing your hair and smeared lipstick. You slip his shirt on, taking a deep breath of his musk.

He smooths his hair before he sits back against the headboard. His eyes focused on the door. You slip back out of the bathroom, smiling at him as you crawl into the bed with him.

Scott's heart rate increases as you slip out of the bathroom, his shirt covering your body. The thought of you wearing his clothes, surrounded by his scent, drives him wild.

He watches as you crawl into the bed with him, a small, appreciative smile forming on his lips. His arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you tight against him, his chest rumbling with a possessive growl.

"You look good in my shirt, princess," he mutters gruffly, his hands roaming across your body, exploring every inch of you.

“And you look good with a smile,” you kiss his cheek. Scott's cheeks flush slightly at your words, his gruff exterior momentarily slipping as he absorbs your praise.

He looks at you, his eyes warm and affectionate as he mutters gruffly, "You know how to melt a man's heart, huh?" He reaches out, his hand grabbing your chin, turning your head to look at him. "And you look even better in my bed," he adds, a sly smirk forming on his lips.

”Then I should stay in it more often.” You lean in kissing his soft lips. Scott's body hums with desire as you lean in and kiss him. His lips press against yours hungrily, his tongue slipping into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. His hands roam across your body, pulling you even closer against him.

He mutters gruffly against your lips, "You should. And you should definitely wear my shirt more often."

”I’d be happy to, it smells just like you..” you cuddle into his chest, “It's like heaven.”

Scott's heart swells at your words, his chest puffing out with pride. He wraps his arms around you, holding you against him, his hands roaming across your back in slow, soothing circles.

"Heaven, huh?" he mutters gruffly, a hint of a smile in his voice you close your eyes with a content sigh.

”Can I sleep in your arms tonight?” You murmur against his chest.

Scott's heart skips a beat at your request, his arms instinctively tightening around you. The thought of holding you in his arms all night, keeping you safe and warm, is both overwhelming and soothing.

He nuzzles his face into your hair, inhaling your scent, before muttering gruffly, "Of course, princess. I'd be a fool to deny you anything you want."

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astralphobia · 3 months

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anyone else think of how terrifying sock opera must have been for mabel

when bipper’s looking down at her with that shit-eating grin, holding the rope?? Yk, that iconic scene??

Yeah, I can’t imagine how Mabel must have felt or how many nightmares sprung from that.

just. Imagine with me, okay? You’re twelve. You have a twin brother who’s been there for you your whole life, and always has your best interest at heart. He’s given up so much for you, and you’ve tried your best to help him in return, helping him solve mysteries and engaging in the things he enjoys with him. You don’t have to do that, but you do, because you want him to be happy.

And one day, something odd happens. He hasn’t gotten a lot of sleep lately, so maybe it’s just sleep deprivation! Maybe he’s just. ..Acting so oddly,, because he’s tired!

yeah. That’s it. At least he wants to help you with your crush for once, even if he wanted to focus on that laptop earlier. You feel kinda bad about ignoring it, but c’monnnn!! This guy is. So hot. You can’t help yourself! .. probably.

When you’re almost halfway through your attempt to impress this guy, this.. puppet you made starts floating, talking to you in the voice of your brother, telling you that he did something stupid (made a deal), and his body is currently being possessed by this triangle jerk you encountered earlier in the summer.

… kinda a lot to take in, but hey!! At least you know what was off now. .. wow, you’re kind of a bad sister for not noticing, huh?

anyways, he needs your help! But it could totally ruin your chances with this guy…. But that doesn’t matter, he needs your help. This only happened because you didn’t help him earlier, so you gotta help him now, right??

you rush to find the only thing that could possibly help you in this scenario. The journal.

And when you do find it, well..

even though you know that is not your brother, that’s a demon, possessing your brother’s body.. it still looks like him. And never have you felt such utter horror, such primal fear at the sight of a simple grin, ear. to. ear.

seeing him above you, standing on the catwalk makes you feel small, useless, insignificant.

and the expression on his face is one you hope you never see his facial features contort into again.

And he’s holding onto the rope that could mean the difference between life or death for you, the rope that is holding you and the wooden cake in the air. You’re lucky he caught it in the first place.

He could drop it any time he wants. Let go any time he wants. And he does, briefly, toying with you.

When your eyes widen and fear squeezes at your heart, he laughs at your pathetic, meaningless actions.

and even though you know it isn’t your brother. You know it’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not, it’s not…

And yet. It sounds like him. His laugh. The little one he makes whenever you make a silly joke, or fall over dramatically, possibly at the expense of your dignity. The one you have heard so many times, usually just as innocent and sweet as the last. And now you hear it again, and even if it’s something else laughing through him,, you can’t help but hear it. Tainted with ill intent.

The day does get saved, however. Your brother gets back into his own body not too much later. And everything is back to normal!

….. but.

You can’t help but remember that moment whenever he smiles a bit too wide, or laughs a bit too hard.

You can’t help but stay awake at night, replaying that moment. Telling yourself that it wasn’t him.

And you still have nightmares about it, too. Where you don’t notice until it’s too late and that thing that looks and sounds like him but isn’t him is back and this time you’ve lost, you’ve lost, you’ve lost!

..you wish you were a better sister.

#gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #bill cipher #astral yaps

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luveline · 2 years

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

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

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

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

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

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

He's looking at you, Bram Stoker.

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

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

Eddie would know. He's tried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t.

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

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

"Hi, Eddie," you call.

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

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

"Hey," he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"God awful," he agrees sullenly.

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

"You should get a bike."

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

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

Eddie squints. "The o-zone?"

"Is there another one?"

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

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

"My chain slipped."

"So much for reliable."

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll do it for nothing."

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

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

Or maybe you don't know.

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

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

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

Kid, if I had the money…

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

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

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

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

No knife-like points. Normal teeth.

"Are you thirsty?" you ask him.

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

His heart fucking pounds.

"I have grape juice?"

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

Duh, you meant juice.

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

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

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

It's everywhere.

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

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

"You like Dio?" he asks excitedly.

"Who?"

He wilts. "Uh, your hoodie. Dio."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Learn to take a compliment, dude.

When they aren't pity compliments, he might.

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

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

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

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

"My services were administered charitably.”

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

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

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

"I'm twenty-two."

Eddie squints at you. "Seriously?"

"You didn't think so?"

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

"A boyfriend?"

"Just me and mister Porterson."

"That your grandpa?"

"That's my pet fish."

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

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

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

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

"You know what happened?" he asks.

"What happened?"

"Two years ago. Chrissy… Chrissy Cunningham?"

Don't say her fucking name.

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

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

He stares.

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

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

"You don't believe it?"

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

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

—

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

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

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

"I got sandwiches. Do you want one?"

"What kind?"

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

"Why?"

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

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

"You're Eddie's new friend?"

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

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

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

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

You offer Eddie’s uncle a cookie.

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

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

"You don't say."

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

"Thanks, kid."

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

"Wayne is fine."

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

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

"Are you ready?" you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel like a pearl," you say.

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

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

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

"Yeah? Bring me another bracelet?"

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

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

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

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

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

"For your eyes."

"There's cheese on it."

"I'll still work," you assure him.

"M'not putting cheese on my eyes."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, definitely."

"Discrimination."

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

"She didn't budge?"

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

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

"See my new one?"

"What?"

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

"It's nice."

"It's surprisingly heavy. Wanna feel?"

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

Right, you think. I'm talking a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He breathes out. "Thank you."

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

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

He moves away slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow harshly.

"Seriously?"

Your sad tone surprises him.

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

His nervous itching makes you even more worried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Chief," Wayne calls.

Trailer walls. Basically made of cardboard.

"Hey, Wayne. Where's the kid?"

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

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

"Yeah, he- He's friends with Wayne."

"Why's he wanna know where you are?"

"'Cause I got into so much trouble."

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

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

"What?"

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

Something surfaces in his expression. An irony.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

He hates how good it feels.

"Stop feeling guilty," Steve says.

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

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

"Can you guys go home?" Eddie asks.

"Shithead."

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

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

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

"Ouch, what the fuck?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

"...Not really."

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

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

"I have a friend," Eddie admits.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

"Hey. How are you?"

"Eddie, I need your help. Badly."

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

"Are you okay?"

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

"...What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You want to?"

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

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

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

"That's perfect."

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

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

"Be honest with me, kid."

"I am!"

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

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

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

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

"Jesus Christ."

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

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

"Strange?"

"Alternative."

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

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

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

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

—

"It's so quiet," you whisper.

For you, Eddie thinks.

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

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

"Eddie?"

"What?"

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

If only you knew the trees aren't quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, how did they get here?"

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

"They fly?"

A twig crunches under your shoe.

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

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

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

"Not yet. Where'd you go?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You have the mason jar?"

"You know I do."

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

"Who told you that?"

"What?"

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

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

"Everybody tells me that. All the time."

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

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

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

"You're not."

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

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

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

"Hey, I have something for you."

"You do?"

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

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

How embarrassing.

"Eddie, what happened?" you question loudly.

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

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

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

"Steve found it."

"'The hair'?"

"Yeah, the hair."

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

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

"You're the best."

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

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

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

"Okay. Do you want to come over?"

His breath catches. "You want me to?"

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

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

"What kind of pasta?" he asks.

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

"How do you know?"

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

"Try tightening the handle."

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

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

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

"No, do you?"

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

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

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

"Are you sure?" you ask again.

"I'm positive."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

"Shit," you mumble.

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

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

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

You hold your hands out.

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

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

He doesn't sound the same.

"Eddie, we can't see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

His second hand is in his pocket.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Restrained.

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

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

You have a light bulb moment.

"The hair," you say.

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

"You're Steve?"

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

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

"Trust me, you're new."

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

He tucks it under his arm.

You meet his suspicious gaze.

"You want coffee?"

"No."

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

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

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

"What?"

"Are you initiating me into your cult?"

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

"Club where you chew on each other?"

You look pointedly at Steve's wrist.

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

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

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

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

"It's really not that kind of club."

—

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

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

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

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

"You like him when you tell me stories."

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

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

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

"He's like that."

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

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

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

"M'gonna sneeze."

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

"I'll tickle you back," he warns.

"Promise?"

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

"You're not a cannibal, are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No, not- Not that one."

He doesn't say anything.

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

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

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

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

"Okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Who do you like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smile abruptly ends.

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

"A good secret," you amend.

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

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

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

"Just the one."

"Save any princesses?"

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath mingles.

"It's easy," he says again, a murmur of his usual volume as his gaze pulls back up to yours. "I'll show you."

You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding; it's deafening. You wait, and you wait, and you turn your eyes back to his guitar and clamp your fingers down against the struts so he can't see them shaking with adrenaline.

—

Eddie sits beside Steve and tries not to admit to himself that Steve Harrington is, horrifyingly, his best friend (along with the rest of the party, obviously). Steve is the closest in age and Eddie can't make excuses (though he tries and tries and tries), Steve understands how much Eddie doesn't ever want to talk about anything that's happened to them, so he talks about literally everything else instead.

"It was the weirdest pawn shop I've ever been in. They had, like, a wall of combi's playing the same video at the same time but all slightly delayed."

Eddie blinks.

Steve turns his head from the TV, having expected a response. "Did you say something?"

"No." Then, because he's not a dick. "Sorry, Harrington. Want me to sit on your other side?"

"What for?" Steve says. Not because he denies how he's hard of hearing, but because he denies having conversations with Eddie.

He does end up moving to Steve's other side with a pathetic excuse. "I can't see the TV."

Steve doesn't say a word until he's sat down again. "Sorry I was mean to your girlfriend."

"Yeah, what was that about?"

"I was cranky because it was early and I don't want her to damage the integrity of the party." He gives equal weight to both reasons.

Eddie snorts at him. "Since when do you care about the integrity of the party?" Steve barely acknowledges that they are a party. He thinks that's a very nerdy way to say friends.

"Since always, dipshit."

"And inviting her to join the party was the solution because…?"

Steve drinks the rest of his coke and pretends to really care about what's on TV. "If," he begins after a minute, refusing to look at Eddie, "something happens with her, and something happens to you, that damages the integrity of the party."

"Steve," Eddie says, jaw dropped down to his chest, "do you have a crush on me?"

"Oh my god," Steve mutters. "Oh my god," he says louder. "I can't stand you."

To prove his point, he gets up from the couch with a wrinkled nose, stops to tap his shoe gently against Max's where she's sitting in the armchair across from the coffee table, and disappears into his kitchen.

Steve Harrington cares about me enough to give Y/N the shovel talk.

He feels kind of great about it.

But he's not sure your the one who needs warning.

That night in the forest, Eddie had almost snapped. There are rules to follow if he wants to keep people safe, self-imposed, Hopper-imposed, and he's broken too many with you already, the most important being no close proximity when he's hungry. Eddie doesn't even realise he is hungry half the time. He'll be standing by you and he'll want to touch you, and suddenly it's like he's three weeks in to the month without sating.

He thinks about kissing you and suddenly he's thinking about biting you, and hurting you, and it's literally tearing him up from the inside out.

How can he want to do that to you?

"You look so depressed and pathetic," Dustin says out of the blue.

Eddie pouts and falls back into the couch, Steve's fancy throw falling onto his shoulder. "I used to like you," he says, taking in Dustin's outfit with a kind of parental approval. He's getting older and it shows, slightly more handsome than he had been — he's kept all his baby weight and it suits him, his full cheeks surrounded by the softest brown curls Eddie has ever seen. The outfit stays immature, a funny t-shirt and ill-fitting pants.

"Sad. You have a sad face," Dustin says.

"Go play with your nerd squad, please."

He doesn't listen, collapsing in Steve's still-warm seat like a cheap tent and crossing longer, thicker arms over his chest. He smiles at Eddie genuinely. "Where's your girlfriend?"

"No."

"Where's Y/N?"

Eddie tips his head so he can see past the coffee table and points to where you're almost hidden, sitting with Robin on the floor by Steve's sideboard. You have a basket of tapes in front of you, the two of you trying to choose what's going in the stereo. Eddie prays for anything but Blondie.

You will most likely choose Blondie.

"What does she like?" Dustin asks curiously.

"Everything, kind of. Why?"

"I wanna know what to say when I talk to her."

Eddie smiles at his friend's face, a soft, surprised thing. "I don't know if she knows anything about the radio but if you're happy about it she'll be happy too. She's a good listener."

Dustin picks at a piece of lint on his t-shirt bearing a white and black print of a dog wearing sunglasses. "So you talk to her?" he asks without looking up.

"I mean, yeah. What else do you do?"

"With a girl that likes you? Huh, let me think." Dustin laughs and ruins his own sarcasm, pointer finger laid against his chin in a show of thoughtfulness.

"It's not like that," Eddie says lightly.

"It could be."

"Could it? I mean… I don't even know if she'll stick around. And I feel bad 'cos I can't be honest with her."

"Why not?"

"Hopper said he would literally put me in the hole if I even thought about it." There's no need to expand. Dustin would know better than anyone what he's talking about.

He cringes at the thought, self hatred a hot poker down his throat. He must've said it to Dustin a hundred times when he finally came around from his coma (that wasn't a coma, but a death, and then a rebirth). I can't believe I put you through that. I can't believe I put you through that. I'm so sorry.

I'm just glad you're alive, Eddie.

And for a while, Eddie hadn't felt the same. The world he'd woken up to was hard. There had been lawyers and grief and guilt and becoming. He doesn't have the words to describe how it feels to become something new, something that needs to hurt people to live, something that will hurt people to live, whether Eddie wants to or not.

The loss of choice is suffocating.

Though moments like this with his friends– they don't make it 'worth it', they're just how it had to happen. There isn't a scenario where Eddie could give up. He can't leave Wayne, and he can't leave Dustin. He can live with the grief of what he is if it means other people don't have to live with grief of what he isn't.

"Eddie, are you okay?"

He's missed something. Dustin isn't the only one looking at him.

He curls a hand around his forearm subconsciously. "I'm fine. I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom, actually. Gotta piss real bad."

"Eddie-"

"I'm fine, Henderson." He puts on a good show, patting Dustin's arm. His heart, usually so slow these days, has enough life in it to ache.

He can't have been in the bathroom for five minutes when somebody knocks on the door aggressively. He's expecting Steve, pissed at his disappearance and likely preparing a speech on attention seeking behaviours and how they're hurting the youth of America, so he opens the door with a tired glare.

He finds you, beaming and pretty, dressed ridiculously nicely for his idiot friends.

"Hi," you say. He can hear something from Blondie's Parallel Lines playing from the living room, familiar because it's your favourite album. "Any room for me?"

Eddie moves back. You close the door behind you. The bathroom becomes a vacuum of your sounds and smells.

"They didn't have any Dio," you say with a smile.

"I honestly wouldn't expect any different."

"You could've brought some tapes, your mix from the van," you suggest. "I love that one."

"Which one?" he asks, and he can't help it, whenever he's with you his voice crops to a dulcet murmur. The urge to speak to you as you speak to him is unconquerable.

"One with the winking smile on the slipcase. I really like it."

"You can have it."

You lean against the sink. "I can?"

"Mm. Whatever you want." Especially when you look like this.

You smile at him, your 'thank you' smile, all sticky fondness and mischievousness. He has no idea what you're thinking.

"'S a small bathroom in a huge house," you marvel. Your voice echoes "Where does he shower?"

"There's an upstairs bathroom."

"Two bathrooms? That's-"

"Audacious?"

"I was gonna say overkill."

Your candidness has him shaking with laughter. He clutches at his sides, arms crossed and leaning forward. You visibly take in his appearance, eyes panning slowly over his clean hair. He'd taken care to look like somebody you might want to look at tonight.

"Why don't you sit down, Eds?" you ask, eyes creased with an unreadable emotion.

Eddie feels blindly for the toilet lid and pushes it down so he can do as you ask, wondering why you're asking.

"You look very handsome today."

He hugs himself. "As opposed to every other day, when I don't?"

You take a step forward, a second, hands playing with the hem of your shirt. Your outfit today is delightfully simple, a pressed black t-shirt long enough to cover the waistband of your pleated skirt. There's an expanse of thigh that makes his heart beat spin out, one longer than the other where your thigh-high is falling down.

He wants to pull it up.

"C'mere," he says.

You take that last step between his shoes and he reaches out, getting his fingertips under the elastic of your sock and tugging it upward over the soft fat of your leg. Your hands come up to his shoulders for balance, and you say, "No, you look handsome every day. Today you look very handsome. I made the distinction."

He covers your thigh with both hands, looking up into your face as you look down. "You look really pretty today," he says boldly, fingers spreading behind your knee.

"Thank you. Do you like my t-shirt?"

It's a screen print of Debbie Harry. Eddie tries not to roll his eyes. "I love it, but your dedication to Blondie is seriously worrying, sweetheart." He gives your leg a short squeeze and pulls the most giggly smile out of you yet.

"Like Madonna."

"No!" he bemoans.

You laugh and grow closer, arms on his shoulder, a hand threaded into his hair. "Cyndi Lauper?" you suggest.

He puts a hand on your waist as you move in for a hug. Your arms wrap around his neck and the tops of his shoulders, cheek crushed to the top of his head.

He'd ask if you were okay if he thought you weren't. You're not upset or seeking comfort. You're affectionate. You've been getting more and more touchy for weeks, as he has. Stolen touches, your almost-kiss on the porch last week.

"No, not Cyndi Lauper," he says, his hand skirting around your back to pull you in properly.

"R.E.M?"

"God, no. Where are you hearing all this junk?"

"The radio."

"Tuned into the wrong station."

You pet the back of his head. "Yeah," you say softly, "I think I was."

The hug is shorter than Eddie wants it to be. You make one of your happy sounds and pull away to get your hands on his face, stroking curls from his cheeks with a protective touch. "Handsome," you say, turning your hand to stroke his cheek with your knuckles. "Pretty. You have really big eyes, Eddie, so brown, and so…" You tilt your head to one side, face inching forward.

He turns his face to suit, to fit, breath held as you close the gap.

"So pretty," you murmur, and kiss him.

His hands are limp and then alive, one clutching your hip, one splaying against your chest. He can hear the thud of your heart clear as day — you're bumping with excitement as you kiss him. It's a delicate, tender thing, the party suddenly far away, the music drowned by the sounds of your breathing. You kiss as you talk, as you move, gentle but with bursts of ardency. Your lips are a blissful heat, the tip of your nose smushing into his as you part your lips over his.

He lifts his chin higher, his neck craned to receive you. He's savouring every movement. Each pause for breath that you take. The feeling of your inhales over his quick-bruising lips.

Your hands play in his hair so sweetly it makes his eyes burn with an embarrassing amount of emotion. He screws them closed and squeezes up your waist, steadying himself as you feel along his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue.

You don't get much further than that, seemingly pleased with your own brazeness or perhaps his touch, eyes glowing with mirth as you pull away.

"Sorry," you breathe, not sorry at all. "You just really looked like someone should be kissing you."

You're flushed. Eddie can practically see the heat emanating off of your cheeks. He can feel it.

He stands up, your pulse a ringing in his ears. The wet valves of your heart opening and closing.

"Eddie?" you ask quietly, lifting your head to meet his eyes as he walks you back into the door.

His gums sting. A click.

It's a compulsion.

His hands curl around your elbows, holding you in place. Your eyes are wide with confusion, your lightly swollen lips parted. He can see the tiniest slip of your pink tongue.

He holds your gaze as he leans in. Your eyelids flutter closed. You wrap your arms around him as he descends, totally trusting.

He's a meaner kiss than you are. He starts slow but swiftly loses a handle on it, kisses short but insistent, hot presses like little crescent moons against your barely open mouth.

His hands move up your arms, a near vice-like grip until he finds your sleeves. His fingers slip underneath, hands hungry for your warmth.

You make the worst sound anyone has ever made as he moves back, like something has been ripped from you. A gutted gasp, near silent.

He placates as he wades back in. Thumbs rubbing your arms, lips mouthing damp kisses down your face. The corner of your pout, the hill of your chin, the skin under your jaw. Your head tips back against the door with an audible thud. You exhale hard.

Eddie can't feel his hands.

Your pulse hammers under his lips. He kisses it once. He can't think. He can't breathe.

"You're always cold," you whisper, your hands drifting lazily under the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingertips trail up his spine. "But your lips are warm."

He kisses your neck, his lips parting slowly, a hair's width a second as he sucks your skin into his mouth gently. It's barely a kiss. He does it a second time. A third. You start to laugh, a golden sound.

The point of his fangs touch your skin and you stop.

Eddie closes his mouth abruptly. His hand leaps to your neck and he feels your heart skip as he holds you still. "I'm sorry," he says, nose rubbing over the damp spot he's left behind, your teased skin.

Your heart hikes again.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. He pulls away, an agony.

"It's okay," you say. Your breathlessness says otherwise.

Eddie takes as many deep breaths as he can stand, wanting to clear his head and filling it with you instead. Your everything; your smell, your skin. Your limp hands against his back.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks when he gets a look at you, your unreadable expression. He takes care to keep his head angled down so you can't see the lower half of his face.

"I don't think you could."

You cup his cheek in your hand and he leans into it, his weight against yours.

"I wanted to tell you something," you confess.

"What-" He licks his lips, wincing when his fangs slide into his tongue and scrape grooves across his taste buds. "What was that?"

"I know you…" You pause, fingertips rubbing at his cheek.

Does she know? Eddie thinks, horrified. He hadn't realised how scary waiting could be. A thousand worries condensed into a handful of seconds. Does she know?

How could she not?

You press your palm to his cheek with more insistence. "I don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me. I know you have scars," you say, fingers sliding into the soft baby hair at the back of his neck. "You don't have to cover up. You don't have to cover any of it."

"I won't hurt you," he says, trying to convince himself.

"I know."

You stay a while longer. Eddie's friends pretend that you hadn't been alone in the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time together. You thank them all silently and less so, trying to talk to as many of them as you can.

There's Lucas, who's really, really nice, and his girlfriend Max, who's less so. She gives you an unimpressed look through her thick-lensed glasses, but you compliment her crutches and she comes around.

There's Mike, who actually isn't anywhere as bad as Eddie had described him. He's not frosty or standoffish, he's sweet and he asks questions. There's a girl with him that you don't catch the name of, and a boy on her other side.

There's Dustin, who you adore immediately, Robin, who you adore more, and then there's Steve.

Steve offers you a pretzel like you're more than familiar. He strolls right up to you with a bowl of them in hand and doesn't leave until you've eaten half of them.

There's a couple of people you don't manage to talk to at all, and you feel guilty about it all the way home.

"What if they think I'm rude?" you ask, tired eyes locking onto the stereo system. The time blinks analog in the dark, 12:59AM.

"They don't, don't worry about it. You have lots of time to get to know them, anyway."

You hum and turn to his face, indulgent because you know he can't look back. "You're not too tired to drive, are you?" He's spent. Yesterday had been one of his bad days.

"I'm fine."

"You say that all the time," you observe, dropping your cheek into the passenger seat's headrest.

"I'm fine all the time."

"Liar."

"Nuisance."

You huff a laugh through your nose. The strands of his friendship bracelet, the small beads at the ends, swing like pendulums in the gap between his arm and the steering wheel. You can see the rough skin of a scar creeping out from under his sleeve.

"Mike was really nice," you say.

"He has a bleeding heart."

That feels accurate. "He reminds me of you."

Eddie rolls his eyes. You feel for every detail, the strange tension between you like a gaussian filter over everything. He's gorgeous in a horrific way, heartbreakingly pale, eyes dark as pitch, hands restless. They squeeze alone the wheel, thick fingers curling tight until his knuckles are stark white. Running down the back of his hands are veins like rivers. They're more purple than green.

"Eddie," you say, playful, a tiny bit insecure.

"What?"

"Wanna stay the night?"

His hand moves forward on the wheel like he's revving a motorcycle, the tendon in his wrist rising to the surface. He clenches. "Not sure it's a good idea."

"Just to sleep. It's late."

"I don't know if I can sleep next to you."

You don't wanna say please. You don't want to ask Eddie to do anything he can't or doesn't wanna do.

He pulls up outside of your house with his mind already made up. He gets out of the car and you follow his lead. He locks it, shoves the keys in his pocket as you join him on the path up to your porch.

He's been in here enough times to know what it looks like, but for some reason you find yourself checking his face, worried about what it is he thinks of your things, all your mismatched trinkets, your stained glass lamps, your life as you let yourselves in. He ducks through the beeded curtain into your bedroom wary that they'll get tangled in his hair like they sometimes do.

"Do you wanna call Wayne?" you ask, gesturing to your telephone on the right hand side, nestled between a stack of books and a cup full of coloured pencils.

You pull your knee up to your chest and unlace your shoes one at a time. Eddie punches the number into the phone and holds the receiver to his shoulder to do as you're doing. It takes him less time to pop his sneakers off than for you to get out of yours. He's just taken the phone back into his hand when Wayne picks up.

"Wayne?" he asks softly. "Didn't wake you up, did I?"

You can't hear his response.

"I'm gonna stay with Y/N tonight. Yeah, we had a good time. Yeah…" His eyes drift to you as you peel out of your thigh highs.

"Yeah, I'm still here. What?" He meets your eyes and it feels accidental, because he throws his eyes to your bedsheets and turns his face to the wall. "No," he says firmly.

You scrape together something to wear for bed and some fresh underwear and leave for the bathroom, telling yourself that nothing is gonna happen so don't get your hopes up but not wanting to get caught out if it does. You freshen up, brushing your teeth and washing your face.

You stare at yourself in the mirror and wonder if you should've left your face-powder and your mascara on. Maybe even the skirt. You'd looked nice and pretty for the party. Now you look like yourself, still pretty but without those extra touches. Will he care? Does it matter?

You debate your pyjama pants considerably.

There's a lot happening.

Eddie is… Eddie is something else. He's different, you'd known that for a long time, and his kiss had confirmed it.

He's something out of a science fiction book.

Well, nobody's perfect.

Whatever he is, he'd kissed you. You'd kissed him and he'd responded, he'd come back for more, and now he's sitting in your bed when he could've gone home. You bring your hand to your neck and crane to one side, fingertips poking at your unbroken skin. His hickey's haven't even bruised.

You screw the pants up and drop them into your laundry basket. You take off every piece of jewellery on your person.

"Do you wanna use the bathroom?" you ask from behind the beaded curtain. "I left a new toothbrush for you on the sink."

"Yeah, desperately, I…" He takes you in as you emerge. Fresh-faced, bare-legged. As naked as you've ever been in front of him, physically and otherwise.

Eddie meets you where you're standing. He's ditched his jacket, and for the first time since you met him you can see the full length of his arms.

"You're not wearing your bracelets," he says, looking between your bodies. His hand twitches toward yours.

"You have tattoos," you say.

"They were better, before."

There's a misshapen mess of black splodges near the crook of his elbow broken up by scar tissue. One arm is less scarred than the other, an almost perfect flank of white skin.

"Is that a puppet? He's super spooky."

"Mh-hm."

You bring your hand to his tattoo and feel over the skin. It doesn't feel like it's there. Eddie holds your wrist and the two of you move together, your fingertips stroking up until you're wrapped around his bicep.

Eddie brings his free hand to your collar. His index finger straightens, encouraging your chin up so he can ease forward and kiss you. He's firm, eager, and your lips curl up into a smile underneath it. He turns his head to the right and you fall left, smile worsened when you feel his own start to form.

He nudges your nose. You take it for a telling off and laugh. "Sorry," you apologise, kissing his top lip.

"You're making this difficult," he chides.

Despite any sternness, Eddie loosens his grip on your wrists to slide his fingers between yours, pressing your joined hands to your chest. He leans back down and he's careful, almost methodical in the way he kisses. Chaste pecks, hot and precious as tiny stars.

You reach for his waist.

Eddie kisses you a final time and steps back. "I'll be back," he promises.

You lower your chin, flustered and perplexed by his sudden departure.

Walking around to the right side of the bed, you click on your bedside lamp — a beautiful glass and foiled contraption that throws dainty stripes of stars and hearts over everything close in the dark — before climbing in. You sniff one of your pillows experimentally, trying to remember when you last changed the bed. You decide they're acceptable even if they really smell like your hair oil and flip them around to be safe, plumping them up with your hands.

You've curled up on your side and almost succumb to your fatigue when Eddie returns, bringing with him the smell of spearmint and a fuzzy feeling in your stomach as he shuts off the light and sits on the opposite side of the bed, facing you. The hair around his face is damp with water, baby hair's limp.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to wear, I-" Youre cut off by your own gasp as Eddie kisses you, his hand on your neck, his nose bridge sliding into your own. You hadn't been expecting it, and it's no less dizzying than any other kiss he's given you today.

"It's okay," he murmurs lowly, lips pressed to your lips, "have to wear you, is all."

You huff a laugh into his mouth. "I swear I'm always laughing when I'm with you," you muse as Eddie dedicates himself to your bottom lip. You cup the back of his head. "You're amazing."

Eddie groans and eases back. "I'm not good with words, sweetheart. To tell you how I feel about you."

You push one of your legs toward his knee. "...You can show me."

He shifts in the bed until he can lean over the entirety of your chest, hands cupping your face and lips poised hovering over your own, a millimetre of space between your mouth and his. "Okay," he says quietly.

He dips down. You can feel his bottom lip tremble, and then he's kissing you too hard to feel it anymore. You wrap loose arms around his back.

"Are you sure?" you whisper to him.

He rests his nose against your cheek, eyes closed, drawing the tiniest left to right. "I want you," he reassures.

"And you're okay?"

"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm okay. Do you want to?"

"Yeah. More than anything."

Another loving kiss against your cheek, Eddie moves down, down, down. "Tell me if I do something you don't like," he murmurs, top lip dragging and leaving a line of dampness to the base of your throat.

He adorns the canvas of your neck in half-moon contusions, big hands caressing your shoulders, your chest. You hold your breath as his fingers pass over your nipple, fighting to keep in any embarrassing sounds.

Eddie disagrees with his plan of action. You shiver as he brings his lips to a close and his bottom teeth scrape upward, as he pulls his head up and says, "C'mon, angel, breathe."

He follows his command with a manipulative touch, a circle over your nipple that makes you shudder. He kisses you and it feels like a thank you, pressure, a heat as his palm smooths over the bump of your tummy to your thighs. He squeezes the outside of one and for a while you can kiss him back, and then he pulls your thighs apart and you break away. Eddie follows, kisses you even when your reciprocation is weak.

He pushes your thigh flat to the bed.

You feel the heat of your excitement start to grow. Your stomach aches with the want to be touched.

"You're like a space heater, you're that warm," Eddie says, hand coasting down the inside of your thigh. He squeezes until fat melds under his fingers. "Are you scared?"

His whispering in your ear, his hand as close as it is to where you want it, it winds you up like a coil. You sigh as his thumb strokes the edge of your panties, sound coloured by an awful, devouring desire.

His face presses further into yours in reaction.

His touch is like the tide. He wades in, away. His thumb strokes inward over something soft and then his whole hand moves back to your thigh.

"Teasing," you utter.

"A little… Why, is there something you want me to do?"

His clueless whispering is infuriating and exciting at the same time. Your heart races and you can't discern if it's more lust or love.

"Touch me," you plead, pouting, knowing he's a pushover.

Anticipation stabs like a needle in your tummy as he slides his palm over your cunt completely. He rubs a careful, almost casual rhythm into your panties with the breadth of his fingers, lips kissing a lazy stripe up to your forehead, where he rests his face. You both watch his hand move past the valley of your rising chest.

"M'gonna pull these off, yeah?" He sits up, fingers pushing under the sides. "Lift your- yeah, thank you, sweetheart."

You buzz with his pet names, his soft voice, the feeling of your panties sliding up to your knees and his gentle exhale. You swear you can feel it fan over your slit. "Shit…" he moan, pulling at your spread cunt.

He looks like he's in pain, eyebrows pinched together and murmuring curses as he circles the wetness gathered at your entrance. You turn your head searchingly as he starts to ease his index finger inside your heat, a gentle probing.

One becomes two. He muffles your sighing with firm kisses, amorous praises, "That's it, baby, relax," as he works you open, fingers wet with slickness but not enough. He changes his position, pushing his middle and marriage finger inside and curving as his thumb slides up your slit looking for the bead of your clit.

Slow, slow circles. "There, huh?"

You shiver as he pushes in deeper, fingers as far as they can go. He spreads them wide, drops reassuring kisses all over your face when you keen. It's so new to have him kiss you at all, and to have him touching you — you're melting into nothing right there in his hold.

"I got you. Tell me if it hurts, okay?"

"Want you to- I want you to fuck me," you murmur, arms wrapping around him so you can hide your face in his neck.

"Fuck. Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck you just as soon as I can fit," he murmurs back, sinking three of his thick fingers into your snug cunt. He pulls wetness out with every thrust, a line of slick dribbling down onto the sheets underneath. He wipes it upward and pushes it back inside, his chest heaving. "Y'so tight, gotta take my time. Take our time." He rubs his nose against your head until he can kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Make sure you can take it."

"I can."

It doesn't bear repeating how quietly you're speaking, a mouthing inaudible under the wet, rhythmic thud of Eddie's pinky finger slapping your sticky cunt as he ups the pace of his finger-fucking.

"I don't think so," he coos, pulling his fingers from your cunt and making a show of spreading them wide. Your slick ribbons between them, almost invisible in the dark. "Ruin your sheets before any of that, maybe."

Eddie sits up and gets his hands under your armpits. You laugh as he tugs you up so your shoulders are on top of the pillows, but you don't have time to be confused. He quickly moves to kneel at your feet and pulls your leg over his shoulder, your back lifting unevenly from the sheets.

He starts with a sweet kiss pressed to the skin closest to his mouth, your lower thigh, and then works his way up, open mouthed, barely kisses at all until his hair whispers against your sensitive cunt and he's nipping at the stripe of skin between your thigh and the place where you most want his attention.

"Pretty," he says into your damp skin, lips shining. You reach down to stroke his hair behind his ears, worried he's gonna get it dirty.

He looks at you from between your thighs, his eyes dark in the dim light, their lashes long and soft where the outermost flutter into your skin. He's lovely.

He holds your gaze as he pulls back to your inner thigh. "Pretty everywhere," he says salaciously.

His lips part over your skin and you think he might bite you, a bruising hickey, but he pushes you down flat to the bed by your hips and kisses your clit, a simple kiss. Your fingers weave deeper into his hair. Your fingernails scratch lightly against his scalp, every tiny lick or kiss reflected in the minute tightening of your hands.

He goes slow, mouths down, kisses wetter and wetter as he reaches your entrance. "Poor girl," he murmurs, hands pulled down to further scandalise. He sinks two fingers inside and laughs into your cunt. You squirm.

"What happened? You're dripping on my fingers." Your thighs draw closed around his head as he curls his fingers against a soft spot.

"Eddie, can you-" You swallow. "Please. Please."

He pries your thighs open and rubs them soothingly, lapping at the heat of your cunt in face of your pleading. His tongue appears broad and flat up the centre of you until he's kissing on your clit, fingers pumping in rhythm. Your fingers work into his hair and he groans, the vibration enough to make you whimper under his mouth.

He laps at your clit messily and you tip your head back, breath coming in tight pants. You don't know what you say, only how you say it, desperate "please,"s and keening "Eddie,"s.

His thrusts grow in enthusiasm, fingers rubbing eagerly against something sweet. You pull your legs up and nudge his face to your cunt insistently, thigh shaking as you hold it up. Eddie doesn't need any more encouragement, his pretty pink lips suckling at your clit until you see stars. You make a pained little sound and try to move away from his kissing, startled at the intensity of your high.

Eddie lets your clit pop out of his mouth with a lewd, slick sound, his hands moving under your thighs and pulling you closer. "Good girl," he says, rubbing his wet face against the inside of your thigh. He inhales hard as you are, though he pauses to kiss your kneecap and pat your leg. "Good girl, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," you say breathlessly, hands pulling his hair from his face. Pleasure rolls through you in hot waves.

"For what?"

"Tugging on your hair," you explain, shoulder pulled up to your cheek.

Eddie kisses your tummy lovingly and climbs on top of you to do the same just under your chin. "It’s okay, sweetheart, I like that shit. That was good, huh?" he asks, lips dropping down to yours all wet and warm.

He's not bragging, he's genuinely asking.

You nod into his kiss, your hands coming up to his sides. You swear your ears perk up as he unzips his jeans and eases them down, a hand disappearing into the mess of fabric. He moans quietly at the first touch.

You move his hair out of the way to watch. Eddie tugs at the length of his cock with a cruel hand, a short dribble of pearly precum sobbing down the tip and under his fingers. He spreads it as it goes, the slickness emphasising the ridges and veins of his cock. You can see it throb, if you look close enough.

He sits back and eases his jeans and boxers down enough to reveal a thatch of curls that brush his hand with every pump downward.

"You okay?" he asks, smirking.

You pull your shirt over your head and your chest warms at his adoring smile. "Will you take off yours?"

He doesn't hesitate like you worried he might. He sheds his t-shirt, pulling the fabric over the back of his head and dumping it off the side of the bed.

You take in his chest and it's abundance of ragged scarring still purpled with newness. He has a tattoo over his heart, a black whorl of legs and eyes. Fine dark hair crawls from the middle of his chest down his navel, joining with the thatch of coiled hair surrounding his aching cock. You shuffle forward and wait with two tentative hands held aloft until he says, "It's okay," before you touch him. You run your hands down the soft slopes of his waist.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

"Can I kiss it?"

He snorts. "Prefer you kiss something else."

That really makes you laugh. You dot a kiss against his jaw and can't make yourself stop, dropping them all the way to the skin behind his ear. Your hand creeps lower as you go, held to the curve of his tummy. His skin is hot to touch the lower you go, and his stomach feels solid, a heaviness you know all too well.

"Can I touch you?" you whisper into his ear.

"Please."

You drop your forehead against his chest and he brings his hand up to cup the back of your head. His cock pulses as you wrap your hand around it, skin smooth and slick as you palm slowly up and down. You watch in awe as a bead of precum wells at the tip, Eddie's rough breathing loud overhead.

"Lie down, Y/N," he says, hand moving behind your naked shoulders.

"What way?"

"How do you want it, sweetheart? We'll do it whatever way you want."

You think about it. Whatever way you want. No matter how indulgent, you know he means it.

"Will you spoon me?"

He pushes you gently and follows behind, dragging your body into his front and angling your hips, cock hot and prodding your back. He gets his hand under your knee and pulls it up, splaying your cunt. You jump in surprise as he pushes his cock through your folds, tip rubbing against the still sensitive bead of your clit.

Eddie wraps his arms around you, hugging you from behind. "You wanna put it in for me, baby?"

You reach between your bodies and take his sticky cock into your hand, shifting until the head nudges against your hole. He sinks in inch by inch, arms tightening around your waist and grinding you down onto his cock until you're whimpering.

You grab at his arms with your hands and tether yourself to him as he starts to rock his hips, his thrusting tender and his face turned into your neck.

He presses his hand flat to your abdomen, an anchoring point as he moulds your weepy cunt around his length, each slovenly movement into your heat spreading you that little bit wider.

"Fuck," he says finally, sounding seconds from a black out. "Oh, fuck- You're tight. Gonna fuck you open slow, okay?"

You're pretty sure you'd let him do just about anything. You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss every white knuckle, every freckle you can see on the back, and when he bottoms out your cover your lips with his stolen hand to smother a tearful gasp.

Eddie's thrusts are spearing in their steady rhythm, a dirty slap ringing with every punching thrust forward. You curl in on yourself and hide your mouth in the sheets, wet pants smothered by fabric. Eddie's grip falls to your hip, where he pulls your body back and forces your cunt open even deeper.

His cock pushes into your sweet spot sudden and emphatic. You moan and he stills, rutting into that same space without pulling out until you're babbling his name, body knocked forward with every thrust.

Eddie turns your face toward him as much as he can without hurting your neck, your moans echoing in time with each thrust. "There you go," he says, "wanna hear how good it feels."

If he cares that you can't answer him he doesn't show it, arm coming up under you arm to grasp at your chest, your breaststroke soft and aching under his hand as he squeezes tenderly. His cock kisses at the sweet spot inside you intermittently; you're dizzy with it.

Eddie can't keep quiet either, his moans breathy, his breath hissing between his teeth when you clamp down around him. "Fuck," he begs, dragging his cock out of your heat, "fuck, Y/N."

He says your name like the syllables alone are appraising.

You can tell when it gets too much for him. He slows. His face drops into your shoulder, and he matches his pace to the wet kisses he leaves behind. Your wetness feels stickying, each of his thrusts snug.

His breath hitches, ragged pants accompanying every slow push of his hips. "Where's my girl?" he asks, eyes still closed as his hand abandons where it'd been squeezing the bump of your tummy to search further downward, fingers disappearing into your folds, short curls wet with slick. He can't find any purchase. You roll your hips, chase his touch and the pleasure that comes with it.

He groans into your shoulder. It sounds more pain than pleasure.

"Are you okay?" you ask, trying to turn in his arms. He holds you in place. "Eddie?"

"Yeah, fuck, I'm okay." He grinds up into your cunt. "Fuck, you're perfect."

"Will you kiss me?"

He does. It's nowhere near the bruising press you'd wanted. It's too careful.

"Listen," he murmurs, "I'm gonna get you on your front, okay? Gonna make you feel so good," he promises, waiting for you to nod before he pushes your shoulder away from him and climbs up behind you. You lay flat on your stomach and Eddie settles on your thighs, a heavy weight.

He pushes into your cunt with two fingers first, the new position allowing for a new pleasure. He pumps in and out and swaps his fingers for his cock quickly after, bearing the full weight of his body into your back as sinks to the hilt.

You both moan in time, hands fisted in the sheets.

He kisses your neck, lips parted, and his teeth feel so sharp that your heart sinks as it had in the bathroom.

"Eddie-" you start.

He pulls away, stops every movement.

"Eddie," you say again. What are you supposed to say? You both know what he is.

There's a lull where neither of you knows what to do filled by your too-fast breathing.

"I won't hurt you," he says, hands rubbing up the length of your back and then under. He holds a hand over your heart. He drops his lips to your back. "Do you want me to stop?"

He must feel your pulse calm under his touch, but he still asks again when you don't answer. "Do you want me to stop? It's okay if you do. You're okay, baby, I promise."

You steal a pillow from against the headboard and rise up on elbows. Your admission comes weak but completely honest. "Fuck me, Eddie, please... I want you. I want you-" Your murmuring's interrupted by a sharp breath as Eddie starts to move again, the head of his cock pushing into your cunt, a slick, perfect feeling.

He moans from the back of his throat as his cock pushes into you again and again, hips smacking the dough of your ass as his pace quickens. You hug your pillow tightly, tears popping up in the corners as he ruts deep.

"Being so good for me," he groans, clamped down on your hip with a vice-like grip. "Fuck, you feel so good. Fucking clinging to me every time I pull out, baby, Christ." His blasphemy is punctuated by a thrust that has you sliding up the bed, sheets wrinkling under your arms. You spread your thighs and wetness pools at your clit as his pelvis thrusts into you, driving pleasure so deeply it aches in your hips.

You moan pathetically and reach back to hold his hand, wiggling your fingers. He takes it in one and presses your arm against your lower back with the other, struggling to maintain a steady pace as he gets close to cumming. You're a babbling stream of sounds as he fucks in deep, swollen sweet spot tapped against mercilessly.

He throws himself back on his haunches, cock dragged out of your heat.

You pull your legs out from underneath him and curl onto your side to watch, eyes wide as white spurts of pearlescence jump out of the head of his reddened cock and drip down the bumps of his fingers. He leans back, his stomach and thighs tensed with every pump.

He groans through a smile, moan's coloured by a happy, relieved laughter. "F-uck," he drags, fisting his cock dry.

He meets your eyes as the last of it slides down onto his stomach.

You smile softly. "Fuck," you mumble.

Eddie wipes his hand in his jeans like a fucking hooligan and tucks his cock back into his boxers with a wince, and then he collapses on top of you. He's sort of nice about it, his arm over your shoulder and his face behind your ear.

"Fucking beautiful," he praises, dropping his head back on the bed so you're face to face. "You're so fucking pretty. So perfect." He kisses you. "You're perfect," he repeats, staring intently into your eyes.

You pull a hand from between your legs, smelling of sex. Eddie literally couldn't care less if he tried, and he lets you take his face into your hand without complaint.

He gets his arm under your arm and starts to rub your back. "You want me to take care of you again?" he asks, eyebrows raised gently. "Yeah?"

And you would let him, you would, but you need to see them for yourself.

You touch your index fingertip to his lip.

"Can I see?" you ask.

He loses his boisterous joy, tamps it down. He realises that he can't lie, that he hasn't been lying, and he nods. You tremble as you pull his lip up over his canine tooth, excited and scared.

A sharp, exceptionally white tooth pokes out of Eddie's gums. You're taken aback, though you'd known exactly what you'd find.

A fang.

Blood oozes at the gums.

"You're bleeding," you worry aloud, touching your finger to the dark beading at the base of his tooth.

Eddie's eyes rove over your face thoughtfully. He pulls your hand away from his lip and sets it on his neck instead. "They always do that. The gum heals, breaks when they wanna come out."

"How often do they come out?"

"A lot more since I met you. Whenever my adrenaline spikes, they seem to think it's… feeding time."

That is a dizzying thing to learn.

You're not sure how you feel, but you know one thing: he's Eddie. "It's too bad," you say, forcing a lightness that turns real more easily than you expect. "I really want to kiss you right now."

He strokes your cheek with his thumb. "I really wanna kiss you too. Maybe a small one?"

You find yourself leaning forward, unafraid.

He kisses you once, twice, three times, the two of you holding each other's faces and covered in mess. Slick and sweat and blood. The hearts and stars from your lamp spray over his hip and paint him with pinks, greens, oranges, a rainbow cutting over his trim waist. You rest your hand overtop, feel his keloid scars like hills under your fingers.

"My boyfriend's a vampire," you mutter, bemused at fate.

Eddie blinks at you. "I'm your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, I think so. Don't you?"

Eddie pulls you into his chest and doesn't let you go for a long, long time.

Your first time watching a blood sate is weird.

For one, Chief Hopper is firmly against it. He's got his kid with him, the boy from the party that Mike had been so heavily doting on, and if he didn't you might think he was a pretty scary guy.

"I think this is stupid," the chief says plainly. "I think this is stupid, I think you're stupid," — he points at Eddie where he's sitting sickly in the round couch — "and I think you're plain crazy, kid." He points at you last.

You beam at him. "People have said that about me."

His kid laughs.

"Will," Hopper says tiredly, "go sit in the car."

"Look, Chief, I know I messed up, okay, but she kind of stuck her hand in my mouth and I didn't really have a choice."

Wayne looks at you with new eyes. "You did?"

You nod at him faux-seriously.

"And what gave her the inkling that you might have had something in your mouth worth looking at?" Hopper says, which is hilarious. You laugh behind your hand.

He gives you a disapproving look that you completely ignore. If you'd taken notice of disapproval you would've stopped having this much fun years ago.

"Uh, well, she might have… felt them?" His pitch rises.

Hopper looks like he's about to blow a gasket when Will says, "What was he supposed to do? Never talk to anyone new ever again?"

"He did a lot more than just talk to me," you say. There'd been a fixed bike, phone calls, lots of sandwiches, bug hunts, an entire sketchbook full of drawings.

"I told you to wait in the car," Hopper says.

Will grins and raises his hands in surrender. "Bye," he mouths. You wave.

Hopper waits for the door to close before he continues. "I get it, when you're a teenager you think your hormones are the end of the world-"

"I'm almost twenty three."

Hopper pinches his hand closed. "But you do not understand the danger that you are creating here."

"Like a stake-ing," you whisper, very very quietly. Eddie's the only one who can hear you, and he laughs so hard he snorts.

"I'm glad you find this funny." Hopper's tone could not imply the opposite any more.

He hands Wayne a paper bag that audibly sloshes and stalks out, his anger a palpable cloud of steam rising off of his shoulders. Eddie seizes up beside you at the sound, lips parting as his fangs come through. You don't touch him because you value your blood inside your body, only slide away from him and smile. "You okay, handsome?"

"Kid, maybe the chief is right. We don't know how Eds is gonna act with you here," Wayne says.

You nod respectfully. You like Wayne, and he knows about all of this stuff more than you ever could.

"No," Eddie mumbles, putting his hand out for you across the couch.

You take it without thinking.

Wayne sighs. You can hear him grumbling as he disappears from view into the kitchen and puts a pot on the stove. There's the sound of a bag being punctured with a knife, a wet slosh. Eddie's grip on your hand tightens.

You're still fascinated that he even drinks blood in the first place. That's wickedly sickening. Wicked, because it's cool that he's a vampire, with his impressive hearing, senses and smell. But sickening, because if you had to drink a pint of blood every couple of weeks you'd throw up.

"I read about a new blood-sucker."

Eddie raises his heavy head. "Another bug?"

"No, a finch! A vampire finch. They're really pretty, Teddy. They're small and brown with long beaks and they drink blood because there's barely any water on their island." You give him a loving smile. "They aren't parasites. S'just how they had to change to survive."

He squeezes your hand, this time on purpose.

"Are you gonna come and have it in here, Eddie?" Wayne asks, one last shot at separating the two of you.

"I'm okay," he says loudly. His eyes trace your smile. "Really."

It can't be fun to have two people watch you drink a warm mug of blood, but Eddie finds it funny. He keeps laughing every time he brings the rim of the glass to his mouth.

"I can't do it if you're looking at me," he says.

Wayne rolls his eyes and looks away. You cover your face with both hands and part your fingers to spy on him through the gaps. He makes it look easy, draining the mug basically in one long pull, though his hunger turns violent as the cup empties. He chokes. Blood trickles down from one corner of his mouth.

You automatically want to reach over and wipe it away. Wayne grabs your arm before you can and gives you a fatherly look that says, I wouldn't do that if I were you.

"Shit," Eddie says, slamming his now empty mug down on the coffee table. It makes a grating sound like a ground mortar and pestle. He sits as far back on the couch cushions as he can, nausea clear on his face.

"Deep breath," Wayne says.

"Fuck, Wayne."

"You're aces. Deep breaths."

Your heart hurts watching Eddie like this. He covers his mouth with eyes closed tightly and breathes hard through his nose. Already there's colour coming back into his face, not a lot but anything is an improvement. He'd been practically grey.

When Eddie pulls his hand from his mouth blood has spread over his lips and jaw. Your eyes widen.

"I'll get the shower running," Wayne says, slapping his knees as he stands. He stops before the hallway. "Good job, Eddie."

The boy in question slouches into a ball on the sofa and nods into a cushion. You wait for the sound of Wayne pulling the shower cord that turns on the hot water before you stand up, head tipped to one side.

"You okay, handsome?".

"Tired."

"You want a hug from me?"

"Is anyone else offering?" He opens one eye to peek at you and grins at your distraught expression. "I'm joking, I'm kidding. C'mere, before I start bawling." You sit and then flop onto your side, pulling your legs up next to his. "Such a frowny face." His voice is adorably tired.

"Better than yours. You look like someone from Night of the Living Dead, baby."

Eddie's arm lies limp like a dead fish over your waist. "Lemme nibble on your brains," he says, words thick as dark honey, eyes closed. "Just a snack."

You're waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under your feet. No way your boyfriend, your cries at the end of every movie, brings you flowers because he felt like it, won't step on cracks in the sidewalk boyfriend just skulled a glass of O-negative like it was a milkshake.

You feel guilty as soon as you think about it. He's not confined to all his softest parts and he never will be. He's snarky and angry and loud. He plays guitar like a real rockstar and he doesn't take anyone's shit. He's a survivor. A glass of blood every now and then was never gonna stop him.

You keep wondering if you should let him suck your blood. It could be hot. It could also probably be the worst idea ever, a relationship faux pas up there with proposing after a month or saying I love you on the first date.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

You brush the hair out of his eyes with your ring finger. "Embarrassing relationship fumbles."

"Oh yeah? Like letting your girlfriend watch you drink human blood from a mug shaped like Woodstock?"

"Least it wasn't Snoopy."

"God forbid."

"Is it always like this?" You stroke your hand down his face and rub along his jaw with your thumb. "D'you always get sleepy?"

"Yeah." He turns his face so your hand covers his mouth.

You've stopped wearing silver jewellery, your wrists bare besides the endearingly awful friendship bracelet he's constructed for you. Not a friendship bracelet, he'd corrected. You're not kissing other friends, are you? Because that's really gonna put a downer on this whole thing.

You dip your forehead to his chin and the two of you lay there in silence. You can smell blood, a thick, metallic stick permeating every corner of the room. It's especially strong between the both of you.

"Do you wanna bite me right now?" you inquire without opening your eyes.

"Not really. Blood sate kicks in quickly. It's the worst for, like, the first ten seconds after. Now I wanna sleep, but Wayne's gonna make me shower."

"Maybe I can shower with you."

"I'm sure he'd jump for joy if you suggest it."

"Really?"

Eddie kisses your hand. "No," he says with a giddy laugh.

"I'll pretend I'm gonna sit on the toilet. Keep watch."

"How will you stop your hair from getting wet?"

"I'll lean out."

Eddie laughs even more than he had been, peeling laughter that warms you from the inside out as he kisses your hand again. "That'll definitely work."

Wayne clears his throat.

"Shower's hot. I'm going out. For an hour." Eddie perks up. His uncle looks him dead in the eye. "Don't make me regret this."

And while Wayne had been under the impression you and Eddie were gonna have some grown up fun together in the shower, what you really do is an innocent act of affection: you wash Eddie's hair.

"You have to lean your head back," you chide.

"I am."

"More than that."

"There's no room."

You're lucky you both fit. You're freezing standing behind Eddie, the only relief the warm water that trickles down from your hands to your elbows as you draw circles in his scalp, working the shampoo into a fine lather.

"How did you get blood here?" you ask, scratching rusty flakes from the hair behind his ear.

"I don't know. It gets everywhere. Like eyeshadow."

You push your chin over his shoulder. "You wear eyeshadow?"

"For shows."

"Really?"

"Is it hard to believe?"

You encourage his head under the water and rake your hands through his curls, encouraging the soapy water down to the ends with patient hands. "Lip gloss too? Hey, can I do your makeup?"

"Maybe tomorrow," he bargains. While the shower has helped to wake him up, lethargy remains thick and unshakeable as adamant.

You kiss the wet ridge of his shoulder blade, picturing his pretty face decked out in dark liners and sticky balm. "Thank you."

"I haven't worn any in a long time. Haven't played a show in a really long time."

You wring the water out of his hair and search in the steam for his conditioner. It's mostly empty. "You could put on a show for me. I never got to see you play," you say, shaking it really hard. A dollop collects in your hand and you work the dregs through the ends of his long hair.

"You want that?"

"I think you're the best guitar player in the world."

You're not joking. He's the best, and he plays guitar. And he's pretty good, semantics aside. You love sitting out on the porch with him and listening to him play old rock songs off the top of his head. You could watch his hands move over the strings for hours.

"If that's the case, I can definitely put on a show. Make-up, costume, stage dives. The whole nine yards. Anything for my girl."

You roll the ends of his hair between two coated palms and step back. "There. You have to let it soak in for a couple of minutes."

Eddie turns with a grin, angling his chest and hair forward, away from the stream.

"Whatever will we do?"

You wipe an escaped streak of blood off of his bottom lip and smile. "I have no idea."

You kiss. Eddie leans down and you move up, damp noses glancing off of each other. You're used to short kisses, never enough to make his heart race in case it prompts an unnecessary appearance of his fangs, so when Eddie encourages your lips apart to wade in deeper you pull back questioningly.

"Blood sate. I'm 'sated'. They won't come out."

Your jaw drops. "For real?"

He shakes his head with a pleased smile. "For real. Kiss me sick, sweetheart."

You throw your arm around his neck and drag his face to yours, kissing with an ardency that both surprises and amuses him. He laughs into your open mouth until suddenly he's not laughing at all, only breathing, pushing against you with the same urgent force and the same adoring smile.

"Does this mean you can give me a hickey?" you ask enthusiastically. Eddie has yet to give you a proper love bite.

He leans back under the show spray and pulls you in with him, laughing when you dissolve like rice paper in his arms, finally warm. There's never been a sweeter sound.

/\^._.^/\

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