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ghouldump · 4 months ago

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hiii, i just wanted to say i LOVE your iwtv fic, the characterization is just perfect *🤌*

If your requests are open I would like to request a loustat x fem!reader + claudia

reader is a vampire slightly older vampire than louis, turned in the 1860s by a 700 year old vampire, she was his first and only fledgling, they did not know eachother before he turned her (his wasing bleeding to death after being robbed in an alley), they had a close friendly/platonic relationship like siblings, and she met loustat in 1925, and joined their relationship, she like the odd one out as she's the calm/sensible one and a mediator between them. She acts like Claudia's fun aunt.

Sorry if it's long 😅, the rest is totally up you, just something where they get jealous/possessive over her please!!

Forever Young | Lestat x Reader x Louis

ෆ you meet someone who reminds you of your maker, and naturally gravitate to them, but your family isn’t as welcoming to the idea of the man.

it’s definitely not too long, it’s perfect, i love it 🩷

“Aleron, brother, please, open this door,” you beat on the door, no matter how much force you put in your hands, the door wouldn’t budge.

You could see the sun rising, from under the door, his painful screams, following. The blood poured from your eyes, as you pleaded with him. You could still save him, you could nurse him back to life.

Finally, you could open the door, crying out as the sun graced your face. As you began to burn, you noticed the pile of ashes. You were too late, he was gone. Grabbing his coat, you backed into the house, shutting the door, before dropping to your knees, weeping loudly.

“Aleron-

“Y/n, are you alright?” your eyes opened, staring into Claudia’s worried eyes. Sitting up, the familiar faces surrounded your coffin, Louis wiped your face with a soft handkerchief.

“It was only a dream,” you smiled at them.

“Are you sure, you had us worried,” Claudia said, pulling you into a hug.

“I’m fine, really, we should get dressed,” you told her, watching as she nodded, getting up, and going to her room.

Lestat hadn't said a word, watching you, trying to see what it was that you weren't sharing. Turning to face him, you shook your head, climbing out of the coffin.

“I’m okay”

“What was your dream?” he asked you.

“It was a silly-

“That left you crying,” he said, sternly.

“Don't push her to tell you”

“It's okay, Louis, I know he just wants to help,” you smiled.

“If I have another, you'll be the first one to know, come on, get dressed,” you reassured him.

“Do we all have to go?” Claudia whined as you all got into the car.

“It will only be for a little while,” Louis said, as Lestat started to drive.

Louis couldn't seem to fully let go of his family, randomly showing up with gifts. They already had their assumptions about him, yet he wouldn't stop trying. Lestat found it pointless, but you understood that he loved them still. Even when they blamed him for the passing of his brother, he still loved them all greatly.

“You can sit in the car with me if you want,” you told her, smiling as she nodded in agreement.

While Lestat tried to be cordial with the family, you never made an effort. They'd stare at you, as you sat in the car, but you never looked their way. Yes, you thought Louis’ love for them was admirable, it didn't change what they thought of you all. They found your relationship weird and concerning, they questioned why none of you were ever seen during the day if you were seeing both Lestat and Louis. Their questioning was nevertheless exacerbating, so you kept a distance from them.

Your mind began to drift off, thinking back to your dream, to him. Aleron, your maker, your teacher, your companion, your brother, your father, your friend. It had been nearly 40 years since his departure, and yet when you thought of him, the wounds felt fresh.

He was your everything, the reason you were the way you were today. He exuded remarkable beauty, turned at only 14 years of age, by a follower of Akasha. With the queen of vampires' blood running through his veins, he quickly discovered the power and strength he possessed, compared to others. For centuries, he lived, killing hundreds upon hundreds of humans in his lifetime, and then he met you.

He had been hunting, when he came across the men, who, after robbing you, conceived the plan, their minds filled with corruption, sought to kill you as well. Taking turns they beat you, before stabbing you, taking all of your possessions, and that was very few things.

He could see into your thoughts, an orphan, who had recently come of age, trying to make it in a world that wasn't built for women to strive without the help of a man. You were alone, like him, and having compassion, he killed them, brutally for your name's sake. Turning you in that very dark alley.

Taking you in, he taught you companionship, the history of vampires, and advice on how to live, after being on earth for over 700 years. He loved you and you loved him, and there wasn't a love as strong, that either of you had ever witnessed.

Then it happened, somewhere within his teachings he regained his humanity. He didn't want to kill anymore, didn't want to be a child of the night, to be trapped in this forever youthful body. And so, 30 years into your life of vampirism, he used his power to keep the doors shut. He longed to die, accepting his fate while he stepped into the sun, becoming nothing more than dust.

“We’ll be right back,” Louis said, as the car stopped.

“Ok,” you nodded.

After over three lonely decades of wandering, your heart ached at the thought of Aleron’s centuries on earth. He was but a child, when he was turned, making it impossible to build any nonplatonic relationships. Perhaps that is what made you love Claudia, Lestat, and Louis so much. In a way, you could see fragments of you and your maker in them.

“Why do you think Daddy Lou keeps coming here, even though he’s not welcome”

“Because they were once his family, it's hard to just stop loving someone who was once important to you, but it looks like they are coming back,” you pointed, seeing Louis and Lestat walking out of the house, visibly aggravated.

“You and that white devil stay away from this house,” his sister’s husband yelled.

“I own this house,” Louis reminded him. As they approached the car, he looked back at them once more.

“And he ain't white, he's French,” he corrected them.

Looking over at Claudia, you both covered your mouths, holding back the laughter.

“It's alright, they can't say you didn't try to be there for them,” you told him, leaning up, kissing his cheek.

Sighing, he nodded in agreement, before he and Lestat began to talk about business ventures. You were relieved when the car finally parked, stretching, you smiled, seeing Claudia clap in excitement. She enjoyed hunting, surprisingly with Lestat, he wasn't as restrictive as Louis.

“We’ll meet back here, in twenty minutes?” Lestat announced, everyone nodded, before going their separate ways.

You didn't have much of an appetite tonight, after your dream. How real it felt, how vivid the memory was, it ruined any hunger that could've been there. Walking down the French Quarter, you stopped seeing the large nutria rat. You hadn't been introduced to drinking from rodents, until Louis and Lestat. No, it wasn't nearly as good as a person, but it managed to get the job done.

Quickly killing and draining the rat, you wiped your mouth, as you tossed it into the garbage. Walking along the sidewalk, you looked at the different stores, a few new ones, some closing down, others busy as always. As you passed by a shop, your eyes widened, before you backed up to stare at the cashier.

You couldn't believe your eyes, going into the fragrance store, he spoke, before looking at you. It couldn't be him, but here he was, looking the very same, only older.

“Welcome to Aromaessence, let me know if you need any…thing,” he paused a little, as he stared at you. Nodding, you walked around the store, looking around, picking up random sprays, occasionally glancing at him.

Grabbing a floral bottle, you walked to the counter, slowly sitting it in front of him.

“Is that all for you, Miss?” he asked.

“Yes,” you smiled, softly.

“Ah, Lavender, this one smells so good,” he said, you could feel your eyes tingling.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching Aleron pick the flowers from his neighbor's garden. She would lose her mind if she caught you both here, but he couldn't help himself.

“Getting some lavender, put some in your bathwater, or just rub it on your skin, it smells wonderful,” he beamed, while you quietly laughed.

“It does,” you agreed, your eyes traveling to his name tag. Aaron.

“Are you the new shop owner? I haven’t seen the other man in a while,” you asked.

“No, it's my cousin's store, his wife just had their first child and he asked me to come down and help out a bit, I'm from Chicago,” he explained.

“Well that was very kind of you,” you told him.

“Uh, 30 cents is the total,” he said, chewing his bottom lip.

Handing him the coins, your eyes widened as his fingers brushed against your hand, as he accepted the money. You felt a spark.

“Would you like this in a bag, miss?”

“Yes please,” you nodded, watching as he placed it into a small bag for you.

Walking behind you, you noticed as he closed both of the windows.

“Closing?” you asked him.

“Ah, yes ma'am, you were the last customer of the night,” he nodded.

“I see, well, goodnight,” you told him, turning to leave.

“Wait, I-um, have we met before? You look so familiar,” he said.

“I don't think so, goodnight Aaron,” you said.

“May I have your name?”

“Y/n”

“Goodnight, Y/n, I hope to see you again,” he told you, before shutting the door.

You couldn't contain the smile on your lips, as you walked away. However, your eyebrows quickly furrowed, seeing the troubled expressions on Lestat and Louis’ face.

“What's wrong-

“You know the boy at the fragrance store?” Louis started.

“And what could he have possibly said for you to keep smiling and laughing, I'm sure he wasn't that funny,” Lestat said with an attitude.

“You were gone for more than twenty minutes, so we went to look for you,” Claudia told you. You couldn't believe they were acting jealous, riding in silence until he parked in front of the house.

“I don't know him, I was only being nice, he's practically a tourist,” you finally spoke up.

“Seemed like you thought he was cute,” Louis said.

“He is cute, like when you look at kittens and puppies, you wouldn't get jealous if I was giving my attention to an animal,” you told them.

“Actually-

“I’m yours and yours and yours, I don't have any room in my heart for any others,” you said, pulling Claudia into a hug, swirling her around, before placing her on the ground.

As she ran into the house, Louis and Lestat still stood outside, both of them pouted like a wounded animal.

“I just bought some perfume, no need to be jealous,” you spoke to Louis, as you pecked his lips.

“Either of you,” you said, as Lestat circled you, before accepting your kiss.

“You two have to try to keep quiet tonight,” you moaned, as Louis kissed along your neck.

“No promises, ma chérie,” Lestat groaned. Holding each of their hands, pulling into the house.

“Claudia, where’s Y/n,” Louis asked, as he came down the stairs.

“No idea, she left a note,” she said, pointing at the small note on the counter.

“I'll be back before sunrise, love you - Y/n”

“And she expects us to believe nothing happened,” Lestat said, as he came down the stairs.

“Why would she lie about that?”

“I can feel when I am being lied to, she's keeping something to herself,” Lestat said, as he went to sit on the sofa.

“Maybe she knows him, but didn't want to say anything,” Louis said.

“She said she doesn't know him, and he wasn't a vampire, I would've known”

“He probably doesn't know that she's a vampire, he could be a distant relative or an old friend-

“Or an old boyfriend, she said he was cute,” Claudia laughed but quickly stopped when the two stared at her with glances of horror.

“I’m going find her,” Lestat stood up.

“I was only messing around-

“You do realize this affects you too, your aunt, mommy, sister Y/n, riding off into the sun with some mortal, or how about this, she turns him, he becomes her companion, and we wake to all of her belongings gone, so tell me, does any of this seem like a laughing matter?” he asked her, clarity washed over her face as she shook her head, realizing how serious the situation actually was.

Standing outside of the shop, you nervously played with your fingers. Unsure what you were even doing, or why you were doing this. He wasn't Aleron, yet he looked like him, could it be reincarnation, perhaps Aaron happened to be a part of the same bloodline somehow. You didn't know, but being around him, seeing him, in your heart you felt like he was still alive.

“Miss Y/n, did you want to buy another perfume, I could open back up?” Aaron said, as he stepped outside.

“Oh no, I'm sorry, I was passing by and I changed my mind,” you said.

“Then perhaps, you'd like to go for a drive? I can't seem to get you out of my head, we could chat a bit, and become familiar with each other,” he offered, hesitantly.

“Sure,” you agreed, following him to his car, getting in as he opened the door for you. Controlling his mind, with the spell gift, you sat quietly, while he spoke, during the ride, driving to the outskirts of Chalmette.

“Y/n, where are you?” you could hear Claudia, but didn't say anything.

“You need to come home, or at least tell us where you're at,” Louis followed.

“If you're with him, I'll tear off his fucking he-

You blocked them out completely, even in his thoughts, Lestat managed to scream. They wouldn't understand, they had their maker, and Lestat seemed fine without Magnus. You never talked about Aleron, not sure where to even start, without a proper goodbye, part of you was left uncertain about so many things.

As he parked amid trees and darkness, you pulled the locket from your pocket.

“Sorry, I figured we could use some privacy,” he said, leaning towards you when you pushed his face.

“I don't want to kiss you, Aaron, I have something for you,” you laughed.

“I-oh my god, this is so embarrassing”

“Don't go yet, we don't know what they're doing, and we don't want to lose her trust,” Louis said, trying to be rational, despite struggling. It was usually you, who was being rational, the mediator, giving them the benefit of the doubt, and he was trying to do the same for you.

“Trust went out of the window when she got into the car with another man,” Lestat was seething, his eyes already red. He was sure that he would be in tears in a few minutes.

“Maybe she's feeding on him,” Claudia said hopeful, a worried expression on her face. Lestat’s words left her sad and anxious. You were a part of the family, a part of all of their lives individually, she wasn't sure how things would be if you decided to leave.

“I hope so”

“Does this look familiar to you?” you asked, holding up the locket.

“I don't know, I feel like I've seen it somewhere,” he furrowed his eyebrows. As he looked into your eyes, you began to glamour him.

“It's yours, you dropped it, but you promised you would pass it down to any future children you had,” you said, handing it over to him.

“I did?”

“Yes, try not to lose it,” you told him.

“I will, thank you for returning it,” he smiled.

“It was my pleasure,” you said, reaching to touch his face, a bloody tear slipping from your eye.

“I wish you didn't leave me, I was so lonely,” you cried, as you held his face, keeping eye contact.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you,” he spoke.

“It’s okay, you have to go, after closing the shop, you went to get some food, and now you're going home, you didn't talk to or see anyone”

“I didn't talk to anyone”

“And tell your cousin you can't stay anymore you had to get back to Chicago”

“You're right,” he nodded.

“I love you”

“I love you, Y/n,” he repeated.

Moving in an instant, he snapped out of the hypothesis, furrowing his eyebrows, as he looked around the car. Shoving the locket into his pocket, he started the car and drove off. High in the sky, you looked down at him, the tears pouring down, a smile on your face.

Flying towards the city, you shook your head, lowering to the ground, stopping in front of the car.

“Y/n,” Claudia gasped, getting out of the car, wrapping her arms around you.

“Why did you all follow me?” you questioned, surprised to see they were so close.

“Why did you lie to us? You said you didn't know him, he wasn't this, he wasn't that, he's like a puppy, we don't have to worry,” Lestat began to swear up a storm in French. Smashing your lips into his, you grinned at him.

“You're too cute when you're jealous, I told you, I only have room for three vamps in my life, and I don't intend to make room for more”

“You had us worried, we tried contacting you-” you interrupted Louis kissing his lips.

“I could hear you, trying to be reasonable, I'm so proud of you,” you told him.

“So what was it? Why did you bring him out here, just to not kill him?” Claudia asked.

“He looks like my maker, we were companions, he was a brother, and when he died, I felt lost. I know it seems dumb, but I glamoured him, so I could say a proper goodbye, I didn't mean to make you all worry and be jealous,” you said, kicking the dirt.

“That's all? how could I stay mad at that?” Louis asked, picking you up, and spinning you around. As he placed you down, Lestat slowly approached, pulling you closer.

“No more secrets,” he said, you could see past his calm demeanor, how stressed he was at the idea of you leaving.

“No more secrets,” you nodded, before grabbing Claudia’s hand, and climbing into the backseat.

During the drive back, you looked up at the sky, as Claudia’s lustrous nails lightly dragged against your hand.

“Why are you giving this to me,” you asked, as Aleron stood behind you, placing the necklace on your neck.

“This was a family heirloom, my father gave it to me, to pass down our bloodline, you are the closest thing I have to a child,” he explained.

“But aren't heirlooms passed down, once the person dies”

“One day, I will die,” he told you, but you shook your head.

“Stop talking like that, you said you have to want to die for you to be able to, do you want to die?” you asked him, worried.

“No, my child, but if I did, you could find love, a companion, or even a coven”

“But then who would be there, with you”

“I've been alone a long time, Y/n, I think I could manage,” he laughed.

“As long as you're alive, I won't leave your side,” you smiled.

“Sounds like I am holding you back”

“I didn't say that”

“If I did, maybe I'd be reincarnated-

“Do you really believe in that, or have you been reading a lot lately”

“A little bit of both, could you imagine that I came back, and we met again”

“I guess it sounds cool in theory, but I wouldn't know how to feel if I saw you all old and wrinkled,” you laughed.

“Then I'll make sure every time we meet I am still young, maybe older than this body, but forever young, in your eyes,” he said.

“You wouldn't want to be a vampire again?”

“I don't think so, eternal life but no family, no children, no physical aging, no sun. When I was a child, I'd play in the sun for hours,” he thought back fondly.

“You have me, I am your family,” you told him.

“That, you are, and I am grateful to say that in my final moments, I have been loved, and I will always find my way back to you, my precious fledgling, until we meet again,” he said, his hand brushing against your cheek before he stood up.

“What?” you frowned, standing up.

“Sit, you must prepare for rest,” he commanded, using his powers to make you sit down.

You tried fighting, tried standing, but couldn't move, only able to watch him walk towards the door. Blood was already trickling down your face, realizing his plan. It wasn't until he was outside, that you were able to stand, rushing to the door, that wouldn't open.

"Aleron, brother, please, open this door," you beat on the door, no matter how much force you put in your hands, the door wouldn't budge.

Finally, you could open the door, crying out as the sun graced your face. As you began to burn, you noticed the pile of ashes. You were too late, he was gone.

Grabbing his coat, you backed into the house, shutting the door, before dropping to your knees, weeping loudly.

"Aleron, oh god,” you screamed, clutching the coat.

Driving past a small gas station, you could Aaron, leaning against his car, as the worker pumped the gas.

“Goodbye, Aleron,” you spoke to his mind, smiling as he looked around, his hand going to the locket that he had put around his neck already.

“Until we meet again, my beloved, maker”

“So I know we're all made up, but could you three wait until I'm out hunting for the makeup sex, I don't think I can take another night of Uncle Les being all loud and whatnot,” Claudia said, making you and Louis both laugh, while Lestat groaned loudly at her already back getting on his nerves.

Maybe he was right, losing him, who, at the time was your everything, made a way for you to have what he never got to experience, your own little family.

#lestat de lioncourt x reader #lestat x reader #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac x reader #louis x reader #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv

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mymindcreatedthis · 28 days ago

Text

The Question Game part 1 of 2

Y/n x Keira Walsh x Alexia Putellas x Georgia Stanway x Alessia Russo x Katie McCabe x Leah Williamson x Ella Toone x Sam Kerr x Jessie Fleming x Rachel Daly x Millie Bright x Lucy Bronze x Claudia Pina

Warning: Smut! Smut! smut!

Word count: 3.4K

*Y/n's Pov*

It was the second day of camp. We had today, yesterday and tomorrow off to get settled in and get situated. Leah was hanging out in my room with me. We were watching a random movie.

It was 5:30 pm and we had just finished Dinner and were hanging out watching movies and having a few drinks. After the first 2 movies and our final drink Leah straddles me and sits on my lap.

"Mm we should play a game love." Leah says.

I bite my lip as I place my hands on her hips. "What game did you wanna play?" I ask.

Leah smirks and cutely giggles. "It's called the question game." Leah says.

I smile. "Okay Williamson hit me with it."

Leah pulls the questions up on her phone. Leah bites her lip and slowly grinds against my lap. I bite my lip and place my hands on her ass.

"Question 1. Who would you pick to give you a handjob?" Leah asks.

"Mm Keria Walsh." I reply.

Leah giggles and types Keira's name. "Question 2. Who would you pick to give you a blow job?"

Fuck that's a good question. "Jessie Fleming." I say.

Leah writes Jessie's name for the question. "Question 3. Who would you pick to fuck in Doggy?" Leah asks.

"Georgia Stanway." I say.

I would give anything to watch her fat ass ripple as I fuck her in doggy. Leah giggles and types Georgia's name for the question.

"Question 4. Who would you pick to fuck in missionary?" Leah asks.

"Alessia Russo." I say.

Leah types my answer and continues to ask me the questions and record my answers for the questions.

"Question 5, who would you pick in Cowgirl?" Leah asks.

I smirk and squeeze her ass. "You." I say. Leah blushes darkly and moans as I squeeze her ass.

"Q-Question 6. Who would you fuck in reverse Cowgirl?" Leah asks.

I bite my lip as I think for a minute. "Mm Alexia Putellas." I say.

"Question 7. Who would you pick to give you a tit job?" Leah asks.

"Beth mead." I say.

Leah giggles and reads the next one. "Question 8. Who would you pick for Anal?" Leah asks.

Oh my god. Lucy bronze i have to pick Lucy I mean have you seen that ass of hers?! "Mm I'd pick Lucy Bronze." I say.

Leah giggles. "Her ass was definitely made for fucking anal." Leah giggles. "Question 9, who would you eat out?"

"Grace Clinton." I say.

"Question 10. Who would you Jerk off to and cum on?" Leah asks.

"Mm Rachel Daly." I say.

Leah smiles and types Rachel's name. "Question 11. Who's folds would you use to get off?"

I think for a second. "Millie Bright 100%." I smile.

"Oh I'm interested for your answer for this question. Question 12, who would you surprise with a surprise creampie?" Leah asks.

"Mm Viv Miedema." I say.

"Question 13, who are you giving a facial too?" Leah asks.

"That's a good question. I'd have to pick Ona Batlle." I reply.

"This one would be sexy to watch. Question 14, who would you pick to twerk on your dick and make you cum?" Leah asks.

"I'd definitely say Lena Oberdorf." I say.

"15 who would you let ride your face until they cum?" Leah asks.

"....Claudia Pina." I say.

I bite my lip as my eyes trial up Leah's toned abs. Leah was only wearing a sports bra and shorts.

"16. What team would you pick to have a orgy with?" Leah asks.

"England." I say.

Leah smiles and nods. "Don't blame you, England has some really fine players." Leah says.

"17. Who would you pick to throat fuck?" Leah asks.

I lay there quietly and think for a moment. "Mmm Ella Toone."

"18. Who would you pick to fuck standing up?" Leah asks as she goes down the list of questions.

"Uh I'd have to pick Sam Kerr." I say.

"19. Who are you fucking agsisnt the window?" Leah asks.

I smile and tap my fingers against her butt as I think for a moment. "Most definitely Katie McCabe."

Leah giggles and types Katie's name. "Good choice love."

"2 more left. 20, who would you pick to have a threesome with?" Leah asks.

"Fuck that's a really good question.... I'd have to say, Alessia Russo and Georgia Stanway." I reply.

"They're a good choice for a threesome. They'd definitely be a great duo in bed." Leah agrees with my choice.

I smile and giggle at her comment.

"Okay last question. Who would you pick to wake you up every morning with a blow job?" Leah asks.

"Oo good question.... I'd say Caitlin Foord." I say.

Leah smirks and types Caitlin's name for the last question.

*Leah's Pov*

I bite my lip and blush as I feel Y/n's bulge rub against my clothed pussy making me wet. She felt big, she was definitely turned on from the questions. I get even more wet as I feel her length growing more against my clothed pussy as I ask her the questions.

It was getting late little did Y/n know that I had a plan in mind. We finish the questions, I go to my messages and send the questions I asked Y/n to the girls.

I giggled as my phone was blowing up. The girls went crazy and extremely turned on from what I had told them and what Y/n had said about them.

They agree to play the game and agree to meet at Y/n's the next day. Y/n and I watched another movie, it was now 9:30 pm. I decided to call it a night.

"Hey it's getting late. I'm gonna call it a night." I say.

Y/n nods and smiles. "Okay good night love, I'll talk to you tomorrow." Y/n says.

I smile and nod, I kiss her cheek and leave the room and head back to my room. I smile to myself. Y/n had no idea what was in store for her. I get ready for bed and fall asleep.

*Y/n's Pov*

The next morning my alarm blares through the room. I turn it off and look at the time, 10am. I get up, and start getting ready for the day. I shower, get dressed and brush my teeth.

11:30 rolls around and there's a knock on the door. I get up and answer the door confused. I blush darkly as I see Leah, Keria, Alexia, Georgia, Alessia, Ella, Katie, Sam, Jessie, Rachel, Millie, Lucy, Claudia Ona, Gracie, Lena, Viv, Beth and Caitlin all standing there.

Leah giggles. "May we come in?" Leah asks.

"Yeah of course." I say, I move to the side and let them in. I close the door behind them and lock it.

"I told them that you and I were interested in doing a game day and just hanging out." Leah says.

I smile and nod. "Yeah we can play a game and hang out."

Leah and the girls giggle. "We were thinking of playing a certain game." Alessia says.

"Okay. What game did you guys wanna play?" I ask.

"The question game." Katie says.

I shrug. "Sure we can play the question game."

Leah pulls up the game and I suddenly get really nervous as it hits me. This is the game that Leah and I were talking about.

I blush darkly as Beth takes off her shirt and Bra and tosses them off to the side. I bite my lip and moan as Keira rubs my bulge over my shorts.

"Come on baby, it'll be fun. Don't be a pussy, you were pretty confident last night with your answers." Keria whispers as she rubs and grabs my dick over my shorts.

"Mm F-Fuck, O-Okay. Yes please, L-Let's play the game." I cutely stutter in response.

The girls giggle at my comment. I smirk as Keira gets on her knees. I look around the room and blush even more as the girls get undressed and get naked.

Keria grabs the waistband of my shorts and pulls my shorts and boxers down my legs as tosses them off to the side.

Kiera bites her lip and checks out my cock once it's freed from its condiment. "Fuck baby your huge."

I smile. "Thanks baby."

I take off my shirt and sports bra and toss them off to the side Keira stands back up, I bite my lip and giggle as she pushes me back onto the bed. Keria smirks and locks eyes with me as she slowly strips her shorts and panties off and tosses them off to the side. Keria smirks, she strips her shirt and slides her sports bra off and tosses them off to the side.

"Like what you see daddy?" Keria asks teasing me.

I smile and nod and bite my lip. "You're beautiful babe." I say.

Keria smiles at my comment. "Thank you baby." Keria says.

Keria joins me on the bed. Keira smirks and spices it up, she sits on my chest with her back to me. Keria leans down and spits on my cock. She wraps her hand around my cock and slowly strokes my dick.

I moan and squeeze her ass, Keira giggles and moans as I squeeze her ass and strokes my dick faster.

"Mm fuck." I moan in pleasure.

The girls giggle and watch as Keira gives me a handjob. I moan loudly in pleasure and grip the sheets as Keria continues to stroke my dick.

*Keria's pov*

I squeeze my thighs together and bite my lip as I get wet. I giggle as some of her precum leaks out. I can feel her throbbing. She really needed a release Lip. I bite my lip as Y/n grabs my ass.

Y/n cutely moans and grips the sheets. "Mm fuck Keria baby I'm close." Y/n cutely moans.

I smirk and play with her balls as I stroke her dick faster. "F-Fuck I'm gonna cum buckets if you keep doing that." Y/n moans in pleasure.

"Cum baby girl. Be a good girl and cum for us." I say.

The girls smile and bite their lips as they watch me stroke her dick and play with her balls. Y/n moans loudly in pleasure. I smirk and giggle as cum spurts and oozes all over my fingers and hand l.

Some cum lands on Y/n's lap and and and some lands on my thigh and on the sheets.

"Woah look at that. Fuck that was a sexy cumshot baby." I giggle and lick her cum off my fingers and wipe the rest of her cum off the sheets.

I giggle and get off her. Y/n lays there and moans as cum slowly oozes out of her dick as she comes down from her high.

*Y/n's pov*

I blush sanely as I come down from my high. I was still trying to comprehend that I had just got a handjob from Keria Walsh.

Leah giggles. "Next up is Jessie." Leah says, reading off the answers.

Jessie smirks and joins me on the bed. I blush and bite my lip as she lays between my legs. I bite my lip and watch as Jessie licks my dick and swirls her tongue around my tip.

I moan as Jessie spits in my cock and takes my dick in her mouth. I moan and run my fingers through her hair as she slowly bobs her head and locks eyes with me.

Jessie chokes and gags a bit as my tip hits the back of her throat. I moan as she bobs her head faster.

"Mm fuck Jessie your mouth feels so good." I moan in pleasure as I lean my head back against the headboard behind me.

She swirls her tongue around my tip as she continues to suck my dick and plays with my balls with her other hand.

I moan and grip the sheets as she bobs her head faster and faster than before. Jessie lets my dick pop out of her mouth as she kisses my inner thigh and smiles.

"Mm you taste amazing." Jessie moans.

I giggle and moan as she takes my dick back in her mouth immediately deep throating me causing me to be a moaning mess.

Jessie locks eyes with me and hums against my dick seeing the reaction she was getting from me.

"I'm gonna cum buckets if you keep doing that." I moan and close my eyes.

I gripped the sheets with one hand and held the back of Jessie's head with my other hand. She was making me closer and closer to cumming.

My balls tighten as my dick hits the back of her throat. "Fuck Jessie I....."

*ThroatPie*

I moan firing Jessie's hair pushing her head further down in my cock as I explode in her mouth. Sweat dripping modem from my forehead, my legs shake and buckle.

Jessie lifts her head up and swallows my load. I bite my lip as Jessie sucks me dry, getting every drop of my cum and swallowing it. My dick falls from Jessie's mouth and falls limp. Jessie giggles, she kisses my inner thighs and kisses my dick.

"Mm you taste amazing daddy." Jessie says. I blush darkly at her comment.

"Thank you." I moan.

Jessie giggles and kisses me. I moan in the kiss as I taste myself on her lips and kiss back. Jessie gets off the bed.

"Next up is Georgia." Leah says.

I smirk and blush as I get to fuck Georgia in doggy: "And there's only one rule. When you fuck us there's no pulling out." Leah says.

The girls giggle as I blush darkly. "O-Okay." I say.

I was gonna enjoy this even more. If I'm being honest, I don't think I would've been able to pull out in time. Georgia smirks and joins me on the bed and gets on all fours.

Georgia giggles and shakes her ass. "Come on daddy. I wanna feel that cock in my pussy." Georgia says seductively as she shakes her ass.

I bite my lip and check out her ass, smirk and get behind her on the bed. I slap her ass, Georgia moans and jumps as I slap her ass.

"Mm fuck." Georgia moans.

She moans as I spank her ass again. I smirk and rub my tip through her folds. "Mm your ass looks amazing in this position." I moan as I slide my cock inside her pussy.

We both moan, I place my hand on her hip and grab her hair with my other hand, I wrap her hair around my hand. I slowly thrust in and out of her as I pulled her hair.

We both moan in pleasure as I thrust in and out of her faster and faster. "Fuck...Fuck...Fuck." Georgia squeaks out with each thrust.

"Like that slut? Me deep inside you stretching you out?" I ask, teasing her.

Georgia moans and Nods. "Fuck yes I love you deep inside me stretching me out." Georgia moans and throws her ass back against me as I continue to fuck her in doggy.

We both moan as I fuck her faster and faster as I pull her close to me. We both moan as this allows me to go deeper inside her. Shit this feels so good, I'm balls deep inside her.

"Shit I don't think I'll last long G. Ugh, your grip is amazing." I moan loudly in pleasure.

Georgia giggles and moans throwing her ass back against me sliding back and forth on my dick faster helping me out.

"Mm guess I should help you out and make you fill me up with your thick load." Georgia moans.

I moan loudly as I feel myself getting closer to cumming. Fuck her pussy was tight and warm and felt like heaven.

"Mm I'm close." I moan.

"Ugh shit, me too." Georgia moans.

I moan loudly, my balls slapping against her skin as our moans fill the room. I moan as her walls clench around me letting me know I was close to cumming.

Georgia throws her ass back against me as she slides back and forth on my dick faster and faster. Fuck she's really gonna make me cum.

Georgia screams in pleasure and squirts. Georgia squirts all over my dick and on the bed.

"Georgia baby I'm close." I moan loudly as I feel my balls tighten. Georgia moans and cums all over my dick.

Creampie #1:

Georgia moans and cums all over my dick. I can't take it anymore cum began to ooze out of my dick. Filling up Georgia's entrance and filling her up to the brim. A final spank to her ass I slowly pull out.

Cum began to leak out of her pussy and onto the bed sheets. Georgia mains as my cum continues to ooze out of her and drip into the bed.

I giggle and squeeze her ass as I admire the sticky mess I left behind in her pussy. The girls giggle and moan as they see my cum ooze and drip out of Georgia's pussy.

"Fuck daddy. You filled her to the brim." Keira moans.

I giggle, I kiss Georgia's ass and spank it one last time. Georgia moans and gets off the bed.

"Next up is Alessia." Leah says

I smile and look at Alessia. "Missionary now baby." I ordered.

Alessia giggles, she smiles back at me. Alessia gets on the bed and lays in missionary. I begin to tease her clit and push my tip in and out of her entrance.

I giggle as Alessia moans and pouts. I bite my lip and slide my cock inside her making her moan and grip the sheets. I grip her thighs as I slowly thrust in and out of her.

"Fuck Y/n you're actually huge." She moaned as she adjusted to my size in this position.

Her head moved side to side as I sped up my thrust and thrust into her faster and faster.

"F-Fuck Y/n." Alessia moans in pleasure.

"Does it feel good baby?" I ask as I hold onto her right boob.

"So so good." Alessia cries out in pleasure.

We both moan as I thrust in and out of her tight pussy faster and faster. Alessia moans and wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me closer to her. This allows me to go deeper inside her and we both moan.

"Mm you feel so good clenched around me." I moan in pleasure.

I pick up the pace and go faster, my balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room.

"Fuck...Fuck...Fuck." Alessia squeaks out with each thrust.

I smirk, I gently grab her throat and choke her as I fuck her tight wet pussy. "Fuck yes, choke me as you fuck my slut pussy." Alessia moans.

I smirk, I choke her as I continue to fuck her. "Ugh fuck." I moan.

"Shit you feel so good inside me." Alessia moans.

After a few more thrusts I feel my balls tighten. I smirk as I watch Alessia's tits bound up and down as I pull her left leg up over my shoulder giving me more of an angle to go deeper inside her pussy.

"Fuck! fuck yes right there. You're gonna make me squirt." Alessia screams in pleasure.

Alessia squirts all over my dick, abs and thighs. I moan as I feel my balls tighten.

Creampie #2:

"Fuck." I shout at the same time with Alessia. We both begin to cum at the same time, her juices leaking out of her pussy as I fill her up. Both of us become a moaning mess under each other's touch.

I kiss her calf up and down as we help each other come down from our highs. "Such a good girl for me." I whisper as I kiss up Alessia's body reaching her lips. "So beautiful." I say.

Alessia smiles and kisses me. "Fuck that was amazing." Alessia moans.

I smile and kiss her again. I look over at Leah. "W-Who's next?" I ask.

Leah smirks. "Me."

I smirk, Alessia gets off the bed. I lay on the bed, I bite my lip as Leah straddles me. Leah lines my tip up with her entrance, Leah puts the tip in and slowly sinks down taking my length deep inside her.

We both moan as I’m deep inside her pussy. Leah grabs my tits steading herself as she takes a moment to adjust to my size. Leah and I both moan as she slowly slides up and down on my dick.

“Mm fuck.” Leah moans, her skin slaps against mine as our moans fill the room.

I moan and spank her ass. Leah moans and slides up and down on my dick faster and harder.

“F-Fuck.” I moan in pleasure.

Leah moans and massages my tits as she continues to ride me. “Gah fuck it feels so good.” Leah moans.

Leah moans and grips the top of the headboard as she rides me faster and faster. I moan loudly as I feel myself getting close to cumming.

“Gah Leah slow down a bit. I’m gonna cum.” I moan in pleasure.

Leah cutely giggles and moans. “That’s the point I’m gonna drain your balls and collect every drop of cum.”

Fuck that may have been the hottest thing I’ve heard. I moan and watch Leah as she continues to ride my dick.

“You close baby? You gonna bust your load deep inside my pussy?” Leah asks seductively.

Leah grips the head board as she continues to ride me. I bite my lip as my precum leaks inside her letting her know that I was about to bust.

“Leah baby I’m gon-“ I’m unable to warn her in time.

Creampie #3:

Leah moans and cums all over my dick I can’t take it any more, Leah slams her ass Devon my dick. Cum oozes and spurts out of my dick filling up Leah’s entrance filling her up to the brim.

We both moan as she slowly slides up and down on my dick helping us ride out our Highs. Leah slowly slides off my dick. Cum began to leak out of her pussy and drip onto my lap, abs and sheets.

I smile and rub her clit as I admire the sticky mess I had left behind in her pussy. Leah cutely giggles and moans as I rub her clit.

“Mm fuck daddy that felt amazing.” Leah says.

I giggle at her comment. “Who’s next babe?” I ask as I squeeze her ass.

Leah giggles and bites her lip. “Next up is Alexia.”

To be continued in part 2

171 notes · View notes

girlgenius1111 · 10 months ago

Text

you can face this

barça x reader

r struggles with an eating disorder. her teammates catch on.

this [obviously] contains descriptions of an eating disorder. do not read if this could be triggering to you. please, just don't.

-----

You hadn't really realized that it had gotten bad again. It was one of those things that crept on you, unconscious bad habits making a return until you had fully relapsed. It was 0-100, and it was even more complicated now that you played for Barça. Not just because of the overbearing teammates, but also because your fitness was strictly kept track of- you had to remain at a weight that wouldn't flag with the physios, or affect your strength too much. But another part of you still hated that number on the scale- it was a constant battle between those two parts of you. The rational side, trying to keep it together, and the not so rational side that didn't care what it destroyed on it's quest to be smaller.

You kept up a surprisingly strong façade. It was easier when the team wasn't traveling, and obviously more complicated when you were. You lived alone in Barcelona, in a perfect little apartment, rather close by to the homes of your teammates, namely Alexia. She liked the younger players to live nearby, so she could keep an eye on everyone, she said.

Your teammates could tell you were having a hard time; it was obvious by the way they worked harder to get a laugh out of you, how they'd show up to hangout of the blue, just because they were in the neighborhood. None of them had approached you about what was bothering you yet, and you assumed they didn't have any idea what was really going on. There were clues, though, ones you weren't aware of, that they were most certainly picking up on.

The first clues weren't much; the way you'd pick at your food whenever you ate with the team. For your part, you did well to hide the fact that every bite was painful to choke down. Still, there was just something slightly off.

It was the quieter members of the team that noticed other things, but they didn't bring them up to anyone else, not yet. Not when it was just you changing rather quickly in the locker room, or how you often showed up at team dinners claiming to have already eaten.

-----

The first person to really notice that something wasn't just a little off, that something was wrong, was Pina. The two of you had finally convinced Alexia to allow you to room together; previously, she'd said no, arguing that you two would inevitably get up to trouble left to your own devices. You'd worn Alexia out, though, and both you and Pina were practically giddy when she'd flashed you with a warning look and read off your names together.

You'd managed to put it out of your head, how much of a hard time you were having. Until dinner that night. It was a rough day, rougher than you were used to, and while you normally could pretend pretty well in front of the team, you didn't feel like that was possible this particular evening. You'd gone to dinner, eaten as much as you could bare, before you mumbled something to the table about having a headache, and slipping back off to your room.

You were overwhelmed, really, and feeling incredibly alone. Something deep inside of you ached, and you wanted it to stop, leave you alone, just for one night. You were so frustrated, and pathetically, so sad. You thought you would have more time before Pina came back to the room, so you gave yourself the grace to breakdown, just a little. You could shower, wash away all traces of the tears, and be back to normal by the time your roommate returned.

What you somehow forgot, however, was that Pina was, while silly and mischievous, also one of the kindest people you'd ever met. You should have known that she'd come check on you, but you were slightly preoccupied with trying to keep a handle on your breakdown.

You didn't hear the click of the key card just before the door opened, and you were caught completely off guard when Claudia stepped inside, her face scrunching with worry as she caught sight of you curled up in the cozy chair in the corner of the room, sobbing quietly into your hands.

"Amiga! What is it?" She asked, rushing over to you. "Is it your headache? Should I get a physio?"

"No, I'm fine, Pina," you replied, wiping furiously at the tears that were still insisting on spilling from your eyes.

"Why are you crying if you're fine?" Pina asked in a quieter voice, on of her hands coming to rest on your knee.

“Claudia, seriously, I’m fine.” You insisted. You looked at her, then, and you looked so devastated, Pina knew instantly that you were lying. She felt so out of her league, so unsure what to do.

“Stay here.” She said after a minute, practically sprinting out of the room.

You knew she’d come back with someone, whoever she could find to fix you. This was the a job for an older player, not her. She gave good hugs, and could always make you laugh, but you needed someone older, someone wiser.

You sighed, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop her. You could only wait, and try to calm down.

You'd stopped crying, you really had, by the time Pina returned with Mapi in tow. You were prepared to act as though your friend was being dramatic, and really, you were fine, but then Mapi walked in, looking like she'd run the whole way to your room to check on you. The serious look on her face was such a departure from how she normally acted, that you were rather thrown off. She caught sight of you sitting on the bed, your red face, the slight downturn of your lips. What really got you was the way she didn't even say anything; she simply walked closer and opened her arms.

You were moving before you could even think to remain where you were, falling easily into the older girl's arms. They wrapped tight around you, and you buried your face in her shoulder. Tears ran off your face, collecting on Mapi's sweatshirt, but she held tight to you, one arm around your back, another holding your head close against her.

"It's alright, chica, we've got you." She murmured. You allowed yourself to sink into the comfort. For a moment, pretending that you weren't keeping so much inside, hidden away from the people that cared about you. You pretended that Mapi knew what was going on, and she was holding tight to you as reassurance, an unspoken promise that you'd be alright.

She didn't know what was wrong, though, and you weren't sure you'd be alright, not really. The little bubble of comfort and safety was broken when the defender pulled back, hands on your shoulders as she looked searchingly at you.

"What happened?" She asked. Her grip on you was tight, and you knew she wouldn't let go until you answered her. Pina was visible, just over Mapi’s shoulder, fidgeting with her hands and looking on nervously. Your only possible course of action was to lie, and to lie well.

"I don't know, I think I'm about to get my period or something," you lied. "I was just kind of sad, but it's fine, I'm fine now."

Mapi didn't look convince, nor did Pina.

"Are you sure? If something is bothering me, you can tell me. Or I can get Alexia if you want," Mapi suggested, beginning to turn toward the door.

That, you absolutely could not let happen. Alexia would get the truth out of you in seconds, especially when you were already so upset.

"No, seriously Mapi, I'm fine. Don't bother Alexia." You insisted, catching her arm and spinning her back around.

She eyed you for a minute, completely straight faced, before holding out her pinky to you. "Promise you are okay?" She asked.

You rolled your eyes, but linked your pinky with hers. "I promise."

She seemed satisfied after that, and you felt guilty about lying. It was for the best, though. You didn't need to worry your teammates, not when you were fine. Not when you had everything under control. Obviously, your motivation to lie went much deeper than that; the fear that they'd make you stop was suffocating.

-----

You shouldn't have felt guilty for lying, because Mapi went right to Alexia anyway. The Catalan Captain miraculously had her own room, for the 4th trip that year, although no one felt brave enough to comment on it. She opened the door warily, thinking Mapi was knocking just to chat, which she got enough of during the daytime hours.

"María, I'm really tired," Alexia started, glancing longingly back at her bed, where a nighttime call with her girlfriend and a cozy blanket awaited her.

"It's about y/n. I think something's wrong."

As Mapi had predicted, she didn't need to say more before Alexia was, now wide awake, stepping to the side, motioning for the defender to walk in.

"What is it?" She demanded once the door was shut behind her.

"Pina came to get me, and she said y/n was really upset about something, but she was pretending she was fine. I went back to their room and she had stopped crying, but as soon as I gave her a hug, she started crying again. And then once she'd stopped crying, she tried to tell me she was fine, something about getting her period and being sad for no reason. She pinky promised, but she was lying, Ale, I could tell. She looked so upset, like she was barely holding it together." Mapi's worry was evident in her tone, and, like you, Alexia noted the seriousness that was present on her friend's face. It wasn't normal, and it meant that, likely, there really was something to be worried about.

"Do you have any idea what she could be upset about?"

"No, not really. She's been a little off, I guess, but I can't think of what could be wrong."

Alexia sighed, silently agreeing with Mapi that you had been acting weird, but also that she couldn't think of a reason for it.

"I'll keep an eye on her, and I'll tell a couple of the others to as well. If something else happens, we can talk to her again." Alexia decided, somewhat uneasily. She wanted to figure out what was wrong, and fix it now, but suffocating you while you were already upset probably wasn't the best idea.

-----

In hindsight, maybe Alexia should have done something sooner. Your behavior remained off, but nothing else occurred that would really raise any red flags. That was, until the team had a double training session, and everyone ate lunch together. You had noticed more eyes on you in the last week, and figured that Mapi had probably asked a few of the older girls to keep an eye on you.

In an effort to convince them you were fine, you forced yourself to eat a normal amount of food at lunch, more than the carefully calculated portion you were intending to consume. It was alright, at first. You were able to distract yourself, joking around with your teammates. When you glanced down at your plate, though, finding it empty, you felt a wave of horror wash over you. You had no choice, no other option. It was too much. You couldn't do this.

You slipped away from the table after a couple of minutes of trying to calm yourself down. It felt like everyone was looking at you, judging you. You made it to the bathroom and kneeled in front of the toilet.

In that moment, you hated yourself. For eating too much, for caring about eating too much. For doing this. Tears fell, unrelated to what you were forcing your body to do. You just wanted to be normal, to feel good. You wanted to look in the mirror, and not hate what you saw looking back at you. You wanted to see what everyone else apparently saw; a normal, average looking person. You hated this, hated what you were doing, but you couldn't stop. You wanted to, more than anything.

When the door creaked open, and you realized you hadn't locked the door behind you, you were caught in the worst position possible. You didn't need to look up, see the disgusted faces looking back at you, to know that you wouldn't be able to play this off. It was obvious that you weren't just ill. You were sick.

You didn't look up, couldn't look up, at whoever was at the door. You sat back against the wall, staring numbly at the floor.

"Go get Alexia. Discreetly." You heard Ingrid instruct, and you heard Aitana reply quietly before her footsteps echoed back down the hall.

The resounding emotion was shame; for being so weak, for being caught doing this. You felt so stupid. You were an athlete, you couldn't be behaving like this. At the same time, the need to lie, to not let them make you stop persisted. You were torn, completely at a loss for words. So, instead of saying something you couldn't think through all the way, you remained quiet.

------

Aitana ran like there was a fire to the cafeteria, only slowing to a walk when she neared the doors. Her heart ached for you, truly. You'd looked so destroyed, the hatred you held for yourself clear on your face. She sped walk to where Alexia was sitting, making eye contact as the blonde turned towards her on instinct, as if sensing that something wasn't right. Mapi was on her other side, and she'd known something was wrong the second she saw her girlfriend go after you, but she'd been deep in conversation with Irene, and she hadn't wanted to overreact.

Aitana leaned down, speaking quietly in Alexia's ear. "Come with me, it's y/n."

Alexia nodded once, her expression firm as she stood. As if they were 2 ducklings following their mother, Mapi and Irene rose too, following their captain and Aitana out into the hall. They stopped just outside the doors looking expectantly at the younger player.

Aitana worried her lip in between her teeth, looking intensely at Alexia. She didn't want to say what was going on, not in front of the other girls. Ingrid had told her to get Alexia, and to be discreet. You didn't need a crowd of people.

"What happened?" Alexia asked after a minute, her voice anxious.

"I... Ingrid told me to get you, and to be discreet." Aitana's gaze flickered to the other girls, and the blonde captain caught her meaning.

"Mapi, Irene, go back inside, I'll take care of it."

They both began to protest, but Alexia remained resolute, shaking her head at them. "No, Ingrid said just me. Whatever is going on we don't need to overwhelm her." The other girls turned, sighing dramatically, walking back into the cafeteria.

Alexia fixed her gaze back on Aitana, wordlessly asking for more information.

"Ingrid and I followed her to the bathroom, and we heard her getting sick. Ingrid opened the door, it wasn't locked, and she was... she was making herself..." Aitana trailed off uncomfortably.

The pieces started to fall together for Alexia, and she didn't need the younger woman to say anything else.

"Okay. Okay. Thank you, Tana. I'll make sure she's okay."

Aitana nodded nervously, watching after her captain as the blonde made her way down the hall and towards the bathroom that the brunette had indicated.

-----

To your surprise, Ingrid didn't try to make you talk. Her and Aitana had watched you leave the room, and worried that you were ill or something, with the look on your face. They'd followed you, hovering outside the bathroom door, before trying the handle. Ingrid hadn't expected what she found, and she wasn't exactly sure what to do. All she knew was that you needed help.

She shut the door behind her, locking it this time, before grabbing a paper towel. She got it wet with warm water, before carefully approaching you. Ingrid flushed the toilet, before lifting your chin to face her. You shut your eyes, unable to really look at her. You couldn't see how disgusted with you she was; that would be it. That would shatter you beyond repair.

Ingrid carefully wiped your mouth off, before taking your hand in hers, and wiping your fingers off too. The action made you inhale sharply. She knew, she'd seen. You knew she had, but the silent acknowledgement made you sick to your stomach all over again.

The Norwegian disposed of the paper towel, turning towards the door when a quiet knock sounded. You clenched your jaw, clenched your fists, dreading the conversation you knew your captain was about to force you to have.

You didn't want a lecture. You knew what you were doing wasn't okay, wasn't healthy. You knew, and you did it anyway. Because, despite what you told yourself, it wasn't about being healthy. It was about looking the way you thought you should.

Alexia entered, taking in Ingrid's troubled expression, before her eyes fell to you. You looked hopeless, completely embarrassed, and Alexia wanted to fix it. Make you understand that you didn't have to be embarrassed, not with her. She wanted to promise that everything would be okay, that she'd make sure that you were okay. She wanted you to let her in, finally, admit that you were hurting.

None of these things were conversations to be had in the bathroom, though. Alexia walked forward, holding out a hand down to you. Slowly, you raised your head to look at her. There wasn't any revulsion evident on her face, and even though you wanted to run, hide, pretend that this wasn't happening, you knew you couldn't do that.

You took Alexia's hand, allowing her to pull you to your feet. She was steady where you were shaky, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and leading you out of the bathroom. She stopped briefly, looking down at you.

"Do you want Ingrid to come, or would you rather talk just the two of us?" She asked softly.

Your eyes flickered to Ingrid, not wanting to hurt her feelings when she'd been so kind, but also thinking that you couldn't handle talking to more than one person about what was going on. It was horribly overwhelming enough as it was.

Ingrid caught your hesitance, reaching out to squeeze your hand. "It's alright, elskling. You talk with Ale, okay? And maybe later you can come over and have a movie night with me and María?"

You half smiled at her, as it was all you could manage, a smile she returned, before she headed the opposite way down the hall.

Alexia tightened her grip around you, like she was a little afraid you were going to run. To be fair, you'd considered it, but the tight hold your captain had on you had shut that option down. She led you through the maze of hallways, eventually finding a room that seemed to meet her requirements. It was a little relaxation lounge, one no one ever used as it wasn't very big, and the team kind of stuck together.

Alexia sat down next to you on one of the sofa's, and you appreciated that she didn't sit in the chair across the room; that would have felt terrifying like a therapy session, and you definitely weren't there yet.

"How long has this been going on?" Alexia asked. Her question startled you, having been sure she was going to try to make you talk first. She liked to do that, feeling like important discussions with her teammates were more successful when they steered the conversation. However, Alexia knew you wouldn't steer it anywhere helpful.

"How long has what been going on?" You replied, instantly regretting the words. Why had you said that? Alexia was aware that you knew what she was asking about, and she wouldn't let you get away with playing dumb.

Shaking her head, she spoke firmly. "No, we are not going to do that. Aitana and Ingrid saw, pequeña. We have to talk about this."

"I don't want to." You murmured, resting your head in your hands. You didn't. You would have done practically anything to avoid it.

"I know." Alexia told you sympathetically, rubbing her hand up and down your back. "We have to, though. I care about you way too much to not do anything about this." Ale paused. "When did it start?"

"It was bad when I was younger, a teenager. And I went to therapy, and I was doing well for a while. I'm not really sure what happened, why it started again."

Alexia didn't miss that you didn't answer her question. "When did it start?" She asked again.

You sighed, head still hidden away in your hands. "A few weeks ago. It wasn't that bad at first, I didn't notice. And then it was, and it was too late, I couldn't fix it."

"Why?" Alexia asked next.

You shook your head, even as the words threatened to spill out; the words that harassed you, that tainted every meal.

"Come on, pequeña. I am not going to judge you, just tell me."

Often, Alexia was seen as this intimidating, hardcore player. She'd do anything for her teammates, though, and she was capable of extreme kindness. If you were lucky enough to know Ale, to really know her, you knew how good she was. Maybe it was this, one of the best people you knew begging you to talk to her, that made you relent.

"I... I hate the way that I look. I hate it." Your words were dripping with self loathing. Alexia understood the unspoken words; you hated yourself.

There were a lot of things Alexia wanted to tell you, but didn't, not yet. She'd need them in the future, when the urge returned, and you fought against it. She'd need the reminders then.

Instead, she coaxed your face away from your hands, looking intently at you as she spoke.

"You cannot keep doing this. You know that. As your captain, and as your friend, cariño, you need help. We need to get you help."

Your eyes began to well with tears. Alexia took a shaky breath.

"And I know you do not want it, but you deserve it. Can you let me get you help, pequeña? Please?"

You considered for a couple moments. "What if I can't get better? What if... what if I can't?"

Above all, that was your biggest fear. Not being strong enough to beat it. It was why you resisted help; you didn't want to let everyone down if you failed. You wanted to be strong enough, you just weren't convinced you were. You were weak enough to start this, to fall into the horrible loop, to begin with.

"You will, cariño. You know how I know?"

You looked at her, eyes wide and watery. "How?" Your voice cracked, and Alexia took one of your hands in hers.

"Because you do not give up. You are one of the strongest people I know." You looked doubtful, still. "And I don't give up. I will not give up on you. We will get you better, together. You will not have to do any of it alone."

"Do you promise?" You asked, a few tears sliding down your cheeks as you blinked at the blonde.

Alexia didn't say anything, she just held out her pinky towards you. You linked your pinkie with hers, and knew, somewhere deep within you, that this wasn't a promise she was going to break.

-----

Alexia did end up telling you all of the things she'd thought of, eventually. She wrote them down in a little note on her phone, not wanting to forget what to say, not when you needed her. Your teammates, the ones who knew, who you trusted enough to let know, used them too.

-----

That it didn't matter what you looked like, being so unkind to your body was never acceptable.

Alexia told you this one evening she spent at your house, after you'd had a long therapy session. You'd arrived home, dissolving into tears, and somehow, she had known you'd needed her.

She showed up on your doorstep like some kind of magical being that could sense when her friends were sad, letting you cry into her for at least an hour.

She'd whispered the words into your hair, when you asked her if she thought getting better was worth it, if it was so painful.

You believed her, that day. Just a little.

-----

She loved you, and there was nothing to be embarrassed about, or ashamed of.

She told you this a week later when you slipped up, and you'd called her from your bathroom floor, words unintelligible through your sobs. Alexia dropped everything to come over, and spent a while promising you that relapsing didn't make you a bad person. That you were doing your best, and that was all you could expect from yourself. That relapses were a part of recovering, as much as it sucked.

When she said the words, you believed her, a bit more this time. She'd been at your apartment before you could really even get any words out. She wouldn't have done that if she didn't care, if she was disgusted with you. If she didn't love you like she said she did.

-----

Being healthy, above all else, was what mattered, and what you'd been doing wasn't.

This was Ingrid and Mapi. You'd gone over to their house for dinner, which proved to be challenging. You confessed how guilty you felt for eating enough, and how guilty you felt for not eating enough. It was hard to figure out what the right thing was, when everything felt like the wrong decision.

Mapi spoke these words to you, sounding wiser and more sure than you'd ever heard her. You trusted Mapi, you trusted Ingrid. If they said that what you were doing wasn't healthy, they weren't lying. Another piece of you got better that day, even as it was one of the hardest you faced.

-----

You were beautiful, and strong, and your body allowed you to play the sport you loved.

You lost count of who told you this one. Irene, Lucy, Alexia, Ingrid, Mapi, Pina. It became something of a mantra, something they'd make you repeat when they saw you having a bad day.

Because, above all, you loved football.

You learned to love your body for allowing you to play football.

You learned to love your body just for being itself, regardless of what it looked like.

You learned to love yourself, to not put so much pressure on everything you did.

You healed, slowly. You knew, without a doubt, that you couldn't have done it without the team. You didn't want to conceive of a world where you would have to struggle alone, because you weren't. As long as they were around, you never would be.

-----

it's a good thing i have therapy tomorrow!

i joke, although i do have therapy tomorrow.

getting better is so worth it. i promise.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader

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drunkinyourbenz · 2 months ago

Text

reunited

summary: you’re billie’s girlfriend of just over a year and you surprise her on tour after not seeing her for weeks. dom billie x fem reader 2.1k words warnings: oral (reader receiving), teasing, so so fluffy they're cute and in love <3, unedited

billie was on stage performing, and you could see the adrenaline and excitement literally radiating off her. the crowd was wild—which billie always loved—and this was possibly the best show of the tour so far. the energy was unmatched, and you were in awe of how beautiful and free she always looked onstage. you loved seeing her interact with her fans and sing her heart out, it was a truly beautiful sight.

billie was totally unaware of the fact that you were backstage, and you watched her perform with a fond smile on your face—you and her had been dating for a little over a year, and it had been the best year of your entire life.

she’d been on tour for the past month, and it was probably the longest time you’d spent apart since you confessed your feelings to her. you’d called every night and texted constantly, and there’d been a fair share of phone sex when you’d both been too needy to wait until you saw each other in person again.

but now you were here, backstage at her concert, listening to her gorgeous voice and watching her with a wide smile as she sang the last song.

finneas and maggie had helped you get here without her knowing, finneas making sure to tell you all about the extent to which she had complained about missing you. maggie had been incredibly happy when you created the group chat to suggest the surprise, clearly glad that her daughter had finally found someone willing to put in effort for her. to say you were her family’s favourite of everyone she’d dated would be an understatement.

the concert eventually ended, and billie walked backstage while speaking to finneas. her sentence was cut off when she saw you standing there, doing a double take as her eyes widened. her steps halted, and she stared at you with an open mouth for a second before coming to her senses. as soon as her feet were no longer locked to the floor, she was running towards you.

her arms wrapped around you, the momentum of her running to you making the two of you do a little spin as you grabbed onto each other. she clung onto the fabric of your shirt as she buried her head in your neck. she breathed in deeply, savouring the feeling of being close to you again.

after a few minutes, she finally pulled away from the embrace, looking at you with a soft look in her eyes. “you’re here, oh my god. you came. you have no idea how happy this makes me…”

you smiled at her, finneas nudging your shoulder as he walked past with a small grin directed at the two of you. you rolled your eyes fondly at him before speaking, “of course i did. couldn’t go another month and a half without you.”

finneas sent you a pointed look, glancing between you and billie. “okay, lovebirds. i want to point out that i helped her get here, by the way.”

billie grinned at her brother, “you’re my second favourite person in the world, finneas.”

with a faux offended expression, finneas gasped dramatically. “i feel so betrayed. your own brother, replaced at number two?”

billie still had her arm wrapped around your shoulders, and she pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. “obviously.”

finneas rolled his eyes, starting to walk away to find claudia, “wow, i didn’t know the lack of love you had in your heart for me. i’m leaving.”

billie laughed as he walked away, not gracing his overdramatic words with a response. she turned to you, her eyes shining slightly. “god, baby… can’t believe you’re here…”

you smile at her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. billie’s lips chased after your own when you moved to pull away, kissing you desperately, never wanting to let go. after a moment, she pulls back, gazing into your eyes. “mmm, i’ve wanted to do that for the last two months. never stopped thinking about how your lips feel on mine.”

you grinned playfully at her, “i bet you thought about how my lips feel somewhere else, too.”

billie’s mouth fell open for a moment at your bold words, but the surprise was quickly replaced by a smirk, her eyes trailing down your body.

“you know me so well…” her hands quickly found your waist, her thumbs rubbing soft circles on the bare skin between the waistband of your pants and the hem of your shirt. her tongue darted out to lick her lips, her eyes still locked on yours. “y’know, i think my dressing room should be empty for a while…”

you mirrored her smirk at her words, picking up on the less than subtle innuendo as her eyes continue to trail up and down your figure. “yeah? lead the way, pretty.”

her smirk widened, instantly intertwining your fingers together and pulling you to follow her. any other day, her hand probably would’ve been around your wrist, in a firmer, more possessive hold. but she was still in shock that you were even there with her, so she was being slightly softer with you than normal. she was holding your hand as if she thinks you’d disappear if she were to hold you too harshly, like you’d just fade away and she’d be alone again.

she wasn’t talking about it, but you knew she missed you more than she was letting on. every day without you had felt like absolute torture, and her family had watched her on the tour bus literally falling apart just because you weren’t there. the constant face-timing couldn’t compare to the feeling of your hand in hers, she was fully convinced that no feeling would ever make her feel more at peace than being close to you.

you arrived at her dressing room sooner than you’d thought you would, and she fumbled with the door handle for a second too long, before pulling you inside after her.

her hand moved to lock the door, and you knew you were in for it. she wasn’t going to be rough, no, not this time. but this could be soft and still torturous.

once the door was locked, she turned to you, giving you a smirk as she looked you up and down for a moment before slowly backing you into the wall. she pressed you against the wall and you didn’t even try to resist, a soft smile on your lips. you couldn’t deny how soft this felt, you were aware of the small differences in her actions—as if the time apart had made her scared of losing you.

she kissed you again, more urgently than the last. her tongue brushed along your bottom lip before she bit at it softly, leading to you opening your mouth in a gasp. she smiled against your lips and slipped her tongue inside your mouth, her body pressing closer against yours as she kept you against the wall. her knee pressed up between your thighs and a moan spilled out of your lips.

her hands found your waist, her cool fingers slowly creeping up underneath the hem of your shirt as her tongue continues to explore your mouth. her hands travelled further up under your shirt, leaving trails of goosebumps where she touched. one hand teasingly squeezed at your breast through your bra and the other deftly pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it on the ground somewhere—she couldn’t care less where it landed.

she let one of her hands snake around your back to the clasp of your bra, which she fumbled with for a moment out of her eagerness. soon, your bra had joined your shirt and her hands were drawn to your breasts like magnets. she seemed almost hypnotised, her eyes drinking in everything they’d been missing while the two of you had been apart. she gave one of your nipples a teasing tweak before her hands slowly trailed down your sides.

one of her hands moved to hook in the loop of your jeans. she seemed impatient, despite clearly wanting to take her time. she wanted to savour this reunion, but she also wanted to be between your thighs as soon as she possibly could.

moments later, she’d repositioned you so you were lying on the couch, your back propped up slightly by pillows. her hands had tugged your jeans halfway down your legs, and you impatiently kicked them off to join your shirt on the floor.

she settled between your legs, looking up at you with her signature grin before hooking her index finger around your panties and pulling them down your thighs. she carelessly chucked them behind her somewhere, assuming they’d land in the vicinity of your other discarded clothes. in all honesty, where your underwear landed was the least of her concerns—she’d much prefer if you never wore them ever again.

her ring-clad hands firmly grip your thighs, pulling them apart and leaving no room for argument—not that you wanted to argue. this was what you’d been waiting for for months. “billie, please–” the utter desperation, the pleading tone in which you spoke to her, brought a smirk to billie’s lips. she pressed soft, open mouthed kisses around your thighs, holding eye contact with you.

“yeah, baby? what do you need?” you whined, an honestly pathetic sound—but you didn’t care how pathetic you sounded, you needed your girlfriend. billie didn’t care about the patheticness of it all either, in fact, it seemed to make her lips twitch further up into a pleased smirk. she loved having you desperate, having you aching for her.

you finally managed to form the words to respond to her, “you, billie, your mouth, your fingers, i don’t care. You.”

her smirk widened, her kisses travelling ever so slightly closer to where she knew you needed her. she hummed softly, the noise sending vibrations along your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. her teeth nipped softly at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, a teasing smirk on her face as she looked up at you.

“yeah, pretty girl? you need me?”

you didn’t get time to respond before she was licking a stripe up your folds, still gripping your thighs firmly. her tongue travelled up to your clit and circled it, making you let out a moan and throw your head back onto the couch cushions. you had missed her. so, so much.

she held your thighs open when they threatened to close around her head, a particularly tantalising lick through your folds making your back arch up off the couch slightly. she smirked again, looking up at you with those eyes that held a sort of smug mischief in them. she knew exactly what to do to drive you crazy, and she was intending on doing just that.

“oh? you like that?”

you hummed softly, nodding quickly because you couldn’t quite form words but you needed her to know that you very much liked it. you felt hopeless, the desperation you felt was unlike any you’d felt in a long time. you decided to blame that on the extensive time apart, which had felt like torture.

her tongue continues its assault on you, lapping away at you like a starved woman—with the time you’d been separated for tour, you guessed she kind of was. one hand moved slightly from its grasp on your thigh, and she circled your clit in a way that made you throw your head back and let out a low moan. she felt your thighs shudder slightly around her head, and you felt her lips twitch up against her sensitive skin. she knew you were close, she could feel it.

she spoke, still pressed up against you so she could go right back to eating you out after she got the words out, ��that’s a good girl, cum for me.”

at her words, you let out another loud moan, head falling back onto the support of the couch cushions as your long awaited release came over you. you had just spent months without her, without her touch, without her love, and you felt the relief wash over you at the knowledge that you were finally close to her again.

billie smirked again as she felt you cum on her face, her tongue riding you through it as she lapped up your juices. she had missed this.

you breathe deeply for a moment, before finally bringing yourself to lift your head up off the couch cushions and make eye contact with her. she had that proud smirk on her face as she watched you from in between your thighs, “feel good, pretty?”

you manage a small grin at her, “very much so.” you paused, looking at her for a moment as you recovered from the intense feeling of your first orgasm from her in months. you spoke again, a playful smirk playing on your lips. “my turn now.”

after all, the night was young. the night was young and you were finally together again, you had all the time in the world.

this is unironically the first smut i’ve ever written sooo i hope you liked it…

#୨ৎ lyd writes #billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x you #hit me hard and soft #happier than ever #when we all fall asleep where do we go #billie eilish fluff #smut #fluff #billie #x reader

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m0chisenpai · 2 months ago

Note

Louis x reader x Armand

The reader is a witch and she meets Armand and Louis and Claudia when going to watch a vampire play. They are mesmerized by her enchanting presence, wondering what and who she is

superstitious

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

˚｡⋆ platonic!claudia x black!fem!reader

in which the missing piece fills the gaps

author note: We're gonna play with the idea that Louis has somewhat integrated into coven life

Another night of plays. And a new role for Claudia. A nod to the past, Claudia plays the maid to Marie Antoinette who witnesses both affairs and murders of the king and queen.

The role is silent, but it is better than falling out a window every singe night in that godforsaken blue dress. At least she could be a woman for the many nights to come. She'll give Louis that little credit due.

As always, Louis assumes his usual spot, watching his sister perform while his companion sits above. There is peace between all three. And at the same time, a feeling of lonesome resides. Like there is something missing. He assumed Madeline would fill it, a fledgling that he felt such pride and dare say love.

But the loneliness remained. She could feel it in him. But Louis would brush her curious gaze aside.

Until that evening when she enters.

Armand smells her before she even steps foot into the theatre. It is rich, it is new. It almost smells familiar of his previous years abroad. Whoever is here, their blood sings to his dead heart. It begs for him to consume it, to be bathed in it.

Had an ancient one found their way back? He looks down into the seats. Soldiers, husbands and wives, students fill the house. But he sees nothing.

Louis catches Armand's gaze, he sees his gaze, 'what is it?'

'Something is here. An ancient thing or being. I do not know what it is. But there is power in it.'

His gaze shifts to Medline, 'keep watch over yourself and your companion.'

"One ticket please!" The dressed up vampire hands the young woman her ticket which she holds between gloved hands. She felt out of place in her softer colors against the dark theatre, but she always did stick out. Perhaps the vampire assumed her to be a child, she certainly exuded such child like excitement as she skipped into the theatre

"Vampires pretending to be humans pretending to be vampires," you whisper to yourself in awe finding your seat. "How dramatic, Prudence was right. But when is she never?"

The act begins. Murder marks the end of all the scenes and your laughter is like a bell in the vampires ears. Armand searched but can not find you nor can Louis pinpoint your presence. But a magnetizing feeling washes over their bodies.

Then the final act happens. The vampire troupe feast on the woman and silence fills the theatre. But you stand in loud applause shouting your praise in French. And it is as though the world ends when all three look upon you. Even though the applause thunders over your praise, they hear it so loudly.

How your eyes shimmer in praise, how your pearly white smile lights the room. Claudia freezes with the blood dripping along her lips. Trying to remember your face as the curtains pull shut. Armand watches as you look up, nodding your head giving your applause to him now.

But Louis, oh he wants you then and there. But the crowd keeps him from meeting you in the aisles as you quickly move out.

You may appreciate the arts, but you know not to engage those much farther up the food chain.

"Oh sisters it was wondrous as you said!" you whisper in awe as you tie your scarf looking in to the mirror of your flat.

"Did I not tell you it was a delight, though in their early days they were more Shakespearean. I suppose they choose to cater to their English crowd now."

"And times are changing sister dear. some of us have not graced this land as long as you have," you smirk as she gasps at your retort.

"And did you see the leader? Is he not handsome!" Your fellow sister Urydice exclaims moving Prudence aside to stand in front of the mirror. Her milky white gaze grounds you as she press forward closer.

"He was..beautiful." you shyly whisper and the girl squeals.

"Oh you must approach them! you must! if not for you then for romance my sister!" She was always the most romantic of you all. Each of your sisters had their areas of the arts they adored. And your dear sister favored love above all.

"Enough girls return to your chambers."

"Yes Mother." You whisper your goodbyes to all the girls until she sits in front. Your leader, the mother of your group. She is old and wise from the many lifetimes she has survived, but no age touches her complexion. Her hair large and thick is braided back and you realize how much you miss your mother.

"My darling," she whispers with a smile on her lips "I see you are adjusting well to the city of love." You quickly nod, folding your hands tight in your lap. "Be safe. These vampires hold great power. And they have numbers. Until we have arrived you are to not engage them, please my dear."

"Yes mother," you bow your head and press a kiss to your pointer and middle finger pressing it to the glass. And as soon as she does the same all that is left is your reflection.

You should listen to her, but you don't. You ponder and mull over the many protection casts that could offer you a chance to possibly approach. But in the end you toss any ideas aside and blow all the candles out and raise a hand to dim the lamps as well.

And as you shed your robe to slip into your bed. The golden eyes that watch from your balcony disappear into the night.

That next night you sit at the cafe writing letters to your scattered sisters. Some in English, three in French and the one in Italian you work on slowly, whispering your thoughts to yourself.

"You're not from here ma'am? Haven't heard Italian before," the young girl sitting in front of you startles you, but you keep your face neutral. The younger ones are far more dangerous. Quick tempered, more fierce.

You smile at her and shake your head. "No, I am not. But Italy is not my home unfortunately." You sip from your glass of coffee. "I must say you are an exceptional actress. The breath was taken right out of me, especially at the end."

"Thank you, years of practice led me here."

"From...America?" you guess, no you know.

Her eyes widen as does her smile, "how'd you know?"

"Southern accent. Heard it growing up when I was a bit younger than you, course till we moved and such."

"Claudia, what'd I tell you bout disturbing folks?"

You hate to admit how the man who joins you both at the table makes your eyes widen. The way he places his hand on the back of her chair, appearing from the entrance inside the cafe to sit beside her. Your cheeks feel hot as his gaze settles upon you. You seem to have some affect as well because he is no longer chiding at the girl.

"No, she is fine sir. Just some simple conversation is all" you tilt your head, "your daughter I am assuming?"

"Ah well...yes" he fumbles his words. "Lost her mother and wound up here for some time."

"How sweet," you smile at the two now bundling your letters to drop at the post hoping the tremble of your hand is unnoticeable. "I should be taking my leave now. It was lovely to speak to you both."

"Claudia," she quickly shakes your hand when you step to her.

"Louis."

They wish you could stay. But you toss the necessary amount by your cup and leave the two behind to watch you walk down the stony path. You move slowly, hoping the urgency in your leaving goes unnoticed. Where two are gathered surely a secret third will try and interceded. To make you a meal.

One night turns into two, then three when you return again it has been a challenging week. A week of you trying to avoid that theatre, but they call out to you in the night. "Come, come to us." It's as though they sit by your windows whispering, begging for you. But the leader requests your presence tonight.

One of the women leads you to where he sits. The only empty seat beside him is where you situate yourself.

"When did he turn you?"

"Don't have a creator." You whisper, eyes remaining on the stage. They flicker to Louis who looks up, giving you a smile which you quickly return along with a small wave.

"You know we are not human, yet you yourself are not one of us," now his head turns to look at you. "But you do not smell mortal. And your presence...it is unusual."

"I smell?"

"Nothing like the boys of war I can assure you, it is not unwelcoming" Armand can not help the smallest of smiles when he hears your sigh of relief. "But I must ask you again. What are you if not human?"

You hesitate, remembering the words of your mother. "We are not human. In the past humans maddened by thoughts of God and Satan killed us one by one. They stopped it from being publicized but they still hunt us to this day running us into the shadows of the night and to all corners of this world."

"You are a witch?"

"We refrain from calling ourselves that," your hand rests against a necklace. The very one all of you share engraved with an ancient sigil, the metal untouched by the years you have owned it. "We are scattered across the world to avoid any more unnecessary murders."

You pause to clap for Claudia, smiling as she grins up at you at the end of her act.

"Will you be in France for long?" Armand asks once you sit back down.

"I would like to be. Rome was for a moment. And I am not sure I wish to return again to Greece, though I miss the waters." Armand returns his gaze down to Claudia and Louis both steal glances at him.

"If you stay here, I can gurantee your safety."

Claudia adores you and spends any moment she can to hear about your travels. Taking you to Madeline's shop where the young fledgling happily dresses and styles you and around the city while Louis walks around the city with you. Taking shots of you facing the moonlight or along the river. They are some of his best work.

Armand shows you artwork from the world. And some of his older works of plays dating back to the theatre's founding days.

Each of them can not help but feel you fill the gap in their hearts.

They feel dizzy just being in the midst of your presence.

Then one night, as you sit atop Armand's lap. Louis' hand settles at the back of your neck, squeezing it gently to pull your head to look up at him. Your bare chest heaves as Armand lays kisses upon it. There is something electric in the air, something magical in your eyes.

The candles burn brighter with each kiss. Flickering with your breathing, as though they are breathing with you.

"Stay with us," his voice a whisper. Your eyes remain on his. He whispers it again, "join us."

Your mothers words are drowned from the two. Their warnings are nothing but a fly in your ear which you swat away.

"Yes, please." Armand lets a soft hiss as he bites into the juncture of your neck while Louis bites into the other side. And it is like liquid fire fills your vein and fills theirs.

The candles flicker out at that very moment.

It is as though you are bonded to them in that moment.

Theirs for an eternity.

#iwtv #iwtv series #iwtv x reader #armand x reader #louis x reader #louis de pointe du lac x reader

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suzdin · 8 months ago

Text

The Apartment

(Lucien Flores x F!reader)

Summary: Porn with very little plot. Lucien is your sleazy pot dealing neighbor.

Warnings/Content: Drug use (weed and blow), nicotine use, alcohol use, groping/sexual harassment (not from Lucien), some mild jealousy, age gap between Lucien and another chick (20s), fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, pull out method, spitting of bodily fluids (idk the proper term for it).

Word Count: 4,900+

Dedicated to: @ohheypedrito who held a gun to my head until I wrote this (lol jk, or am I? 😰)

Other Tags: @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @kellybelly1978 @awilderi @oberynslady @daddy-dins-girl @heavennumber2 @natdeandar @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept idk who else to tag.

You hear the party long before you even make it to your apartment block, droning 90s alt rock cascading down the sides of the building.

The residence itself is aging and quaint, not exactly located in the nicest area of downtown, but also not the worst. At least, you’d like to think so.

You had inherited the apartment from your grandmother when she passed several years ago. Roughly four dozen or so residents, including yourself, shared the building with you.

Amongst said residents was Lucien Flores, who had also inherited his apartment, from his mamá Claudia, who now lived in the suburbs, last you cared to hear. You didn’t speak to Lucien often, or the other inhabitants for that matter, other than in passing in common areas.

It’s roughly 11PM when you arrive home from work that night, your legs weary and straining as you make your way up the creaky old stairs to the third floor.

Lucien lives at the opposite end of the hall on the same floor as you, but that doesn’t seem to make the music any quieter, or the cloying stink of weed any less prominent. As you navigate your way through thick plumes of smoke and fog, you’re sure you’re getting a contact high just walking to your apartment.

You sigh. It’s going to be another long night.

The hallway is crowded and you push your way through a myriad of faces you’ll likely never see again after all is said and done.

As you make your way through the gauntlet of tight and twisting bodies, you feel unknown hands belonging to a faceless entity groping and pawing at you as you pass; you snarl and slap them away. Your palms sting from the contact, incorpereal laughter bellowing in your wake.

You spot Lucien just as you’re reaching your apartment, propped up on his shoulder against the wall, ankles crossed casually, watching you. Silk watercolor shirt practically dripping down a broad torso, hair mussed and gnarled, a gold chain nestled in the hollow just beneath his throat where his shirt is undone to the third button, exposing smooth, olive skin.

He wasn’t the man who groped you, no, you’re sure of that. He was too far away for that to be possible.

A filterless cigarette is perched between two of his fingers, cherry glowing brighter as he takes a long drag, tendrils of smoke curling into the air and consolidating with the rest as his dark eyes study you.

You stare back, unblinking. And then he moves without warning, graceful and fluid as a lithe cat, pushing his way through the crowd and seeking out the man who had touched you only moments before. Unlike yourself, he could pinpoint the man’s face without hesitation.

Without so much as discarding his cigarette, Lucien’s free hand twists around the man’s collar, pulling his face close to his own. Teeth gnashing, face contorted in a sneer, Lucien spews what you can only imagine is pure venom from two plush, pink lips. You wish you were close enough to decipher the words, but the last thing you want to do is fight and claw your way through the crowd again. So you perch against your door and watch, doing your best to garner context clues as the man’s face goes pale and his eyes widen.

Their gazes suddenly dart to you in tandem, making you flinch. And then, seemingly cowing to Lucien, the man lifts his hands in defeat, drifting down the stairs and out of sight without so much as another word.

Lucien’s dark visage finds yours again, his head cocked forward, as he brings the cigarette to his lips a second time, cherry visible through the fog.

You dip your head in acknowledgment and gratitude before disappearing to the welcoming confines of your home.

——

Just after 2AM and the music is still raging, hard as ever.

You aren’t surprised. Lucien, your building’s resident pot dealer, seemed to know everyone. And everyone, him.

His parties were commonplace enough to be a regular hindrance to your sleep cycle. Not to mention the other residents. But the cops were rarely called… people in your neighborhood didn’t particularly care for law enforcement. Cops weren’t too fond of the neighborhood, either.

You lie in bed, wide awake as the bass thrums on without an end in sight, clad in only a pair of panties and a t-shirt. Your head hurts, and you have work tomorrow. You crossed the border of pissed long ago. Now you are fucking livid.

Lucien couldn’t keep getting away with this. You had to say something.

You slide out of bed, throwing on your house robe and slippers as you make your way back out to the corridor.

Most of the party had drifted inwards, into his apartment, but a few stragglers lingered here and there. Some were drinking, some smoking. Some were doing a little of both.

You could see into his home just slightly, getting a glimpse of the pink walls his mother had painted years ago, the ugly palm frond wallpaper lining the kitchen.

Your eyes zero in on Lucien right away. His shoulders, rounded and bunched around a thick and corded neck, colorful silk shirt swimming along his waistline.

His back is to you, a young woman — who you think can’t be older than 24 or 25 — is pinned between himself and the wall, one of his hands positioned next to her head, the other folded as he lifts a pile of white powder to her nose. She brings one of her hands up to pinch the other nostril closed as she snorts the substance into her body; Lucien’s lips curve into a wry smirk.

Your gaze shifts lower when you register movement, finding her opposite arm extended between the two of them, palm cupping and stroking his cock over his pants. Lucien doesn’t appear to be reciprocating her touch, which seems to have her more than a bit… frustrated, judging by the look on her face.

Cinching your robe tight, you approach the couple, clearing your throat loud enough to catch them both off guard.

The woman, whomever she is, draws her hand back instantly, eyeing you with disdain at the unwelcome interruption.

Lucien’s eyes flit to yours. Then, slowly, blatantly, the same dark irises travel down your form, methodical in how he checks you out. He isn’t even attempting to hide it in front of her.

You glance away, your skin heating.

With a scoff, the woman dips under Lucien’s arm, whispering something to him before she joins the rest of the party inside. He nods to her, disinterested, before turning back to you.

She’s beautiful and young. Lucien is twice her age and roguishly handsome, a truth you didn’t care to indulge often. You aren’t the least bit surprised by what you walked in on, as he always seemed to have a revolving door of women hanging around.

“Hey, baby. Want a bump?” he asks you.

“Fuck, no. I actually want to sleep tonight,” you tut, crossing your arms in indignation. “I have work tomorrow and I’m already exhausted. Do you think you could lower the music? Shut your door, maybe?”

His face falls and his lips pinch into a frown at your utter and outright rejection, although he understands your reasons and chooses not to argue, checking you out a second time. You feel your skin growing warm beneath the robe at the attention.

“For you. Anything,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes but dip your chin in gratitude anyway. “Thanks.”

He turns to shut his door behind him, drowning out a better chunk of the noise than you expected. As you turn to walk back to your apartment, you feel a warm, broad hand circling your elbow.

You stall, contorting your body to look back at him. “Lucien, what—“

“Hey. Are you okay?” he questions.

“No, I said I’m fucking tired and I have work tomorrow…” you reiterate, looking down at where his hand currently connects to your body.

His grip loosens and he lets his hand fall away from your elbow.

“No, I mean, from earlier. The man… who was pawing at you like some horny dog,” he explains, recounting the events that you would care to forget. “Are you okay?” he repeats, gaze softening, fluffy curls framing his face.

Your heart races at the sight of him, and you swallow down the rising lump in your throat.

No. No, you are not going to get involved with your drug dealing neighbor. Stop it.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I’m, uh, fine. Thanks… thank you.” You offer a faint smile, suddenly flustered.

He nods, plush lips parted in thought, brow furrowed as he studies you. Those eyes of his are goddamn entrancing.

“Here,” he says, placing his palm against the small of your back as he gingerly directs you back to your apartment, halting in front of your door.

He fishes a freshly rolled joint and lighter from the breast pocket of his shirt, holding both items up so you can see. The light overhead catches the chain around his neck, reflecting it, making it shimmer.

“Girl Scout Cookies,” he explains, his voice low and hypnotic as he gives the joint a heady whiff, “So you can sleep.”

“Or… you could just turn off the music and ask everyone to leave instead,” you suggest, plucking the joint and lighter from his fingers anyway.

“They’ll drift out little by little the rest of the evening,” he counters, watching you ignite the joint and take a hit, holding the smoke in your lungs. “Most of them have left already.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, snorting. Take a second hit. Pass it back to Lucien, whose callused fingers brush yours as he takes it.

“Your girlfriend didn’t seem too keen on leaving,” you point out.

“She isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Okay, girl you want to fuck,” you correct.

He takes a long, slow draw of the joint, exhaling the plume through rounded lips as he watches you. “Isn’t that, either.”

“Oh, so she was grabbing your dick for no reason, then?” you retort, arching a brow.

Lucien takes another hit, forming his lips into an ‘O’ as he blows the smoke gently in your direction. He scrunches his lips up in thought.

“Precisely. Wasn’t even that hard,” he explains.

You choke out a small laugh, leaning against the wall. “Jesus, Lucien.” You open your door to go back into your apartment, alone. “Thanks for the weed.”

“You brought her up, not me.” He grins.

“Goodnight…” you say firmly, trying not to let your vision linger on his lips. Or his puppy dog eyes. Or that goddamn gold chain. Fuck.

“Wait,” he murmurs, reaching for your arm again. Warm, thick fingers brushing your skin.

“What?”

He takes another pull from the joint, trapping the smoke in his lungs as he moves languidly into your space. Free hand cupping your cheek, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, he hovers over you, mouth nearly touching yours.

Your lips part instinctively, causing his smirk to widen even more as he exhales the cloud directly into your mouth, your lips briefly making contact. You take in a deep, heady breath, tasting the smoke, tasting the essence of him.

The small point of contact is enough ignition for both of you to act. It was the catalyst needed to convince yourself yes, yes you ARE going to let yourself get involved with him, reputation be damned.

His hand travels from your cheek to your hip, squeezing, smirk transforming into a grin as he guides you backwards through the mouth of your apartment.

And you let him. You’ve been nursing this unhealthy crush on your neighbor for long enough, you realize.

Your own hands find the collar of his shirt, and then his chain, wrapping the metal heated by his skin around your knuckles, dragging him into you. He smells like weed and clove cigarettes, like cheap red wine and musky cologne.

You aren’t sure who closes the door, but somehow, it closes with a bang behind you, and he spins your body, wedging you between himself and the hard surface, his hand unmoving from your hip as he bends to thrust his pelvis flush against yours, grinding his hard length against your center. Even through the robe, it’s unmistakable.

“Thought you said you weren’t very hard,” you tease.

“Wasn’t…” he replies with a wry smile, grinding into you, hand moving back up to your neck as his lips crash into yours.

He deposits the still smoldering joint in the small metal bowl by your door where you keep change for laundry, hands bracketing either side of your face, pressing himself firmly against you as his tongue slips into the hot cavern of your mouth, eliciting a small mewl of longing and desire from your lungs.

He tugs at the binds of your robe, the material falling open like the wings of a butterfly for him, revealing your bare legs, your soft cotton panties with the little cherries.

“Well, well…” he groans, palms locking onto your hips, thumbs moving in semicircles along your silken flesh as his fingers flirt with the elastic band of your underwear, snapping it against your hip bones.

He dips to grind his erection against you again, and this time, without the barrier of your robe dampening his motions, you feel his hard cock dragging over the sensitive nub of your clit, your hips bucking back with equal fervor.

He kisses along your jawbone, down to the sensitive apex of your jaw and column of your neck, mustache and beard gently scrubbing at your skin, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear.

“Only reason I was hard at all is because I was thinking about you,” he whispers, before taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a slight tug.

“Bullshit,” you scoff, breathless, and although you can’t see it, he grins, giving the elastic another harsh snap before his thumbs hook around the material, sliding them down your legs, cool air licking at your exposed folds.

“I don’t bullshit,” he grates, lowering to his knees in front of you, kneading your upper thighs in his hands as he takes in the vision that is you.

Slick dribbles down your inner thigh as he spreads you open and admires you, everything about you.

“Look at you, opening up like a pretty little flower for me,” he groans, leaning forward to swipe his angular nose through your soaked folds, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your arousal.

A small chirp escapes the back of your throat, fingers sinking into his dark curls for balance as his tongue flicks out to taste and tease you, lifting one of your legs to toss over his shoulder.

His tongue breaches your entrance, penetrating you deeply, your body juddering with every broad stroke of his tongue inside your walls.

“Fuck, Lucien…” you purr. He hums in approval, hands sliding up your backside to cup and massage your ass as he drinks of you.

You find yourself gyrating against him, your body chasing the sensation of his mouth, and not only does he let you, he furthers it along, fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he pulls you into him repeatedly, groaning.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, protesting the loss of his mouth on you as he pulls away for a beat, the feeling only short lived when his lips circle and tenderly suction around your engorged clit, two of his fingers sinking into your fluttering hole.

The resulting squelch as he fucks into you with his fingers is lascivious and loud, your spine forming a perfect arc against the door.

His fingers curl inside of your tunnel, making contact with the soft, spongy flesh at the mouth of your womb, each thrust getting you closer and closer to seeing stars.

“God, oh my fucking god…” you moan.

Your walls begin to tighten, your hips shaking, fingers twisting against his scalp as you feel your pleasure mounting. And you swear you see his lips hook into a grin as he gets you there, the sight of it with his nose and curls, the way the silk and gold chain catch the light, only spurring your pleasure on. It’s all so much. So much and not enough.

“I, fuck, I’m gonna cum…” you sob as the sensations reach a head and the feeling consumes every fiber of your being, your vision going white as your head lolls against the door with a faint thud, hips rutting forward to chase his mouth.

He rides you through it, growling into your core almost as though he’s enjoying it as much as you are, the reverberations making you crave more.

He pulls away from you when your body calms down, mouth coated in a sheen of your slick, hair stamped down with sweat from where your palms had gripped onto him.

Catching his breath as he stands, his lips and tongue tangle with yours once more, letting you taste the evidence of your release before dragging you toward the bedroom.

You can feel the cannabis coursing through your system now, relaxing you, making you feel lighter than air. You smile to yourself, knowing your orgasm is going to be sweet and lingering.

“You would look beautiful by my side at every party,” he says, brown eyes twinkling back at you, head tilted.

“You have plenty of other women for that…” you reply, letting him guide you to the bed as he slips your shirt over your head, revealing your naked breasts to his hungry gaze.

“And none of them are you,” he tuts, “None of them are as beautiful as you… as this.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond as he pushes you down into the mattress and crawls over you, teeth dragging along your shoulder, your collarbone, upper body propped on an elbow while the opposite hand kneads one of your breasts. He plucks the nipple to a sharp peak between his fingers, making you arch and moan.

He sheds his shirt and pants nearly in tandem, your vision settling on him as he slithers out of his underwear, a girthy, uncut cock between his legs, twitching at the sight of you.

“Fuck…” you gasp, his eyes shining in amusement as he manipulates you onto your back, pushing your legs apart and taking up residence between your thighs.

“I bet you feel as good as you taste,” he groans and kisses you again, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth.

Fisting himself at the base of his cock, he teases it along your folds, gathering your slick, nudging your still swollen clit. Your breath is ragged and unsteady in your chest, every motion of his body leaving you wanton and desirous.

“Lucien, please,” you plead and he chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Need it that bad?” he asks, bemused, dragging the head of his cock over your clit again, making you cant your hips, chasing the sensation.

“That must be a yes,” he purrs, his voice low and velvet.

He lines himself up at your entrance, giving a few short, preliminary thrusts with just the head, teasing and testing how ready you are to take him, before pushing himself further in, inch by inch.

After a few more precursory thrusts, he bottoms out with a long exhale and faint moan, lower lip taut and jutting outward, holding himself within your walls for several seconds, before pulling almost all the way out to slide back in again, slowly. Oh so slowly.

You grunt and arch your spine, your hips lifting to meet his, needing him to move faster…harder.

“Come onnnn,” you groan.

A smirk forms on his lips as he cages your head in with his upper arms, lips finding your throat, whispering against your pebbled skin.

“Always knew you’d be cock hungry, baby.”

He doesn’t allow you a chance to recant, pulling himself partially out and then slamming himself in again as hard as he can, teeth grazing your tender skin, gold chain smacking you in the face with the momentum of it.

He doesn’t seem to notice or care. Not that you mind much, either.

You whimper and paw at his shoulders, clinging to him, still needing, desiring more.

“Yeah? You liked that, didn’t you?” he whispers again, slamming into you hard a few more times for emphasis, making you keen, your bed smacking the wall harder each time.

“Need you to go faster, please,” you whine.

“Alright, baby. Since you’re asking so nicely…”

He leans back now, settling his weight against his calves as he lifts your legs to rest against his vast shoulders, tan skin shiny with perspiration. His dark curls are skewed and clinging to his face, dark brown eyes glistening with lust.

He looks so goddamn hot like that.

He doesn’t waste anymore time, fingertips digging into the meat of your calf muscles as he begins railing you with everything he has to give, the sounds of skin smacking skin filling the room, shaking the bed with impact.

He’s more than focused now, teeth exposed, brow furrowed, droplets of sweat pooling in the little divot of his collarbone. You wish he was closer so you could lave at the sweat collected there.

It isn’t long before you start to feel the familiar, telltale tightening in your lower abdomen again, your breath hitching in your chest, droplets of perspiration forming at your hairline.

“Yes! Yes! Don’t slow down! Don’tslowdooooown!” you cry, your hands reaching for his, where they grip your legs, fingers curling like talons around his digits.

Everything about you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, feels as if you’re floating.

A few more rough slams of his hips against yours and you’re seeing stars, head falling back against the pillow with a cry as your walls flutter around him, strangling his cock, sucking him deeper. He growls, his breath hissing through clenched teeth, and you know he’s almost there as well.

“Fuck, I’m gonna… fffuuuu—“ Lucien grunts, sucking in lungfuls of air as he pulls out of you at the last possible second, perched on his knees, pumping himself in his fist with your slick.

The squelchy wet noises of Lucien beating himself off fills your ears, and he emits a loud, guttural groan as he reaches completion, tendrils of seed spurting thick and hot across your stomach, some of it collecting in your navel.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you hardly have time to gather your thoughts and bearings before you feel his tongue gliding across your stomach, scooping himself onto his tongue.

His mouth hovers over yours as your lips part, Lucien spitting the cocktail of saliva and cum onto your waiting tongue, his own tongue meeting yours as he kisses you deeply, moans getting lost in your throats.

“Fuuuck,” you sigh when your lips eventually pull apart.

You both settle on your backs, shoulder to shoulder, still catching your breaths. You stare up at the ceiling, your head still light as air and swimmy.

The party continues on down the hall sans Lucien, but it’s quieter now, more subdued.

“I’m definitely going to sleep really well after that, but I may call in to work tomorrow anyway,” you giggle.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet,” he says, eyes shining with mischief as his hand trails down your body, fingers swirling through the remnants left on your stomach.

“But all those strangers in your apartment. Are you not worried?” you ask.

“I have someone watching it for me. It’s okay.”

His lips tease along your neck. “You’re like a goddamn drug, baby.”

You don’t even question it further, smirking as his fingers lift to your lips, painting them like gloss, laughing inwardly to yourself when you realize that the girl in the hallway doesn’t get to have him like this, like you do, as he dips his head to kiss you again.

—

fin. xx.

#lucien flores #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!reader #pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #smut #pedro fanfic #romance #author

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tac-the-unseen · 7 months ago

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What the Lost boys think about vampire related media

Fluff, x reader but just barely

•While making conversation with your four Vampire lovers you were suddenly plagued with a question.

“How do you guys feel about vampire related media?”

-That question was an immediate head turner. The cave goes dead quite before Dwayne speaks up, “Well…vampires are in hiding so…”

-This sparks a conversation about how media representation of vampires may not be accurate, but that's a good thing. “If a book or movie comes out and it is shockingly accurate to what being a vampire is really like, the creator isn't going to last long.” David explained

-That's because there's a set of rules vampires have to follow and one of those rules is to never publicly reveal your double life identity

-”If something like that comes out, that means a vampire has broken that rule OR somebody knows vampires very closely and is creating media they know shouldn't exist.”

-Turns out if a vampire breaks that rule it's basically open season to kill and destroy their creations.

•You turn the conversation and begin to ask how they, specifically, feel about certain vampire representation

•Bram Stoker's Dracula

-Dwayne is the first to buy in his opinion.

-Dwayne feels that while it is a cult classic and well written, The characters are exceedingly dumb.

-”Johnathan spends a ridiculous amount of time talking about other characters ‘Breasts’ and trying to figure out why his host climbs walls ‘like a lizard's.”

-David is the next one to speak up

-David thinks it's not really worth the read

-”Unless you're trying to brag to people there's no point in reading it.”

-”Also why was Mina talking to that old sailor so much?”

-Paul laughs as he remembers “how fucking crazy he wrote Dracula to be”

-”I'm pretty sure the real Dracula thinks it's a heinous crime against him”

-Paul hasn't read it but have heard enough about it to know even the more obscure references

-Marko comments on the graceful writing style and the beautiful descriptions

-”I've only read it because Dwayne thought I would like it"

-Marko also loves how oblivious Jonathan and most of the other characters are

-All of them think the movie adaptation is hilarious and love the shitty special effects

•Interview with a vampire

-Paul chimes in immediately

-”God it's so homo erotic it hurts…in a good way.”

-Paul thinks its a nice horror novel mixed with a weird cozy atmosphere

-Dwayne thinks it's another well written classic and He actually begins to rave about all the themes involved within Anne Rice’s work

-”It's a beautiful Gothic thriller with a deep, sadly comedic energy.”

-He even offers to read it too you sometime

-Marko chimes in quickly about “Claudia’s rebellious behavior and persona”

-”imagine watching your family choose somebody else over you. It's so deeply upsetting but to an understandable level.”

-”I would have hated to turn so young. I look like a teenager and other people can respect that to a certain point. But being five years old with the mind of an adult, No one would respect you.”

-Marko relates to Claudia on an internal level and loves unraveling her character. When you ask why he quickly responds "Some people call me a cherub... You think I enjoy that?"

-David says he doesn't have much to say other than it was a decent read (That's his version of a compliments)

•Twilight

-All of them agree that it's laughably horrendous

-Almost immediately at the same time they say “This is the skin of a killer Bella”

-This leads to banshee like laughter

David speaks up immediately

-”Why do you humans want us to sparkle so bad?”

-”I personally hate the idea of being a walking disco ball, but to each their own.”

-Marko chimes in quickly

-”Would you like it if we sparkled?” He asked while leans on you affectionately

-Marko thinks the only reason to read it is to have a nice laugh

-”Why did Edward have such a violent reaction of Bella standing by a fan? That makes no sense…like I have mates and I enjoy the smell of you guys but…I'm not nearly clawing off my face at your smell”

-”Yeah yeah, I get he's trying not to overreact but running out of class to get away is crazy.”

-Paul even adds that even thought it's very dumb even he can appreciate the message it's trying to said.

-”something something, coming over adversary, something something, love wins, something something..”

-”Also that Jacob imprinting on Bella's infant daughter is super fucking creepy.”

-when you asked Dwayne about his feels he scoffed and said It's insulting at best and borderline sexual harassment at worst.

-He refused to go into depth

•You thank them for humoring you and they tell you that it's no problem

-David kisses the side of your head in an uncharacteristically soft way “We don't ever mind answering your vampire related question.” He tells you

-Marko turns to you “But seriously do you want us to sparkle?”

-”I think I have some roll on body glitter somewhere..” Paul says while getting up to look for it

Thanks for reading <3

#the lost boys x reader #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #reader #the lost boys #vampire #fluff #books #lovers

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toomuchracket · 5 months ago

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fourth of july (politician!matty x reader smut)

another summer75 fic. warnings for shibari (light) and breeding kink (HEAVY). bon appetit <3

“you're sure you don't need anything else, ma'am?”

“thanks, claudia, but we're all good,” you smile at your assistant, her eyes flitting between the windows (and the party on the lawn outside) and you. “it's been a busy morning - i think you should go and relax, do some celebrating of your own, yeah?”

her eyes light up. “really?”

you laugh. “of course. just, piece of advice? don't drink anything anyone tries to serve you from a fishbowl tonight,” you grimace, shaking your head. “too many 5th of julys have been ruined for me that way. and for the president, actually, he was so much worse than i was at parties. stupid boy.”

claudia giggles. “noted, ma'am. i'll be sure to have a glass of water after every drink, too.”

“smart girl. well, i'll leave you to it,” you stretch, moving to close the door to the presidential living quarters. “have a good weekend!”

“and you, ma'am!”

closing the door behind you, you wander through towards your bedroom. aside from the sound of your husband humming to himself in there, the place is quiet, only the two of you around.

just how you like it.

you smile as you enter your bedroom, ogling matty as he pulls his shirt over his head. his hands move to his belt, but he stops his undressing in favour of walking towards you with love in his eyes and a grin on his lips; you pretend to sulk, but open your arms anyway. “damn, i was enjoying the show.”

“of course you were,” matty kisses your forehead, pulling back to arm's length to look at you. “i don't look half as good as you do, though. i love that dress, baby.”

“i thought it was pretty,” you clasp your hands behind matty's neck, and his find home on your hips. “it's really uncomfortable, though.”

it's a blatant lie, and you're sure you aren't being very subtle, but matty has the good grace to play along anyway. “is that right, my love?” he coos, hands moving across your back to undo the halter neck “well, we'd better take it off, then.”

“fabulous idea, mr. president,” you snuggle into him, sighing when the fabric of your dress falls to the ground and your bare chests press together. matty's arms wrap tightly around you, and the feeling of home washes over you. the two of you hug in comfortable silence for a second, your fingers gently twisting into your husband's curls, before you speak softly. “m'really proud of you, you know. it was a good morning. and i know you were reluctant to host anything today, but… i'm glad you did. it was fun.”

matty huffs out a laugh into your hair. “was only reluctant because it cut short our usual long weekend plans. and you know how much i love those.”

his hands travel towards your ass, sliding under the waistband of your thong to squeeze it; you giggle softly in response, pressing a long kiss to your husband's neck and enjoying the moan he lets out. “sometimes i wonder if you'll ever get bored of driving to the cabin whenever we get a few days off.”

“if we ever get rid of the shibari rigging hooks, i might.”

“as if we'd do that. be serious, please, matthew.”

matty laughs, scooping you up and dropping you onto the bed. “i love you, my perfect little rope bunny. and wife, obvs.”

“love you too. i also love that you've got your priorities straight,” you bite your lip as you watch matty undo his trousers, leaning up to kiss him messily as he crawls up to hover over you. it's a good kiss, sloppy and passionate, one that goes straight to your underwear and prevents your brain from thinking about anything other than matty inside you. “fuck, baby. tie me up now, please? we still have,” you glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “two hours before we need to start driving. pleeeeeeease?”

matty simply raises a brow.

you pout, batting your lashes. “come on, baby, please? just a little design? a little preview for the rest of the weekend?” you wrap your legs around his waist, smiling prettily the way you've done to get whatever you want from matty since you were twenty-two. “because you love me?”

at that, your husband sighs, nodding and trying to keep the smile from his face. sap. “legs only, alright? just because i love you.”

“mhmm,” you take his face in your hands and pull him in for a kiss, smiling at the way he melts against you. “thank you, my love.”

“sweet girl,” matty strokes your cheek, before moving off you and reaching to pull a box from under the bed; inside, you see pink rope neatly arranged in loops of figure eights. your heart leaps and core gushes at the sight, but matty makes a face at it. “not very patriotic colour-wise, is it?”

“pretty sure the amount of time i'm gonna spend on my knees worshipping you this weekend will make up for that, mr. president.”

“fuck. underwear off, now,” your husband quickly takes two separate loops of rope from the box, twisting them into position while you shimmy your thong and lie down, practically vibrating with happy anticipation. “and speaking of knees - bend them for me, darling, that's it. tell me if it's too uncomfortable, yeah?”

“i will.”

“good girl.”

with that, he begins to loop the rope around your left thigh and shin, securing them together with an intricate pattern you hope to god will leave a mark on your skin. you can't remember whether it was you or matty who first suggested trying shibari a decade or so ago, but you both took to it with enthusiasm - since then, every extended private moment you've had together has involved some sort of artistic bondage, exploring new designs and positions and making each other feel good. the rope took a bit of getting used to, initially, but now you love the feeling of it against your bare skin; it's a reminder that, for at least the next few hours in your busy lives, it's just you and matty, alone together, getting to love and appreciate and care for each other at the most primal, most intimate level.

once he's done, matty taps your bound knee. he moves back, smiling at his handiwork. “that feel alright, gorgeous?”

“yeah. thank you, angel.”

he blushes, and your heart flutters. “you're welcome, my darling. gonna do the other one now, yeah?”

“go ahead.”

the two of you settle back into comfortable silence, matty continuing his work while you smile at the way his tongue pokes out of his lips in concentration, one of the things that first endeared him to you when you met at law school. suddenly, those lips part as he speaks. “isn't it funny how many people just, like, handed their babies to us at the garden party this morning?”

your brow furrows slightly. interesting topic of conversation. “happens to me quite a lot, to be honest.”

“yeah, i've noticed. s'happened eighteen times to you in the past week alone.”

your brow furrows further. “you've been counting?”

matty's cheeks go pink again. “well… not deliberately, darling, i just,” he sighs, finishing off the shibari and sitting back on his heels to look at you sheepishly. “i can't help but notice when you're interacting with babies at the minute. like, i really can't.”

oh. how interesting. and, if you're honest, not entirely unwelcome. you smile. “you think it's time?”

his eyes widen. “for… for us to-?” he clears his throat. “for us to… have a baby of our own?”

“yeah, sweetheart,” you reach up to caress his face, smiling softly at the way matty leans into your hand. “do you think now’s the time?”

“well… yeah.”

you smirk, removing your hand from your husband's face so you can use it to pull your bent legs open as wide as possible and expose your glistening cunt. “let's make a baby, then.”

matty blinks. suddenly, your instructions seem to sink in, and he follows, not even bothering to take his boxers off fully before sliding through your wetness and pushing inside you; his lips meet yours as he bottoms out, the two of you sighing into each other's mouths.

home at last.

for a moment, there's nothing but the two of you kissing like teenagers, passionate and messy and desperate, matty throbbing inside you in the most delicious way, and then he moves, pulls his hips back and snaps them forward again, over and over and over, drawing soft moans from your lips every time he slides in. a huge part of the reason matty was elected, everyone says, is because he does everything with focus and conviction - the way he fucks is no different.

he pulls back from your lips, resting your foreheads together in the most tender way and sliding his hands over yours against the pillow; when you intertwine your fingers, he smiles. “sweet girl, taking me so fucking well.”

“your sweet girl.”

“that's right. my girl, all mine,” matty beams. something about the ownership reminder spurs him on, makes him thrust faster and harder and deeper into you. you whimper his name, and he kisses your nose. “what is it, darling? need me to fill you up, is that it? put my baby in you and let everyone know you're mine?”

the words go straight to your cunt, brain too hazy with pleasure to properly take them in. “please.”

“cum for me first, sweetheart, and i will,” he coos, stroking your face and dropping a sweet kiss onto your nose. “touch that pretty clit for me, yeah? and then i'll fill up that needy little pussy of yours. promise.”

“okay,” you exhale, hand sliding down your sweat-shiny chest and between your legs, circling your aching clit the way you know matty would. ecstasy shoots through your body the instant you touch the bundle of nerves, causing you to whine and clench around your husband's dick - which in turn makes him whine - but, somehow, it isn't enough. “matty,” you croak out, blinking up at him. “need you to talk to me. please.”

“oh, my darling,” matty grins, not unkindly. “need me to tell you how good you feel, how much i love how fucking tight your cunt is? even after all this time, after all the pounding i've given you, she's still clenching around me like a fucking vice. could stay inside you forever, you know. wanna do that. i think you want me to, as well, don't you, gorgeous? feels like it, anyway.”

the pleasure's practically blinding you at this point, tightening your muscles and clouding your mind - all you can do is frantically rub your clit, and whimper. “yeah, yeah, want you in me all the time.”

“needy girl,” matty's lips crash onto yours, tongue licking into your mouth before he murmurs against you. “can't fucking wait to fill you up properly, sweetheart. please tell me you're close.”

“i am, oh shit, i am!” you aren't lying, either - your legs are quivering as much as they can within the rope, and the pressure building in your lower stomach feels like it's about to reach breaking point. you're vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face and pooling on your chest, but all you can focus on right now is matty. “gonna cum, please, please let me cum.”

your husband leans forward, cock driving impossibly deep and lips ghosting over your ear. “do it, my darling. cum for me, let me give you a baby. our baby.”

and that's all it takes.

you cling to matty like a liferaft as your orgasm hits, although the more accurate nautical metaphor would be to liken him to an anchor; without him above you, hands digging into the flesh of your legs almost as much as the rope, you're certain you'd float away, buoyant from sheer fucking ecstasy. he cums with a guttural moan of your name as you clench around him, kissing you deeply as his thrusts get more and more shallow, and you don't think you've ever been more full, metaphorically (of love) and literally (of cum, crass as it sounds). once he's done, your husband nuzzles into the crook of your neck, both of you sweaty and breathing heavily.

for a few blissful minutes, you stay like that, weaving a hand into matty's messy curls and scratching his scalp while you exchange murmured “i love you”s. your eyes flick sideways to the alarm clock, and you tap his shoulder in a feeble attempt to get him to move. “sweetheart, we need to get cleaned up before we leave.”

“just give it another minute or two, darling,” matty mumbles into your skin; he pulls himself up just enough to kiss you, looking adoringly into your eyes. “have to make sure the baby sticks, after all.”

you giggle, stroking his flushed face with your thumb. “we'll miss seeing the fireworks from the cabin if we don't get a move on, though.”

“trust me, my love, you'll get your fireworks this weekend no matter when we leave.”

“whatever you say, mr. president.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #politician matty #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty x reader #summer75

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barcaatthemoon · 7 months ago

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been thinking a lot about these players lately, so if anybody has a request they want written, I'm all ears ✌️🌙

#lena oberdorf x reader #laura freigang x reader #sydney lohmann x reader #alessia russo x reader #mary earps x reader #claudia pina x reader #frido rolfo x reader #lia walti x reader #leah williamson x reader #georgia stanway x reader #grace clinton x reader

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her-satanic-wiles · 1 month ago

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Kinktober Day 23 - First Time Anal

Terzo x Reader

You’ve been thinking about it for a while, and Terzo is more than happy to oblige his amore’s wants, wishes, and deepest desires.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 3.6k.

Reading Time: 15 min.

Warnings: anal fingering, anal sex, PIV sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Your fingers dug into his soft stomach as your thighs worked in a steady rhythm, grinding down on him, feeling every inch of him buried deep inside you. His gaze, heavy-lidded with lust, roamed over your body, drinking in every curve, every shuddering breath you took. You were in control, taking what you needed from him, while he lay there utterly captivated, powerless beneath your spell. To him, you were more than just beautiful—you were otherworldly, a vision he could never have dreamed of deserving. But right now, as he watched you ride him, your soft moans filling the room, he was addicted. Every roll of your hips, every flutter of your lips, sent him spiraling further into obsession.

Your movements became more fluid, graceful even, as if you were dancing atop him, lost in the pleasure that radiated between you both. The warmth of his hands trailed up your thighs, fingers grazing your skin with a reverence that made your breath hitch. He didn’t need to take control—he was content to let you lead, watching the way your body responded to his with every rise and fall.

His name escaped your lips in a breathy whisper, and the sound sent a pulse of heat straight through him. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, not to guide you but simply to feel you, to ground himself in the sensation of you wrapped around him, gliding over him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, the muscles in his arms taut as he fought to keep his composure, but the sight of you like this—so lost in the moment, riding that fine edge between bliss and desperation—was almost too much to bear.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, voice thick with awe, his eyes never leaving yours. You looked down at him, your lips parted, a slow, satisfied smile tugging at the corners. His words spurred you on, and you picked up the pace, rolling your hips with a new urgency, feeling the tension build deep inside you both.

Every gasp, every whimper that fell from your lips was music to his ears. He couldn’t look away—wouldn’t dare. You were intoxicating, and as you moved, claiming every inch of him, he knew he’d never tire of the sight of you like this. His body tensed beneath you, pleasure coiling tight in his belly, but he held on, waiting for you, needing to see you fall apart first.

Terzo sat up, the shift in his posture sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was delicate yet deliberate as he traced a slow, teasing line down your back, his fingertips leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You bit your lip, anticipation coiling in your belly, as his hand lingered, hovering just above your ass.

When his finger reached your entrance, he paused, drawing lazy circles around the rim, barely touching you, but enough to make your breath catch. He leaned in closer, his lips grazing your ear as he spoke in a low, gravelly voice that sent a thrill through your entire body.

“Look at you…” he murmured, his finger still tracing, teasing. “So eager, so ready for me.”

His words sent a rush of heat pooling low in your stomach, and your hips shifted instinctively, pressing back towards him. But Terzo, ever the tease, simply chuckled darkly under his breath, keeping his touch featherlight as he continued to rub the rim of your hole, driving you wild with need.

Without warning, Terzo’s finger pressed gently against your entrance, slipping inside with an exquisite slowness that had your breath hitching. The stretch was subtle, teasing, as he moved with practiced ease, pushing just enough to make you crave more. His other hand rested firmly on your hip, steadying you, while his lips ghosted over your shoulder, leaving soft, heated kisses in their wake.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice low and sultry, sending a ripple of pleasure through your body. He pushed his finger deeper, curling it slightly, testing your reaction. Your back arched, a quiet moan escaping your lips as he moved, the sensation both maddening and blissful.

Terzo’s eyes were locked on you, watching every shift of your body, every tremble. “You feel so good, amore,” he murmured, his thumb grazing over your skin as he added another finger, stretching you further. The pressure, the way he moved inside you with such calculated tenderness, had your pulse racing, your hips rolling in search of more.

“Do you like that?” His voice was rich with satisfaction, knowing full well the answer. He was in no hurry, wanting to savour every moment, every delicious sound that fell from your lips as he worked his fingers inside you, coaxing you towards a deeper pleasure.

“Papa!” you gasped, the word slipping out in a breathless exclamation as your hips bucked against his hand, moving with a newfound urgency. You were desperate now, pushing back against his fingers, seeking more, needing more, as the pleasure began to overwhelm you.

Terzo smirked at your reaction, his eyes darkening with lust as he felt you grind harder, faster. “Ah, look at you… so needy for me,” he murmured, his fingers plunging deeper, stretching you in the most delicious way. He twisted his wrist slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you that had your body trembling, your thighs shaking with the intensity.

Your breaths came in shallow gasps, every nerve alight with pleasure as your hips moved frantically, chasing the release that was building, coiling tighter with every thrust of his fingers. Terzo, always the master of timing, met your movements with perfect precision, keeping you on edge, drawing it out just a little longer.

“Such a good little thing, aren’t you?” he rasped, his voice thick with arousal as his thumb circled your clit, adding to the overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume you. “Come on, amore, let me hear you. Let me feel you.”

With a knowing smirk, Terzo wiggled his fingers inside you, finding that perfect spot with unerring precision. The sensation shot through you like lightning, sending every nerve into overdrive. It was too much, too perfect—your body tightened, your hips stuttering as the pleasure crested into something unstoppable.

Your breath hitched sharply, and with a soft cry, you came undone. The world blurred for a moment, your body trembling as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Terzo’s fingers didn’t stop, working you through it, coaxing every last bit of pleasure out of you as you trembled in his grasp. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he whispered, “That’s it, tesoro… let go for me.”

Your body was still quivering, your breaths ragged as you collapsed against him, your chest heaving. Terzo’s hand stayed gentle on your hip, his touch grounding you as the aftershocks rippled through you. He kissed the back of your neck, his voice a soothing purr. “You were perfect, amore. Absolutely perfect.”

Terzo kissed you deeply, his lips soft yet insistent, as if he wanted to savour the taste of your release. You melted into him, still breathless from the intensity of your climax, but already craving more. With a slow, deliberate motion, he guided you onto your back, his hands gentle but firm as he settled between your legs.

He paused for a moment, reaching for the bottle of lube at the bedside. His eyes never left yours as he slicked up his fingers, the cool liquid a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. You bit your lip in anticipation, your body already responding to his touch, sensitive and eager.

“Relax for me, amore,” Terzo murmured, his voice a low rasp of affection and desire. He pressed his lubed fingers back to your entrance, slipping inside easily now, stretching you further. His touch was careful yet thorough, pushing and spreading until you felt your muscles yield, widening under his skilled hands.

He took his time, his fingers moving in and out with measured strokes, working you open inch by inch. “There we go,” he purred, watching the way your body responded to him, how you softened under his attention. “I want you nice and ready for me.”

Your breath came faster, the stretch pushing you into a deeper state of arousal as his fingers worked to prepare you. The tension built slowly, deliciously, and when Terzo finally added another finger, you moaned, your body giving way to him, pliant and ready for what was to come.

Terzo’s fingers moved with a steady, deliberate rhythm, each stroke sending a shiver of anticipation through you. He watched you intently, his dark eyes locked onto yours as he stretched you wider, preparing you for him. His thumb brushed soothingly along your thigh, grounding you as he worked another finger inside, the pressure and fullness making your breath catch.

“There you go, tesoro… almost ready,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his arousal barely contained as he patiently prepared you. But despite his calm demeanour, you could sense the hunger simmering beneath the surface, the way his breath hitched slightly every time your body reacted to his touch.

You whimpered softly, your hips shifting instinctively towards him, silently begging for more. Terzo smirked at your neediness, the corner of his mouth twitching in satisfaction. “So eager,” he teased, curling his fingers inside you just right, coaxing another moan from your lips.

When he finally withdrew his fingers, you felt a momentary emptiness that made you ache for him. He wasted no time, reaching for the lube again, this time coating his cock in the slick, glistening liquid. You watched him, your heart racing, your body already pulsing with anticipation.

He moved between your legs, positioning himself at your entrance. Terzo’s eyes met yours, dark and burning with desire. “Breathe, amore,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips before pushing forward, the head of his cock pressing insistently against your hole.

Slowly, inch by inch, he began to slip inside, stretching you further. The sensation was overwhelming—his thickness, the fullness as he sank deeper, filling you completely. Terzo groaned, the sound low and guttural as your body enveloped him. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as he continued to push forward, taking his time, savouring the way you opened up for him.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his voice strained with restraint. “You feel so fucking good.”

As Terzo filled you completely, an unfamiliar but exquisite sensation coursed through your body. The stretch was intense, yet it was accompanied by a warmth that radiated through you, sparking a thrill that made you gasp. Your breaths quickened, each inhale mingling with the heady mix of pleasure and anticipation.

It felt so different from anything you had experienced before—full, yet perfectly pleasurable. The way he filled you up sent electric shivers racing along your spine, igniting every nerve ending in your body. You felt like you were teetering on the edge of something profoundly exhilarating, a new frontier of ecstasy that opened up before you.

With each inch he pushed deeper, your body adjusted, accepting him as if it had always known this feeling. You could feel every ridge, every pulse of his cock as he settled into you, the sensation almost overwhelming. It was a unique blend of pressure and pleasure, a heady combination that made your heart race and your body crave more.

“Does it feel good, tesoro?” Terzo asked, his voice low and thick with desire as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. You could only nod, lost in the intensity of the moment, the way his presence filled you in every way.

You marveled at how incredibly right it felt, how your body responded to him so willingly. The sensation of being stretched was unlike anything you had ever imagined, and with each slow, deliberate thrust, you felt yourself melting further into the pleasure. It was intoxicating—the way he moved, the way you could feel him hitting every sensitive spot inside you, igniting a fire that had you arching your back and moaning his name.

“Good girl,” he praised, his words sending a wave of warmth flooding through you. You were quickly losing yourself in the bliss of it all, the pressure building once more as he pushed in deeper, the sensation intensifying with every thrust. You couldn’t get enough, craving the way he filled you, wanting to feel every moment, every exquisite thrust that sent you spiralling higher.

As Terzo began to pick up the pace, the delicious friction sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, intensifying with every thrust. His cock moved inside you with a confident urgency, each stroke deeper and harder than the last, pushing you to the brink of ecstasy. The initial discomfort quickly faded, replaced by an overwhelming wave of sensation that made your body writhe beneath him.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your breathy gasps and the low growls of desire escaping Terzo’s lips. With every thrust, he found that perfect rhythm, driving into you with a force that had your back arching and your moans growing louder. The way he filled you felt primal, every movement sending pleasure coursing through you like electric currents, igniting every nerve ending.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice thick with lust as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. You could only nod, lost in the sensations, feeling the heat pooling deep within you. Each thrust felt more intoxicating than the last, your body craving the fullness, the connection, as he worked to take you higher.

With every push, Terzo’s cock brushed against that sensitive spot inside you, sending ripples of pleasure that made your legs quiver. The way he buried himself inside you, moving with purpose, had you gasping in delight, the world around you fading away until it was just the two of you, lost in this moment of bliss.

He seemed to sense your rising pleasure, his movements growing more fervent, more passionate. “You’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice low and strained. “I can’t get enough of you.” His words only fueled your desire, pushing you closer to the edge, and you met his thrusts with your own, urging him on, wanting more, needing more.

The connection between you was electric, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak as he continued to thrust deeper and harder. Every stroke sent you soaring higher, your moans filling the air as you surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensations. You were lost in a haze of pleasure, your body responding instinctively to his every movement, craving that sweet release that was just within reach.

As you spread your legs wider, Terzo’s breath caught in his throat. The sight of you, vulnerable and eager beneath him, was nearly overwhelming. Your fingers danced over your clit, a mix of urgency and pleasure evident in every movement. He could see the way your body responded to his thrusts, the way your hips rolled to meet him, and it drove him wild.

Your moans, now mingling with the slick sounds of his thrusts, were music to his ears. He watched as your head fell back against the pillows, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss, lost in the world he was creating for you. The way your fingers worked your clit, the rhythm matching the thrusts of his cock, was an intoxicating sight that sent waves of heat coursing through him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire, a hint of awe in it as he watched you. “So fucking beautiful, so perfect.” He was mesmerised by how freely you surrendered to pleasure, your body arching and writhing as you chased your high. The connection between you was palpable, a magnetic pull that only intensified the deeper he pushed inside you.

Every gasp and moan that fell from your lips sent a rush of pride through him. He was the one making you feel this way, the one who had brought you to this point of abandon. He could see the flush creeping up your cheeks, the way your skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, and it stirred something primal within him. The desire to claim you, to lose himself in you completely, only grew stronger.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, wanting you to feel every word. “You’re so close, aren’t you? I can feel it,” he said, his voice low and sultry, igniting a fire within you. The sight of you lost in your own pleasure, fingers working your clit while he filled you, was almost too much to bear.

Every thrust, every brush against that sensitive spot inside you, drove you closer to the edge, and he relished the way your body responded, the way you sought him out, craving more. He could feel himself getting lost in the moment, the rhythm of your bodies synchronising, the heat between you building to a fever pitch.

Watching you abandon yourself to pleasure, he felt an overwhelming desire to keep you right there, to push you to that brink and beyond, to see you unravel in ecstasy beneath him. And as you continued to rub your clit, he could sense it—both of you teetering on the edge of something magnificent, and he was determined to take you there together.

As you rubbed your clit with fervour, the tension coiled tightly within you, building to an unbearable peak. Your body began to tremble, each thrust from Terzo sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading outwards until it consumed you completely.

With a final gasp, you let go. The waves of pleasure crashed over you, a tidal wave of ecstasy that left you breathless. Your body arched off the bed as your climax rolled through you, the world narrowing down to just the sensation of pure bliss radiating from your core. You cried out, the sound a mix of relief and pleasure, as you felt yourself unraveling around him.

Terzo’s eyes widened in awe, his gaze fixed on your face as he watched you come undone. The sight of you—lost in pleasure, your body responding to his every thrust—pushed him over the edge. He couldn’t help but speed up, driven by the need to follow you into that blissful abyss.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, the sound low and primal as he felt your walls clench around him, squeezing tightly, milking him for everything he had. With a final thrust, he buried himself deep, his body seizing with pleasure as his own climax washed over him. The sensation was electric, coursing through him like wildfire as he felt himself release, spilling inside you with a deep, shuddering groan.

The two of you were locked in that moment, bodies entwined, riding the waves of pleasure together. As he held you close, his breath ragged and hot against your skin, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction, a connection that went beyond the physical. You were both breathless, lost in the afterglow, each pulse of pleasure a reminder of the heights you had reached together.

Terzo collapsed beside you, his body still humming with the remnants of ecstasy. He turned to you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he took in your blissful expression. “That was incredible,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. “You were absolutely breathtaking.”

As the two of you lay entwined in the aftermath of your shared ecstasy, Terzo’s fingers gently traced patterns along your skin, exploring the softness of your curves and the warmth radiating from your body. His touch was tender, a stark contrast to the passionate intensity that had just unfolded. He couldn’t help but marvel at how beautifully you glowed, your skin flushed and glistening in the soft light, a radiant reminder of the connection you had just forged.

He leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, relishing the way you melted against him. “You have no idea how incredible you are,” he whispered, his voice thick with affection. The sincerity in his tone wrapped around you like a warm blanket, making your heart flutter in response. You smiled, your cheeks still warm, feeling the weight of his gaze as he looked at you with a mixture of awe and admiration.

“Thank you for that,” you murmured, a hint of shyness creeping into your voice as you nestled closer to him, seeking the comfort of his embrace. His arm tightened around you, drawing you in as he tucked you beneath his chin, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“It was my pleasure, amore,” he replied, his breath warm against your hair. “I’ll always cherish moments like this with you.” The sincerity in his words sent a rush of affection through you, and you sighed contentedly, feeling cherished and adored. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in this serene moment, wrapped up in one another.

Terzo’s fingers continued to play with your hair, his touch gentle and soothing as he murmured soft words in Italian, a lullaby of affection that made your heart swell. You found yourself losing track of time, lulled by the rhythm of his voice and the warmth of his body. There was something profoundly intimate about this moment, a sense of connection that transcended the physical.

After a while, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. “I could stay like this forever,” he confessed, his gaze sincere and deep. “With you. Just like this.” You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, a sweetness that filled the space between you.

“I feel the same,” you admitted, your voice soft but earnest. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Prev./Next

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pynkhues · 3 months ago

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omg that analysis was everything!! thank you sm! really was a palette cleanser. would love the continuation with the parts you didn't get to - his relationship with jonah and the dynamic within the rue royal household. the housewife insult from claudia really did a number on the fandom's reading of louis. (still not over people seriously considering him the embodiment of "edwardian housewife" archetype while lestat is a classic patriarch. dunno if i wanna laugh or cry).

(x)

Thank you! And yeah, I think I've mentioned it before, but it's interesting to me that so many people take both Claudia's housewife insult and Grace's white daddy insult as effectively one-to-one attributes instead of as weapons of emasculation to not only try and hurt Louis, but to goad him into action.

The dynamic of the Rue Royale household is probably it's own entire answer, and one that might be best answered after I've finished my re-watch, but yes! Let's talk about Jonah. Or, well, about sex, haha.

Virtue and the gothic heroine

One of the key attributes of a gothic heroine is her virtue, because Gothicism as a genre is rooted intrinsically in the loss of that virtue. What that means or looks like exactly changes – in the earliest stories within the genre, that loss of virtue was a result of perversion or corruption and usually spelled doom for the heroine, and in later stories it marked a point of transformation or metamorphosis where the loss of that virtue often came to symbolise a transition from girlhood to adulthood.

Virtue was, and still is, often depicted in the genre through virginity as excellently stated in the paper Female Virtue in Gothic Literature 1780-1810 “female morality was irrevocably intertwined with a sexual code of conduct. Daughters…were reminded that their most important attribute was intact virginity and wives were constantly retold their worth relied upon their chastity and therefore their ability to bear legitimate children.”

This came to define gothic literature, and her loss of virginity became pretty vital as a character beat as it would mark this loss of agency which I talked about a bit in the last post. Significantly too though, the gothic heroine usually has men after her virtue. Which, well, - -

As put in this paper Haunted Heroines: An Examination of the Complication of the Gothic Heroine: “She is the object of the perverted sexual desire of older men, above all representing the innocence and purity that the men are themselves negations of.”

Typically, when she did lose her virginity, she’d end up with three options: she could marry the man who took her virginity, she could “give up the idea of marriage and take holy orders” (aka become a nun), or she could die. Regardless of the decision she makes, the actual choice is a really marked moment for the gothic heroine, as it’s often the only actual moment of agency she gets in a story which is invested in her disempowerment. She has to give herself away – to a husband, to God, or to death – because the gothic, particularly the female gothic, understands that once her body has been taken by a man, it can never be her own again for better and for worse.

Claudia loses her virginity way back in season 1, but she’s robbed even of that momentary agency, because her body itself stays virginal. She does not get to make a choice. The monstrosity of Claudia’s making is that she will never not be an innocent, the virtuousness that men seek to take from her can never be taken, and thus she is never allowed transformation, she is never allowed her moment of agency, and she can never belong to another. It re-emphasises her arrested development, but it also keeps her trapped as the gothic heroine in Louis and Lestat’s house forever. There is no getting out for Claudia, she dies without transformation, she dies so that she can be mourned by the monsters in the house.

The Byronic Hero and the Past

On the flip side of that, the Byronic Hero is, inherently, a romantic, both physically and poetically, or as Jean Ann Bates put in her excellent 1949 essay “The Byronic hero is distinguished by the clearly defined existence of sensuousness and its antithesis, sensitiveness.” After all, as an archetype, he’s based on Lord Byron who fucked his way through Venice while producing some of the most romantic poetry ever, in history.

Bates continues:

“The Byronic hero is almost always a man with a mysterious past. This past is usually surmised to be of wickedness and sin, and our hero is periodically haunted by feelings of remorse concerning it…the mood of the Byronic hero is one of intense melancholy and pessimism; yet we feel underlying this apparently static exterior, the beat of throbbing life energy. Like the Corsair, the Byronic hero is ‘warp’d by the world of disappointment. He seems to loathe himself and all mankind, and is always one apart from his fellow creatures…The Byronic hero’s character is amoral rather than immoral…The Byronic hero is all that is characteristic of the somewhat jaded cosmopolitan man of the world.”

The whole essay’s a great read, and I think again, really encapsulates Louis’ character, but I wanted to talk a little bit about this sense of a mysterious past and one surmised to be of wickedness and sin, because I think it’s an overlooked part of Louis’ arc.

Because he tells us in such soaring, and romantic detail, this large portion of his life, it can be easy to think we know all of it, when really, there’s a lot we don’t know about Louis as a young man. We meet him when he’s 33-years-old, we know that his father is dead, that the sugar plantation his father owned went broke, that he and his brother had a chapter of their shared life where they shuffled for pennies, but we lack a lot of context beyond these glimmers of what Louis tells us.

In particular, we don’t really know that much about his sexual history before Lestat, which is actually pretty typical of the Byronic Hero. Think the reveal of Rochester’s wife in Jane Eyre or Heathcliff’s three year absence where he mysteriously returns wealthy in Wuthering Heights and soon marries Isabella, the Byronic Hero has chapters that remain unrevealed to us, and part of that is often soaked in sexual or romantic undertones.

In the first episode, Louis talks about the fact that he didn’t consider himself a homosexual, which I think can become a focus, but I’m more interested in the earlier exchange with Daniel where Louis articulates using Lily as cover for his sexuality.

If you take this scene at face value, and look at it on its own, Louis’ saying yes, he had urges towards men, but his faith was keeping him in check, only if you look at it with the scene before it, we see him refuse to enter the church confessional after joking with Paul that Paul is wasting people's time as he has nothing to confess. An implication, perhaps, that Louis knows that he does.

My reading of that has always been that Louis was sleeping with men in New Orleans long before Lestat came into the picture, and probably a fair few, but the show plays with Louis’ unreliable narration and the mystery of his sexual history to shroud that really until Jonah’s introduction. Jonah, after all, not only confirms that Louis had been with other men prior to Lestat, (as does Louis’ familiarity with the bayou as a gay hook up site), and that he wasn’t keeping much of anything at bay through the threat of absolution, but that he was sleeping with boys.

Louis’ 33 when he’s turned in 1910, and we know from the notice in this episode that we’re now in 1917, so Louis should be 40. We don’t know how old Jonah is, but given they look like contemporaries now, I think you could pretty safely gauge that if Louis was hooking up with him when Jonah was 16, he was probably in his mid-twenties. The context of the era is, of course, important, and there are a million reasons why Louis might have taken the opportunity with a teenager (although I think given Louis’ relationship with power, particularly in the NOLA era, we can assume that plays a role) but the narrative choice of the show to make Jonah a teenager when they hooked up – just like the choice to have Madeleine sleep with a Nazi teenager – is a deliberate ethical muddying of the waters to show that these elements of the monstrousness and the predator existed in him prior to his turning.

Louis is not, and has never been virtuous. He is not chaste when Lestat first has sex with him, and he is not an innocent when Lestat turns him. He can’t be corrupted, because, like a true Byronic hero, he is corrupt.

I could talk more here about the Paris park hook-ups, or the 128 boys in San Francisco (literally the most Byron thing imaginable to fuck your way through the city and then try and write a book about your ex lmao), but I think it’s worth leaving it at the New Orleans era, because I think what Jonah represents is not just Louis’ tendency to paint himself in the best light, but the mystery of his past and his inherent sexual agency which is vital to a Byronic hero. Louis is deeply feeling, and he’s capable of being in love with Lestat and having his heart dance with another man, he’s allowed sexual agency and sexual freedom even if it does lead to a bitter fight with Lestat because he's not under the thumb of the patriarch, he is one of the patriarchs. Lestat might follow after all, he might watch, but he doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t exert control, in fact he fills the house with other men to offer Louis the deepening of depravity even through his own jealousy and, notably, empties the house when Louis tells him to.

Again, this goes back to what I was saying in the last post, but Louis doesn’t lack agency. The townhouse is not a prison to him, Lestat’s patriarchal, yes, but so’s Louis, he’s just more emotionally manipulative about how he keeps Claudia close to him. Louis' sexuality is a huge part of him, but it also doesn't define him in the way Claudia's virginity does. After all, for Claudia her sexuality is symbolic of her eternal chastity and girlhood, a gothic heroine locked in a prison of her own innocence, whereas for Louis, it gets to be so much more, because as a Byronic Hero, he gets to be so much more.

#this is very long lol sorry #i'd actually forgotten the specifics of the seeking ass before absolution line before i rewatched the ep and it made me laugh #sir you were absolutely seeking ass before absolution i love you <3 #louis de pointe du lac #claudia de pointe du lac #gonna make it a tag ->#byronic hero #louis asks #welcome to my ama #gothic archetypes

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powderblueblood · 7 months ago

Text

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ELEVEN — ALL TOMORROW'S KEGGERS

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: after you visit an old stomping ground to pad out your college resume and eddie agonizes about the what of what are you, you both return to the place where all this mess began--a classic harrington rager. content warnings: written in the immersive second person (you/yours), oc has a name, background and she/her pronouns but no physical descriptions. era typical misogyny, homophobia, general bad bitch scheming. mentions of drug dealing, sexual situations and strong language. minors fuck off. word count: 8.7k

Dear reader,

A while ago, I mentioned that thing that Joan Didion said about staying on nodding terms with the people we used to be.

Lucky for me and my once-fervent need to be inviolable from all angles, I have a couple of versions of Lacy I can choose from.

Depends on what I need from her.

The hot sprawl of the community hall drags your sense memory kicking and screaming back to age sixteen.

Scarlet nails tugged a rough line through your scalp, elevating your hair so high it might as well apply for zoning permission. An acrid blast of Aquanet settled right in your bottom lashes. Your mother loomed over your shoulder in the mirror, her cigarette ashing into some poor bitch’s retainer case.

“The way they run these things nowadays… it’s a disgrace,” she tutted, but not to you, “These girls are animals.”

That’s gotta be a fucking fire hazard, right?

“Well, if Lacy’s an animal,” a flame haired Ann Perkins guffawed, yanking a backcombed rat of your hair upwards—ow, “she’s a goddamn gazelle, Glory.”

“First kill?” You didn’t miss the smugness curling around her Elizabeth Arden lips, hunching your body glittered arms inward.

“No—god, no, I just mean with how graceful she is. My Carol, bless her heart, she’s got the coordination of her father after a slab of Old Milwaukee. You remember I told you about trying to teach her baton?”

“She sent it flying through the neighbour’s windshield,” you giggled fondly, recalling Carol telling you how much of a stupid cooze her mom was for trying to teach her in the first place. ‘Throwing some stick around—who does she think I am, Lassie?’

“Don’t smile,” your mom slapped your shoulder sharply, “It’ll smudge your gloss.”

You scrubbed it off in the bathroom moments later, reapplying a layer of scarlet lacquer you knew she’d call whorish. Too late.

Knocking back a swig of Diet Coke and two rainbow pills, you took the stage to claim runner up in the Hawkins division of the American Teen Princess pageant, meeting Gloriana’s seething scowl from the audience with your own Vaselined failure of a smile.

The lipstick had lost you the crown, of course. That was the winning theory. ‘If you’d have just done what I told you…’

The chemical sting of Aquanet still hurts your eyes, but you’re not the target this time.

See, a portfolio of writing is one thing, but the other thing that college applications generally look for is community participation. Volunteer work. Charity grubbing. And gracing Eddie Munson’s lunch table with your occasional presence apparently doesn’t count.

Just kidding. Kind of.

Point is, you needed something quick and dirty, yet passably prestigious, with people who would bend to your will. And there’s no one more malleable than insecure high school girls competing in a beauty pageant in small town Indiana.

“Now, Lacy, we are delighted to have you here helping out,” says Claudia Henderson, a one time multi-title holder (just short of Miss America apparently—‘But then they stopped giving homely girls a pass; poor Claudia never stood a chance,’ your mom had told you) and the kind of kindly woman that loves to clutch your arm while you walk.

Ordinarily, you’d be repulsed by such a gesture but you’re desperate.

Before you get a chance to gush falsely, tell her how grateful you are for the opportunity, Claudia cuts you off.

“But I do hope that this isn’t some covert effort by your mother to get back in our good books—because, golly, well, that bridge is burned!”

Of course. Your mom had attempted to sabotage Tammy Thompson’s performance portion by mixing a laxative into her milkshake, because a shit show like that would make your little poetry reading look positively Carnegie worthy. But she hadn’t covered her tracks well enough and got sniffed out by the pageant committee. So had Tammy, poor thing. Horrible day to wear white chiffon.

Incredible that it was that they were still hung up on, and not the… everything else you and your family had going on. You do a decent impression of cringing, looking at Claudia with mournful eyes.

“Claudia, I swear, this is all me,” you assure her, “The time I spent doing pageant prep was just so formative—I think I would’ve been a lot worse off facing, well, certain challenges without it. I’d really like the chance to give that back to the girls.”

Admittedly, your hours spent in front of the mirror training your face to look earnest for the interview portion hadn’t gone to waste on the stand during your father’s trial.

“That is just incredible to hear, sweetie. And between you and I, you’re really saving our keisters because the girl we had helping our hopefuls out with speech prep dropped out last minute!”

That’d be the current debate team captain, Kate something-or-other. She was easy enough to take out—posing as a concerned member of the local Christian youth group, you’d placed a call to her ultra-conservative parents about her hanging out with Billy Hargrove. Which was total bullshit, of course. Billy wouldn’t approach an ex-or-current band geek with a hazmat suit on. A shame, really. The band kids were the only niche that could rival Billy’s baseless horniness. His dream girl could be hanging out behind a trombone someplace, squeezing her knees together.

Anyway, did you feel great about selling Kate out like that? Honestly, you didn’t care about it too much one way or another. The maneuvre felt very classic Lacy, which was in part a little shameful and in part incredibly satisfying to know that, when it comes to manipulation, you’re still batting at a professional level.

Claudia wheels you and your elbow around the room, the oxygen thick with sweat and body spray and pageant application forms. A couple of the would-be queens catch your eye–homely girls, as your mother would call them, who were duped into their well-meaning parentals or sisters or guidance counselors into thinking that doing the pageant was a great way to make friends. A boost to their self esteem. A chance to really show the town what they’re made of!

Someone should tell them to run, but it’s not gonna be you.

“Oh, Lacy!” Claudia suddenly half-shrieks, halting you with a sharp tug, “Meet my special little guy! This is Dustin, he goes to Hawkins Middle. I like to bring him around to meet the girls so he learns how to treat a lady. It’s so important for boys, don’t you think?”

Yeah, start the little lotharios young. You tilt your chin in acknowledgment of the kid, who squints at you from under the rim of a ball cap. Claudia’s attention is diverted by some other poor bastard helping to organize this dog and pony show, but she keeps her hand firmly on your elbow. It’s starting to feel a little like you’re being led around the prison yard. You attempt a tight smile at her son, who’s still looking you up and down.

“Hey, I know you!” he barks– seems like lack of volume control runs in the family, “You’re Nancy’s friend. You slept over at the weekend. I’m Mike’s friend? I ate the green peppers off your pizza slice…? Not ringin’ any bells? Really?”

“Oh, right,” you lie, having no recollection of ever meeting this child, “Pleasure, sure.”

The way he’s surveying you is a little much. “So, what was up with that guy?” he asks you, tone dropping conspiratorially. You don’t know why, but you feel like middle schoolers shouldn’t be able to do that.

“Excuse me?”

“Me and the guys saw some scary dude climbing out of Nancy’s window. Is he–”

What’s up with kids and just having to say any old thing? What happened to being seen and not heard? What happened to being intimidated by your high school elders? If his mother wasn’t standing right next to you, you’d flip that little propeller cap off his head and tell him to go fetch.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The kid cocks his head to the side. “Positive? Because it sure looked like–”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. –Justin, wow, you’re such a card, ha ha ha,” you slip your arm out of Claudia’s as subtly as a woman breaking into a cold sweat can, “Claudia, I’ve got to dash unfortunately, but you’ve got my number! Let me know when I can come and meet with the girls, won’t you? I’m so excited.”

You’re so absolutely fucking not.

Footsteps burn a hot trail through that creaking hall, not quite avoiding a couple of stares as you flit past. Of course, since Ray’s great return brought a whole new batch of grist for the Hawkins’ rumor mill, you’d been subject to more whispers than usual. Any move you made was in some way looped back to either groveling for the town’s forgiveness, assuming your father’s criminal crown, or generally being a case for pity or ridicule. Sometimes both, if people were really creative. Stood to reason that the only person you want to see is someone who’s lived with notoriety like that for most of their life.

Ivana has parked across two spots in front of the community hall, her green Buick gleaming under an unseasonable glare of sunlight. It’s still far too cold to have the top down like she does but she does and she sits bundled in the front seat. A leopard print fur coat, a cigarette, a pair of sunglasses perched in her platinum beehive.

“Christ, girlie, I thought they’d tied you to the stake in there.”

“My escape was narrow, as always,” you smirk, sliding into the passenger seat and tugging your own coat around you a little tighter. “What’s up with the exposure?”

“Feeling the wind whip your face is good for you, especially when you spend most of the day craned over books like you do.”

“This coming from the owner of the biggest bookstore in town.”

“Only,” Ivana corrects you, as she so often does, “Only bookstore in town. You saw what happened when B. Dalton tried to muscle in on my territory.”

“You admitting to knowing something about that mall’s fiery end, Ivana?” Horseshit bombs and the Russian mafia come to mind, but Ivana just cackles loudly and tears out of the parking lot at breakneck speed.

The frigid sting of wind on your face does feel fantastic, you have to hand it to her. Resetting your base temperature from boiling, where it’s rocketed between school and home and Eddie and everything. Much as it’s thrilling, exploring this new aspect of your… dynamic with him, on top of everything else, it’s a lot.

You’re not quite ready to classify your feelings about Eddie without your chest feeling like it’s going to cave in. Every other conversation winds up with your hands all over each other, clumsy in the communication of your unrepressed passion. And it is great, don’t let yourself be misunderstood, you crave it when it’s not happening, and boy do you beat yourself up when you stop it from going all the way but…

The tape keeps getting tangled. Like you’re playing the right song at the wrong part of the movie. It keeps coming out warped and rushed, and you keep feeling like somebody is watching you two.

You two don’t belong shoved into clandestine corners, making out on the sly. You’d been hiding the things that you care about in places like that your whole life. Your books and records under your bed, your clothes in the back of your walk-in wardrobe. Your thoughts in your journal. Your real face from your fake friends.

Eddie’s like a great, flowering plant that has spread his curling vines into every facet of your life, taking root right at the center.

He may not know it, he may be playing the part of being very understanding but he demands light and care. And dirt.

It scares you.

But that tearing breeze settles your nerves, and those are rarely settled around Ivana herself. She has a preternatural way about her. She knows just when to step out of the shadows and twist fate so your path gets a refresh. First, your job at the Bookstore. Now, letting you into her inner sanctum.

Brambles clatter against the green paintwork of the car as you careen down a backroad off of Holland. Gravel sprays as Ivana hauls you up her drive and you catch a fresh smell– to your immediate right, you’re looking out on the still, chilled expanse of Lover’s Lake. You breathe in that post-winter thaw, curling your wistful hands over the passenger side door and she seems to notice.

“Hell of a view, right?”

The slam of Ivana hip-checking her car door closed is the loudest sound out here.

“Peaceful,” you remark, following her up the sagging wooden porch. Another look over your shoulder. You were used to seeing Lover’s Lake from another part of the embankment, usually crowded with cars and beer coolers, bodies in bathing suits baying for attention. You’d been one once, trying desperately to look comfortable in your sweltering skin only to sneak off and take shelter in Main Street Vinyl.

The frigid water seemed more inviting right now.

Another house, this total slouch of a place, stares right at you from across the lake.

“Nice neighbors?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Ivana says, shoving the ancient front door open.

Following her inside, you have to suppress a gasp.

Ivana’s house is no mansion, but the way she’s filled it makes it feel like one. Under vaulted ceilings, everything seems to be cast in a rich, aquatic shadow. Tendrils of greenery embrace each corner and even hang from the ceilings. Threadbare rugs of once-moneyed origin muffle you underfoot. Chairs of velvet sag and every single goddamned surface is covered in tchotchkes, magazines, scarves, photographs. Even the Steiner piano. You catch a glimpse of the pictures in gilded frames as you slowly follow Ivana toward the back of the house–Ivana with equally glamorous looking friends, dancing at what you’re sure is Studio 54. Ivana standing next to Andy Warhol, a disgruntled looking Norman Mailer lingering in the background of the shot. Ivana on her wedding day. And second wedding day. And third wedding day.

Your chest throbs furiously.

You hear Ivana creek up the stairs and you’re not quite sure what the proper procedure is here– do you follow her? Would she push you back down the stairs if you tried such a thing? She’s always seemed like the type. Fiercely private. Only sharing the tiniest tidbits of this rich meal of a life she lived before she came back to Hawkins.

“Come on, girlie. I ain’t got all day.”

You take your opportunity and scarper up the stairs behind her. Eyes flit over even more photographs as you ascend, a smile of disbelief crossing your lips at the sawn-off shotgun mounted on her wall. Like she’s Annie Oakley or somebody. She could be. It’s evident to you now that Ivana has been just about everyone there is to be. It ought to intimidate you, really, bearing witness to someone who’s so successfully lived life before you’ve even begun to, but it doesn’t. The closeness, clutteredness, coziness of this house lulls you into a funny kind of serenity.

“I just don’t get you, Ivana,” you say, not entirely wanting to catch her in earshot as you float into her bedroom. Dark and plush, like everything else. A light comes on in her overstuffed closet.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Of course, she hears everything.

You approach the heaving wardrobe, hands running along silk, chiffon, velvet. Broderie, brocade, lace.

“How the hell do you go from having a full life like this,” you grip the sleeve of what could be one of Ivana’s three wedding dresses, “and end up back in East Jesus, Indiana? I mean you’ve–you’ve been everywhere. You’ve done everything. How can you stand it here?”

Ivana tilts her head at you from where she sits on the ottoman at the end of her bed. Canopy, naturally. She looks at you as if really taking you in for the first time. You shift a little, from one foot to the other. It doesn’t feel probing and accusatory, not like how your mother looks at you. More like she’s reading your palm.

“I wanted to come home,” she says, simply. “Had my fill. Got tired. Wanted to remember what fresh air felt like, and realized I preferred it to car horns.”

“But why not, like… upstate New York? Somewhere actually scenic and peaceful, why Hawkins, Indiana?”

“I wanted to come home, I said. Now,” she gestures to the masses of clothes, “You’ve got ten minutes. One outfit. Dig.”

—

“This is, like, beat for beat my worst fucking nightmare, I want you to know that.”

“You know what, shoot me down but I think you wanna go to this–I think you’re getting nervous because of how excited you are!”

Ronnie Ecker aims a finger gun right between Eddie’s eyes. “Name yourself, body snatcher. Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my best friend.”

She’s got him point blank on that one. He’s acting a little out of sorts–but, in his defense, he’s having, as Rick Lipton might call it, a total wig out. Eddie’s been invited to Steve Harrington’s kegger under absolutely no pretense (but he’s bringing a pocketful of drugs anyway, of course). Eddie’s going to see the (ex) most popular girl in school there, which’d be you.

And Dio willing, you two are gonna disappear into some side room where he’s gonna trace his leaking cock against every inch of your silky, perfumed skin while you hiss his name into the air like it’s the only word you deem worthy enough to speak.

It’s fine. It’s cool. It’s casual.

Eddie tries to shake that thought right out his head under the guise of turning to the mirror and fixing his hair. Fingertips raking into the waves, an attempt to make ‘em look less… or more… he’s got no idea. He’s got no earthly idea. So he huffs.

“What have I got to be excited about?!” Ronnie sighs dramatically, thunking herself into the nearby armchair in Eddie’s room that’s covered in clothes–outfits he’s tried on, like a different jeans-and-t-shirt combination will actually make a difference. “Don’t pretend like I’m not hauling ass to the first party of my high school career so I can be, like, a freak diversion while you two sneak off and–”

Amazing how Eddie’s managed to keep this secret from Ronnie for this long, but she’s got it pretty much sniffed out anyway.

“No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You, Eddie Munson, you’re gonna stand there, preening yourself in the mirror like a fuckin’ peacock telling me the eye contact you two have been making with each other since you ‘made up’ has been completely Christian-minded? Smell test certified?” Ronnie spits. “I just got into New York University, you little bitch! I cannot be fooled! You boinked and it’s scrawled all over your face in her lipstick!”

“Dude, do not say boinked–”

“You’ve greeted her carnally!”

“--who are we, Sam and Diane?”

“If everybody knows your name, man!”

Look, here’s the thing.

You and Eddie have been making out heavy, stolen moments in crooks like the newspaper room after hours, under the bleachers, the decommissioned bathroom, the driver’s seat of Eddie’s van, grinding it out harder than a couple of drumline dorkos from band which has led to Eddie wrecking a couple pairs of boxers a lot sooner than he’d like to. (Which you hadn’t laughed at him about–you’d liked it. It was so fucking hot that you liked it that just the thought of you liking it makes his breath snag if he thinks about it too hard.)

But. Skin-to-skin contact has been… frustratingly minimal, since that night in your bedroom.

See, it’s like, you get there. Eddie’s lips are edging south of your collarbone, his fingers digging into the flush of your tits through your bra and something snaps in you. You go from rolling those rapturous hips into him (god, fuck, don’t–) to tensing right up, looking over your shoulder, expecting to see a door creaking open.

Fear freezing the edges of your features, even if your touch is still hot on him.

“We should–” “... yeah. Yeah. Of course, Lace.” Eddie’s trying really hard not to be an asshole. But it’s hard when… you’re hard. And you, you get him fucking full mouth salivating, forged in the flames of Mount Doom hard. Those tight little skirts you wear are so much more enticing now that he knows what the heavenly enclave feels like underneath them.

Bu-ut.

Your paranoia is working overtime.

Your paranoia is making his paranoia work overtime.

Because, what if after all your dancing around each other, you don’t actually want him and you’ve got no idea how to let him down gently?

Which, Eddie reassures himself, does not track for you. It’d be pretty damn easy to think that your edges have softened with the events of the past couple months, but he’s had a front row seat to how you’ve shed your old edges to reveal different, weirder, more jagged edges. Edges he’s had a pleasure acquainting himself with. You’d have no problem telling him to take a short walk off Sattler’s Quarry if you wanted to.

Eddie adores that about you, the poor sucker.

Anyway, Ronnie Ecker. Dead to rights. Like always.

“If I tell you…” comes the measured grit through his teeth. “... you have to swear, Ronnie, I’m so goddamn serious–”

She hitches forward in her seat, eyes blazing. “Dude. Scouts. Whatever.”

Eddie’s shoulders drop and it all comes out in one big exhale as his rings drag down his cheeks, “GoodbecauseI’vebeenwantingtotellyousobadohmyGOD. Like, oh my god.”

“So full pen or–”

“Be a gentleman, Ecker, Jesus! But yeah, home fuckin’ run.”

“Good?”

His eyes careen back in his skull and he pitches his palms out like a Pentecostal preacher. “Words… evade. Infernal choirs sang. I left a part of my soul in her–”

“Nope, too much!” Ronnie blanches, waving her hands in the air.

“Okay, okay, okay, but Ronnie– you can’t say shit to her. Promise me.”

“Why? We’re friends too, unless you conveniently forgot again.”

“No, I know that, I just–” Eddie swallows, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. His voice comes out small. “I don’t wanna scare her off. She’s fragile.

“She’s fragile? We’re talking about the same Lacy Doevski here, right?”

“Right, the one whose dad just got out of lockup. Fra-gee-lay,” Eddie emphasizes, notes of Old Man Parker, “It’s just… easier like this, right now.”

“Well… is easy what you want?” Trust Ronnie to come through with a gut punch out of left field.

Eddie’s mouth bobs open to fish out some bullshit answer, but not until his bedroom door flies open.

“Goddamn, kid, you gotta get the maid in here.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Al Munson props his hip against the doorframe, sucking all the air from the room. He looks better than the last time Eddie saw him, at least, not like he’s three days cokebent and clammy. More like he went someplace and got a shave.

“If you really didn’t want me comin’ round, you’d tell your uncle to start lockin’ the door. Now, you got something belonging to me– that Stooges shirt, where’s it at?”

A hot line of panic flares up the back of Eddie’s neck. Stooges shirt, darkened on the shoulders from droplets from your wet hair. Stretched over–

“I’unno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Yes, you do, Eddie,” his dad says, crossing the bedroom’s threshold. Al’s got springs under the balls of his feet, moving with that irritatingly happy-go-lucky effeteness. “It’s my lucky shirt! I need that thing–”

“Hasn’t done you a whole lotta good so far, Allen,” Ronnie mumbles from where she’s bunched up on the armchair.

“Ronnie,” Al’s eyes narrow; they’ve never liked each other because Ronnie’s too goddamn smart for her own good and therefore uncharmable, “How’zabout that for a breath of stale air. Get up a sec, would’ja?”

“C’mon, we’ve gotta go anyway.” Eddie jerks his head toward the door and Ronnie scuttles out ahead of him. He pauses for a breath, watching his dad rifle through the rejected shirts slung over the armchair. “There’s nothing in here worth stealing, by the way. Just in case things have gone so far south already that you’re diggin’ in people’s pockets for spare change.”

Those cut-and-paste Munson eyes survey Eddie and he feels his fist flex. Al’s been a loose cannon lately.

“Big night?”

“Party.” He should know what that means.

“Well, Ed,” Al closes a few steps between them, and Eddie resists the urge to back up. Or wind up. His voice drops so that Ronnie doesn’t catch it. “When you’re ready to graduate from sellin’ ten spots at parties, you let me know. We got something prestigious brewing. Could be the makin’ of you.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh, mirthful from his back molars. “Graduation’s a little ways off for me, Dad.”

He catches up with a tutting Ronnie, slamming the front door behind him and heading for the van.

“Seriously, dude, you got a case for a restraining order the way that motherfucker’s conducting himself lately.”

“I got a crowbar and a map of the Indiana Dunes that’d do just about the same thing, I just need a free weekend.”

“Hey!” a voice calls from behind them, and Eddie and Ronnie swivel toward it.

No stemming the smile that peels across his face, heart thud-thudding back into motion. A soothing cool comes over him at the sight of you, settling him right back into his body. You, dressed to the nines. You, coiffed up like you’re hellbent on making an impression. My little cold front.

“Shotgun!” you chirp, skipping toward the van in your spindly little shoes. Both Eddie and Ronnie are rendered speechless for a beat or two.

Shit, you look good.

“There’s only one fucking passenger seat!” Ronnie protests.

“Fine, Ronnie, I’ll sit in your lap– is that what you want?”

Eddie lets you two nonsensically bicker as he guns the van to life, sweeping out of the park in a thunderous roar. He’s trying to stay tuned into the conversation you’re having, he really is, but the way you’ve got your shoulders thrown back and cleavage thrust out, Ronnie squished beside you, is focus-stealing.

“Wait, you’re volunteering at the beauty pageant?” Eddie finally clues in, “Sorry, Lace, there’s no way that throwing glitter on bimbos in bathing suits counts as community service. Otherwise, I’d be ve-ry committed to my community.”

“Right?! Like, how did I get stuck with helping out Granny’s retirement home friends? I could be checking chicks for visible bra straps but I’m trapped with a bunch of senile losers that smell like clove suckers.”

“It’s not just an ogle-fest, you knuckle-draggers,” you roll your eyes, “There’s an entire interview portion, too. You know, where the judges have to pretend to care about what these girls have to say– and it’s my job to make sure they don’t sound entirely braindead.”

“You love an insurmountable challenge, huh, Lace?”

“Never tell me what I can and can’t mount, Munson,” you purr–he’s almost sure he hears you purr. The way you look at him over the center console, eyes all a-felined, does the job for him.

Ronnie keeps her mouth shut, and he silently thanks her for it.

Festivities are fully in swing as you all pull onto Harrington’s street–plus the festivity-specific problem of there being almost no parking anywhere. Cars of your classmates clog the tree-lined streets, along with the vehicles of the wealthier Loch Nora contingent.

Eddie slaps his hands against the wheel. “How the fuck does he get away with this shit?”

“Senior year pass,” you remark, “Plus, Steve’s always-AWOL parentals. Somehow, his shitty home life gives way to an endless well of sympathy on Richie Rich Row here, so he kind of gets carte blanche.”

“The world’s luckiest latchkey k–woah!”

Reeboked feet have to slam down hard on the brakes, as Eddie almost takes out Robin Buckley, hunching her shoulders and marching toward the Harrington’s porch. The screech of the tires almost sends her leaping out of her skin.

“Watch it, asshole! Pedestrians still exist, you know!”

“Sorry, Buckley!” Eddie calls out down the window wound low, “For what it’s worth, you’re blending into the tarmac just great!”

Robin scoffs and continues stalking. Your head snaps to Ronnie.

“Ron,” you simper, “Why don’t you go make sure Robin’s not suffering from post traumatic? I would be, if I almost got mowed down by this decommissioned tank.”

Her brow screws up like she’s about to answer, but genius little you, this works on a couple of levels. For one, your insistence that something will happen between Buckley and Ronnie if you keep pressing their heads together like Barbies, and for two… Half a second alone.

Half a second is all Eddie needs.

“There’s no way I’m gonna remember where I parked if one of you isn’t here,” he tacks on, as if he needs the support, “And she–” by whom he means you, “--has priors in this house. Off ya go, Ecker.”

Banished to the pavement, Ronnie snarls something about hurrying back, which you promise her that you will. Eddie doesn’t promise anything. If he had his way, he’d rare right out of Loch Nora and keep driving, you to his beautiful right and watch as moonlight started to pool in the window over your skin. Just keep turning the wheel, so he could keep looking at you.

You point out a spot a street over and Eddie kills the engine.

“Hi,” he rasps, angling his torso toward you. He doesn’t stem his smile.

“Hello,” you say in return. Your neck rolls against the headrest. You’re looking at him in a slow drip through your bottom lashes.

Eddie has to remind himself to breathe, and his first intake is kinda ragged. It makes you laugh, this little gaspy sound that sounds like a prelude to something else. Your stare breaks, gliding to the dashboard.

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“Let’s shall.”

Eddie snaps back to life, dashing out of the driver’s side to help you down from the passenger’s. Your fingers give his hand a little extra squeeze and he takes this very, very liminal opportunity to hold you at arms length, pirouetting you under his hand.

“Sorry. I’m sorry! I had to!” he faux-apologizes. “Gotta test the durability of these shoes, in case you need to make a run for it later.”

Your laugh comes out uncorked and full-bodied and it makes Eddie feel like his head is levitating two feet above his neck.

“Relieving yourself of your hero duties already, huh?”

Silk spills over your curves, skirt billowing around your thighs as you move. That makes him feel very much in his body. You look ravishing, your hair crashing into a wave as you come to a smiling stop in front of him.

Eddie presses his mouth to your fingers, clasped around his hand, and hears the bubble of your breath hiccup.

“Not by a long shot.”

A warm berry encases your lips that he wants to see smudged. He wants to wear it on his collarbone like a second chain.

He wonders if he knows you look like you’re trying to get ravished.

Of course you do. There’s not a single thing you’ve ever put on your body that wasn’t on purpose.

Which, if Eddie considers it, now includes him.

You both barely remember to unweave your fingers as you approach Harrington’s house.

—

A meticulously curated outfit makes all the difference, especially if you’re reentering society. And you are, in a manner of speaking.

Returning to the scene of the crime, the inciting incident that saw you in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van the better part of a bottle of vodka deep and a bruise blooming. Bridges actively aflame between you and those you once considered your closest friends.

They’d given you the matches though. Flicked them at you, expected you to do nothing.

It occurs to you now, as a lingering touch stays between your and Eddie’s pinkie fingers and you cross the porch, that you hadn’t so much as looked in the rearview mirror to assess the damage. You looked through his windscreen as he drove you home.

“Divide and conquer?”

“I’ll find you.”

Eddie used to exist to you as an eyesore on the peripheries of parties like this. Here, where you always felt you were sitting alone on the observation deck, watching everyone else have fun and learning how to mimic it for your own gain. Patching yourself together. You felt him leering over your shoulder sometimes, separate from it too.

Now, he’s the boy spinning you around on the pavement, looking at you like you’re a whole person.

So this should be interesting.

The two of you shove past a couple of clumping bodies on the doorstep, eyes already starting to dagger in your direction. Into the foyer, towards the kitchen, those looks become more and more and more focused. Feels like you’re wearing piano wire for a choker.

‘What the fuck…’ ‘Remember the last time she was here?’ ‘Woah, smackdown rematch. Somebody get Carol.’

Eddie gets a little closer than he needs to, feigning a stumble into you, just to brush against your hardened shoulders and whisper, ‘Head up, queenie. It’s not like they’ve got a guillotine,’ before he disappears to make rent.

The smile you’re about to sneak to him dies on your lips as your name rings out from somewhere in the milieu, someplace near the kitchen.

“Lacy!”

All that cruising for a parking space and you hadn’t locked eyes on a Ford Cortina, had you?

The tardiest student enrolled at Amherst or wherever half-jogs toward you with a smile that makes your stomach lurch. Cold sweat starts to prick against your hairline. Excuse me?

“Oh! Hi!” you hit a higher octave than you were intending, for sure, you can tell by the look on his face. Eyebrows all shot up. “What the… fuck are you doing here?”

College guy shakes his head a little, confused. “You mentioned you were gonna be here.”

“...and you took that as an explicit invitation?” You’re still technically dating him, dumbass. Smile. “Just kidding! It is. Good. To see you.”

A cursory squeeze of his bicep. Christ, you’re bad at this when you’re not prepared. Extra bad at this when your first thought, when you’re doing bad, is where’s Eddie. When did that symbiosis develop exactly?

“Listen, can we go somewhere?” Oh, Jesus. “Talk? I tried to call your place a little earlier and–” Oh, Jesus! This guy looks at you with earnest eyes that you couldn’t tell the color of if you had a gun to your head. Bodies jostling around you, you make the choice to drop in and act a little left of sober.

“That sounds ah-mazing, but I do have to pee, so,” you shoot him a glimmering smile which ain’t takin’. “Grab me a drink and I’ll find you? Grab me a drink and I’ll find you.”

Bolt! You’re stepping over knees as you weave your way up Harrington’s impossible staircase to the second floor bathroom, downing a shot from a tray on your way. Five minutes inside Mrs Harrington’s immaculately designed proto-modern lavatory should give you enough chutzpah to take on the rest of this night, right? Maybe a fully clothed lie down in the jacuzzi tub.

The ten-girl deep line outside the locked door says different.

From the seventh spot, Carol Perkins cranes her perfectly coiffed strawberry head out and locks eyes with you.

No guillotine, huh?

—

Eddie’s gotta wonder, what the hell the Harrington household looks like when it isn’t throbbing with mainstream radio rock and gyrating teenagers. The house is a showroom of suburban perfection, but whenever Steve throws a party, it goes full bacchanal.

Tonight Eddie intends to take full and rapid advantage of the skewed consciousness of his classmates and copious amounts of jello shooters.

Like, yeah, Harrington might have graciously invited him and not directly asked him to peddle his wares by the pool like a fucked up candy stand, but you gotta seize opportunity wherever you find it. People see him here, they know what to do. They know his purpose.

It’s not as if Eddie’s here to mingle, okay?

Do what they expect of you until you don’t have to anymore.

The short term objective? Empty his stash, stuff his pockets and steal away with you into one of the billion bedrooms this mini-mansion holds. But, much to Eddie’s chagrin, that means fighting through the din of Cyndi Lauper and body odor first.

Conjured by his very words, Andy Sweeney swings right into Eddie’s path and yoinks the beer that Eddie was reaching for. The kid doesn’t even look beyond the brim of his baseball cap to notice he’s standing there. He’s too busy jawing with some other basketball tool.

“Lissen, man, say what you want,” Sweeney burbles, “but Princess Trailer Trash is still totally bangin’.”

Eddie’s ears immediately tune right into their garbled conversation.

“Pssh, dude, I don’t care what anyone says, she was frigid then and she’s frigid now. No way some overgrown virgin like Munson is splittin’ those knees open.”

“Still… bet she misses the finer things in life, y’know?”

“Tchyuh, like you, y’mean?”

“Nah, rich bitches like that get a wettie over the dumbest shit. Hey, how many glasses of Cristal does it take for Lacy Doevski to spread her legs?”

“I’unno, man, how many?”

“Well, if the first one has her face down in the pillow, how’s she gonna be able to tell?”

Bile scorches the back of Eddie’s throat. He doesn’t even mean for it, he actually means for a lot worse, but his hand goes right out and grabs the scruff of Sweeney’s shirt. The despicable little dirtbag. He yelps, a sound pleasing to Eddie but not quite pained enough for what this motherfucker deserves.

“What the fuck, freak?!”

Breath forces itself hard through Eddie’s nostrils. That they think they even have the right to talk about you like that makes him want to leave an Andy Sweeney-shaped hole in the Harringtons’ marble countertop, with some blood and teeth and viscera to match.

“Interesting observation, Andy. It’s incredible to witness how the minds of the shrivel-dicked work,” Eddie seethes, “I personally like to enact my violence face up. Seen Billy Hargrove lately?”

Sometimes, Eddie forgets that he’s actually scary looking. The hair shrouding his face, the big hulking rings, the unsuspecting strength he’s gained from hauling around kegs and amps and the weight of the world… Sometimes, it takes a stiffened flash and a sudden flash of fear in someone like Andy Sweeney’s irises for him to remember.

Sweeney stammers something between a no, please! and get off me!, fighting his own piss-pantsery in order to keep up appearances for his bros.

Eddie grabs the Miller High Life from his hand and shoves him back toward his friends.

“Champagne of beers. You understand.”

Sweeney spits, like physically spits at him. “Fucking loser!”

“Says the guy threatening to roofie a chick!” Eddie barks. “God, I know that your line of work doesn’t exactly require neurons but I’m begging you to rub your remaining ones together and see if it sparks some self awareness, Sweeney– go on, try!”

—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here.”

“Praying I don’t get a UTI, like everybody else in line.”

“You know what I mean, bitch.”

A category five sigh rolls your shoulders forward, hunching them further down the wallpaper you lean against. Carol has stepped fully out of the line, looking viperous but keeping her distance. Like you might have the good sense to strike back this time.

“Oh my god, Caroline, it’s a kegger. I don’t think you need to RSVP.”

“There’s a strict no freaks policy,” Carol The Bouncer says.

A one noted bark-laugh comes from the fifth position in the line. “Yeah, I think we’re getting a little lenient with that one these days.”

From the mouth of Robin Buckley, who stands there like she did at the last party, against her will but as living proof that even the worst people you knew might not be as bad as you thought.

I know Steve. He’s not exactly made for this crowd either.

“Stay out of this, Lesbo Baggins!”

“Hey!” You force your stiletto off the wall and lose your place in line, since Carol’s begging for it. Fuck that. No more shrapnel. “Leave her alone. This is between us, isn’t it? You and me?”

“And the rest of this town,” Carol’s upper lip curls.

“Refresh my memory,” you say, and the choking vice of Carol’s overly familiar body spray is threatening your jugular. You used to come home from her place reeking of the stuff; the kind of smell that transfers, and carried with it characteristics that you were once proud to have rub off on you. The misery, the misanthropy for everyone but your pocketful of someones. And you and Carol didn’t even like them, most of the time. United in smarting bitterness, the way that girls who want more but can’t seem to get it always are. “What’s the problem, Care?”

“The problem,” Carol snarls, “is you, Lacy. Think just because your daddy’s out of prison that everyone forgot what he did? What you did? I’m watching you, trailer trash.”

You’re close enough that you can see the clumps in her mascara. Why hadn’t she separated them with a needle like you taught her to? The Audrey Hepburn method. It had always freaked her out, you sitting there with a pin that close to her retina, but she’d never looked better.

Doomed to fail, without you by her side.

Spine straightening, you draw yourself over her. In your heels, borrowed from Ivana and gilded with her hardiness, you make Carol look small.

“Yeah?” your voice drops to gravel. “You like what you see?”

—

Brainless Hawkinsite pieces of shit can’t so much as muster a response before they lurch for Eddie. Who the fuck knows what cursed or blessed him with rhythm, but he dodges around the bustling kitchen island with relative ease, before he nearly knocks Steve Harrington himself straight through his own plate glass patio door.

“No runnin’ indoors!” Steve slurs in his face, so close that a fleck of saliva goes straight up Eddie’s nostril. Gross. He’s found a home in the welcome bosom of the jello shot, that’s for fucking sure.

“They started it!”

“I don’t give a fuck! Finish it!”

Gruffly, he casts an eye around the kitchen for those rogue ballsacks– they’d scarpered, probably spooked by the bellow of King Steve. Whatever.

“My attackers seem to have dematerialized, you’ll be delighted to know!”

“Why do you do that? Why do you talk like such a fucking weirdo, man?” Steve asks exasperatedly, clutching onto Eddie’s shoulder a little too roughly for his liking. Not that he’s keen on Harrington pawing him at all. “Like what d–... ughh, forget it! List-en! Where’s your weirdo girlfriend?”

“Ronnie’s not–”

“Who the fuck is–” Steve’s whole pretty boy face screws up and he lets out a genuine groan of anguish. “No, asshole, where is Lacy at?”

“How should I know?!”

“Because your nose is permanently wedged up her ass!” Steve yells, but something draws him back. “Or it should be!”

Incredibly puzzling wording. Eddie shakes his head, wide eyes bewildered at exactly what the fuck Steve wants from him. With a scoff, the man of the house walks into the body-to-body wedge of his hallway and runs, from what Eddie can see, right into…

Your little college boyfriend.

Now… what the sweet and levelling fuck…

Eddie Munson’s activating Shadow Arts, he guesses, because he dips as close to the two of them as he can get without being accused of tailing Harrington this time.

“...hey man, what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“Haha. Good to see you too, Stevie. Quite the turnout–you the big man on campus now or what?”

“I don’t know, it’s a party. I’m personally having kind of an evolution moment of my own. So. Fuckin’. Whatever.”

“... right.”

“How’s… fuckin’... whatever needledick school it is you go to?”

“Tch, man. I made it about a heartbeat and a hangover through the first semester before I dropped out. Came home around Christmas, much to the disgrace of my parents… But I’m havin’ an alright time, if you catch my drift.”

“Huh?”

“Y’know. High school girls. You can tell them anything, am I right?”

Shit.

Know what, though? Eddie, as he sees it, would be well within his rights to yuk it up at this pernicious turn of events. He’s had a bet running (with himself) that this eyesore in beige you call a college beau, with his ugly fuckin’ car and his stupid collared shirts and his Waiting for Godot or whoever, wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. And not just ‘cause of jealousy, no! Not entirely. Well, okay. But, riddle him this– instead of snorting it up good, thrilled to be able to rub your nose in it, that rotten coil of anger started shifting in his belly again. Why do you think that is?

It’s simple. Eddie knows it’s simple. Because Mister Faux Ivy League has wasted so much of your time.

Time that should have been yours and Eddie’s.

He’s gotta tell y–

“Hey, man. How’s it going.”

“Agh!” Eddie yelps, as running right the fuck into people is apparently the flavor de nuit. Ronnie stands, stockstill and deadpan, behind him. Flanked by Tommy Hagan and Billy Hargrove.

Eddie makes an exasperated noise of confusion, not even dignifying this apparition with a question.

“They wanna play beer pong,” Ronnie monotones. With a glance down, Eddie can see that her front overalls pocket is filled with empty beer bottles. Apprehension swipes at him. See, his good friend Ronnie? She’s a competitive drunk. She, drunk off Jeff’s dad’s scotch, once trash talked Keith from Palace Arcade to such an eviscerating degree that she got a lifetime ban and he left to work at Family Video. Over a game of fuckin’ Tron.

“We wanna play beer pong,” Hagan echoes.

Hargrove sucks on a cigarette, having finally regained the ability to open his eye. Tragic. “Pong.”

“Why?!” Eddie asks, but more like begs.

“Because they insinuated that I would lose.”

“And we’d like to give the future valedictorian a chance to prove us right,” Hargrove drawls, looking as if he’s trying not to admit to himself that he has to look up to address Ronnie. She’s got a head and a half on him, at least. So many complexes in such a roidy, mulleted package.

Eddie sees that his cheque is signed.

“... Fine. Your funeral.”

—

“All I see is some ex-relevant ex-cheerleader in somebody else’s moth eaten clothes.”

“This is Italian silk, you JC Penney clone-ette.”

“Oh, Italian like a meatball sub or Italian like the mob your dad is part of?”

That sets your teeth on edge. God, Ray Doevski wishes– at least there’d be some valor to it then, capos and all. The reality feels far less shrouded in intrigue. Grimier, somehow.

“Carol, you had the jump on me last time,” you grit, “but I’m stone cold tonight. Either see yourself down the stairs or I will.”

“Are you threatening me, freak fucker?”

“You’d love that, bottom feeder.”

“Lacy! Stop right there, y–”

Earrings clinking as you snap your head around, you watch as a thoroughly ossified Steve Harrington almost brains himself on the top step. Neither you nor Carol nor anyone else reach out to help him, caught red handed in the prelude to a catfight.

“Finally, Jesus!” Carol whinges, “Steve, she’s totally trespassing!”

Panic spikes across your shoulders, quills on a porcupine–are you actually about to get escorted off the premises? That’d be embarrassing, being double-shunned at an open-door Harrington kegger. Eddie hadn’t even managed that dire of a social faux pas and here you are, about to do it for the second time.

“Ow! Shut up, Carol!” Steve decides to steady himself by closing the span of his big hand around your elbow; you both stagger under his wheedling. He’s got a bottle of vodka, cracked, wedged in his other palm. “You and I need to have a little chat.”

And before you can make any attempt to yank yourself away, make a run for it in these stilettos you certainly cannot confidently lift knees it, Steve is pulling you in the direction of his bedroom. A choir of middle school-aged angels that all look like you are singing somewhere as Carol and every other girl in that bathroom line save for Robin enviously glare after you, but you can’t hear it due to being plunged into one of the deeper circles of hell.

“Steven, listen–” You’re not even entirely sure where the full-Christian-name-address comes from, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind when you yank your arm free. “I wasn’t trying to start anything. Not really. I was just…”

Click. Steve locks his bedroom door and turns, staring you down. Well, the best that a drunk teenager with drifting irises could stare one down. You wonder how many Lacys he sees right now. You should ask him to count them, finger on his nose.

“You and I need to have a little chat.”

“You said that already,” but you can’t tell drunk people nothin’.

A remorseful edge around his attempt at a come-hither stare is making you feel a little icky, dawdling on the burning balls of your feet. He looks really bad, actually. The picture of someone trying to sift horniness out of grief or whatever. Steve thrusts one hand through his already scuzzed-up hair, the other jerking the bottle of liquor towards you.

“Have a drink, Lacy, Jesus. Relax, for once.”

You accept the bottle from him. Mostly because it looks as if he’s going to crack you over the head with it if you don’t. The vodka sears going down, same as last time, but there’s not the same urgency to meet everyone else on a level of functioning normal, party girl cool. If anything, the urgency lies in taking the edge off being here.

Particularly in Steve Harrington’s bedroom.

Once upon a time, you’d have mown down half this town in your sporty little Porsche to be sitting right where you’re sitting. But now, under the weight of your own self and Steve’s breakup with Nancy, you’d rather be anywhere else. Anywhere.

“Sit down,” he tells you.

Your eyebrows draw in on instinct, very who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?

Steve scoffs, like he forgot to put on his concerned pantomime. He makes a pretty good go of it, slurring. “Please, Lacy.”

Your knees acquiesce, sinking yourself down onto his checkered bedsheets. The combination of that and the checkered wallpaper is creating an incredible cresting wave of claustrophobia.

“Listen, if this is about Nancy, if this is some harebrained attempt to marionette me into getting her back, I–”

“This is about you ‘n’ me, actually.”

Nope. Opposite day. Fucking Twilight Zone.

“No, it’s not,” you outright refuse. The mattress sags as Steve takes a seat beside you.

“Well, why can’t it be?” Steve’s eyes trail a sticky line up your bare arm as he lies back and props himself up, low on his elbows. However, it’s not eliciting the same amount of alarm that it would if someone like, say, Billy Hargrove were doing it. He’s pathetic, and not in a way you find enticing. “You ‘n’ me, it makes sense. Doesn’t it? Don’t you want it to?”

“No!” You balk with a little more fervor than a then-wounded looking Steve deserves.

“Why not?!” No one says no to the king, of course, especially when he’s this soused.

“Because…” You shake your head, legs crossing on Steve’s bed. A different draft of you, the idea of a girl you had long since scrapped screams at you from somewhere in the very back of your head. You’re ruining it, Lacy–everything we’ve worked for! “You don’t want me. You just feel sorry for yourself. And I’m…”

But luckily, he doesn’t catch the trail-off.

“I’m about to make you feel sorry for yourself,” Steve railroads you.

“How’s that?” Another slug of vodka…

“Well,” he struggles to keep himself propped up, “my girlfriend Eddie and your boyfriend Nancy? Recreationally copulating. How d’ya like that.”

… comes right out your nose.

author's notes: so i once again scrapped the idea of a mega chapter because i wanted to give you guys something in case i have to disappear because i start my new job tomorrow! sweating and pissing and crying. but being able to afford to move out soon will be good. anyway, i love writing a good party scene so expect this to leak right into chapter 12 too. onto the fun stuff: - naming carol's mother ann perkins is a not-so-subtle nod to parks and recreation but the characterization couldn't be further off lol - attention all american teen princesses, i found drop dead gorgeous in full on youtube - the debate team captain in question, kate something-or-other, is in fact the very same kate that appears in rebel robin as robin's now-ex best friend - doctor, she's self-referencing again, this time about the time ivana threw an olive at norman mailer - i had to look up the origin of the term 'boinked', and it turns out it comes from cheers! congrats sam and diane - boners forged fire to table straight from mount doom - fra-gee-lay. it must be italian - that's two for one LOTR references if you count lesbo baggins - i am once again pretending to understand things about dnd - i can't mention *jeff bridges voice* TRON! without watching clips of jeff bridges doing things. it's so cliche to cast him as my reefer rick but bitch the heart wants that's all for now, folks! thanks again for reading and pls do reblog and comment and send me asks and things to keep the spirit of this silly little story alive. we're amping up. love u hellcats x

#published by powder #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x f!oc #eddie munson fic #e. munson by powder #l. doevski by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress

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satinestales · 17 hours ago

Text

❝law one❞ | armand x fem!reader

pairing: armand x fem!reader

summary: A few weeks ago, you began an unlikely friendship with an odd American with passion for photography. One night, he saved you from a drunken man, revealing his true nature as a vampire. Now, you're left with two choices: face death or meet the leader of the French vampire coven—alone.

warnings: armand is a warning himself, sexual tension, mind control, mind reading, armand projecting, mentions of murder, violence, reader isn't a good person, english is not my native language

a/n: this could also work as a short series. should i?

It wasn’t so much the truth about vampires being real, or the memory of Louis killing a man and draining him dry in front of you, that scared you. It was the reputation and the stories surrounding the owner of the Théâtre des Vampires—what Louis called the ancient leader of the French vampire coven—coming to interrogate you and decide whether you had the right to live.

You sat in your cold room, the moonlight casting silvery patterns on the worn wooden floor, waiting on your old couch for the man to enter. For two hours, though, the only sounds were the steady rhythm of your heartbeat and the faint echoes of Louis bickering with his daughter, Claudia—or so you had been told.

You weren’t afraid of death or whatever hid beyond it. What truly terrified you was the not knowing—the weight of not knowing what to expect. This Armand, the so-called Maître, wasn’t just another figure from Louis’ dark world. He was a name wrapped in whispers, the leader of the French coven, an ancient predator whose age stretched beyond your comprehension. The thought of him—a creature who had outlived centuries, who had walked through history itself—coming to meet you was something you couldn’t possibly be prepared for. It wasn’t fear of his fangs or his powers that made you shiver. It was the thought of standing before him, alone, under the gaze of someone who had seen and survived it all.

You were so lost in your thoughts and fear that you didn't even notice the sudden stillness in the room. The bickering between Louis and Claudia had stopped. They were both silent. He was here—right behind the curtains. You could only make out his shadow, towering over Louis as he whispered something to him. Your heart began racing faster and louder in your chest as you froze, unsure of how to act when he finally entered.

You watched as the shadows of Louis and Claudia moved, fading away and leaving him standing alone at the center. For a long moment, he remained motionless, an unsettling calm filling up the space. Then, with calculated slowness, he reached for the curtains, pulling them wide open, and there he was.

He looked like an angel—no, you quickly corrected yourself, a devil. No angel could compare to the beauty of the devil. His presence was effortlessly commanding, an unspoken ancient power unmistakable in every breath he took. His dark, curly hair framed a face sculpted with the precision of an artisan—high cheekbones and a sharp jawline softened only by the fullness of his lips, which he pressed together in silent contemplation. His piercing yellow eyes locked onto you, seeing through you as if they were stripping you bare. The moonlight danced on his dark brown skin, illuminating a beauty that felt impossibly timeless. Every movement, every breath, every shift of his gaze seemed intentional—as if the world itself paused to welcome his grace. He stood there, a figure from some ancient dream, and for a moment, you could hardly breathe under the weight of his presence.

You sat there, unsure whether to speak or remain silent. He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, though only a few minutes passed. His eyes seemed to strip you bare, his head tilting as if trying to read you. And maybe he was. What was the human mind to the powers of an ancient vampire? You imagined it was like looking through glass—clear and translucent. A wave of shame and embarrassment washed over you, thinking of what he might have seen in your memories.

In perfect sync with your rising anxiety, a smile crept across his face. But it wasn’t the kind of smile one gives a friend to offer comfort. No, it was the kind that sent shivers down your spine, making you feel utterly humiliated. And he hadn’t even said a word yet.

"Armand," he spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. It was sweet but commanding, your body tense like it was waiting for his command to breathe. His gaze slowly drifted from your eyes to your neck, lingering there for a moment before dropping to your hands, which you clenched tightly in your lap. You hadn’t realized you’d been digging your nails into your skin, drawing blood, the small beads of red unnoticed by you but not by him.

"I was told, repeatedly by Louis, that I should let you live." His voice was quiet, but it felt like a thunderclap in your chest. He studied your face, like a predator watching his prey, savoring the anxiety radiating from you. He enjoyed your fear. "But tell me," his eyes darkened, narrowing, "what makes you so special, so unique, that I shouldn't tear you apart right here, right now?"

Each word of his felt like a tightening noose around your throat, his gaze cutting into your skin. The room felt smaller, suffocating like time stopped. Over your heart, you couldn't even hear the ticking of the clock anymore.

You didn’t dare speak, not sure if you could form words, or if he'd even let you. Every part of you screamed to escape, but your body was frozen.

"You can't speak?" he asked, his voice sharp, eyebrows raised as the silence stretched between you. The seconds felt like hours, each one heavier than the last, and your throat tightened.

A flush of humiliation washed over you, and you could feel your face burn, wishing more than anything that you could disappear into the floor. If only you could move.

With a soft, almost knowing nod, he took off his coat, folding it carefully before placing it on the table beside him. The simple motion felt deliberate, as though he was setting the stage for something more.

"I remember you." His voice was firm, cutting through the air as he moved past the table, coming to stand directly in front of you. He towered over you, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. He leaned casually against the desk, every movement calculated, controlled. "Louis spoke highly of you, so I wanted to see for myself. That was a few weeks ago. I didn't think he'd let you live this long."

"Louis is a good man. He would never hurt me." The words tumbled out before you could stop them, a protective instinct kicking in. The sudden urge to defend Louis caught you off guard, and as soon as you spoke those words, you regretted them.

Armand’s head tilted slightly, his lips curling into a small smirk as he finally heard your voice. There was something about the way he listened—did he enjoy it? Did your voice soothe him in some way?

You shook the thought away, trying to regain control of your mind, but it was too late. Armand had already caught it. The faintest flicker of something dark passed across his eyes, and you could almost feel him savoring your vulnerability.

"He is," Armand agreed. You could be wrapped in layers of blankets, draped in thick clothing, and still feel so exposed in his presence. Was it him, his power, or was it simply you that made you feel this way? Did he use his ancient powers to make you feel naked and bare? You wondered if he had this effect on everyone or if it was just you. Could he manipulate you with his powers, or was this all your own doing? The idea of being bare in front of him sent a shiver through you—both terrifying and exciting at the same time.

"But he is a vampire. And you... you're nothing but a human. Not even an exceptional one, dare I say." He smirked, his gaze shifting from you to the window. It was a dark night, the only light coming from the moon.

"You don't know me." You shook your head, straightening your back, trying to regain your composure. "You can read minds, yes? Because you hold that power, you think you understand them. But thoughts do not define a person. Actions do. You speak so highly of yourself, so certain of your superiority, making people tremble at your presence. Yes, it works, but it speaks volumes about you. The way you carry yourself, the choices you make, the way you treat others—that defines who you truly are. Not your powers. Not your age. So you can take your ancient, pretentious powers and shove them up your ass. If you want to kill me, kill me. But don't pretend you're the one who gets to decide my worth just because you're older than the goddess in the night sky."

Your voice trembled with a mixture of anger and fear, but inside, you could feel the tension. You had no idea how far you were pushing him, but part of you didn't care.

His gaze was fixed on you again, but this time, it was darker—deeper. Not yellow, not orange. Pitch black. No light from the moon could reflect on them. Not even the brightest star could break through that abyss. You expected him to strike, to lunge forward and tear apart your throat with his fangs. But instead, he stood still. His gaze alone was enough to make every inch of your skin crawl.

"Two years ago, a boy moved in across from your house, with his sick, aging mother," he said, his voice low, like the rustling of wind through dead leaves. Your stomach dropped. Not this. Not this memory. "He developed a crush on you. Came over every day just to see you."

"Stop," you whispered, eyes shut, trying desperately to push the memory out, to silence his voice. But it was useless. His words, like tendrils, wormed their way into your mind.

"One night, he came over with your favorite flowers, asking you for a walk under the moonlight. You said no, but he wouldn’t leave. You stabbed him with your scissors, your anger overtaking you as he collapsed to the ground. Your first thought? How his blood ruined the flowers."

His gaze didn’t move. It was as if he were reading you, page by page, every flicker of your emotions, every hesitation, every fear laid bare before him. Your thoughts had become his plaything, and you were powerless to stop it.

"You threw the body in a dumpster and lied to his mother about it. Two months later, she took her own life in her son's room," he said quickly, ignoring your desperate pleas to stop.

"A year later, you fucked a man twice your age because his wife moved away and you needed rent money." His words sliced through you like a cold blade, laying bare your flaws, your actions. Thoughts don’t define a person, he reminded you. Actions do. And you were rotten to the core. Your reflection, your past, it was all being recited back to you with brutal precision.

"Are you still worthy of life?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He tilted his head, savoring your torment. "Will you fuck your way out of this one too?"

Before you even had time to process his words, rage took over. Without thinking, you lunged at him, mind clouded with pure fury. You knew you didn’t stand a chance, but for a split second, you wanted to scar that perfect, god-sculpted face of his.

In an instant, your body slammed against the wall, feet dangling in the air as Armand’s grip tightened around your throat. His nails dug into your skin, suffocating any attempt at a breath as he held you effortlessly, his gaze never leaving your face.

"How dare you speak of the goodness of a man when you," he paused, his voice cold and venomous, his face so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. His nose nearly brushed against yours. The worst part was that, despite everything, your body responded to the proximity. Even in the midst of the violence, something in you craved it.

"You, you little, useless thing," he continued, his voice low and mocking, "you have none of it in your soul. You manipulate and take. You lie and bargain. You took an innocent life because you were annoyed. You bartered with desire for warmth." He laughed in your face, cruel and taunting, as you struggled to breathe. Your hands clung to his, your legs growing weak as the air drained from your lungs.

"Even now, you're fighting to give in," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. Then, without warning, he dropped his head to your neck. You felt the cold scrape of his fangs against your skin. "Does your body crave violence? Do you thrive in it? You've never known a gentle touch, so why wouldn't you?"

His grip tightened, his nails digging into your skin, and the world around you blurred. Your thoughts became clouded, your body trembling, both in fear and an unwilling desire you couldn’t control.

"Fuck you," you managed, the words tasting bitter in your mouth. But before you could even finish, you felt the excruciating sting of his fangs sinking into your skin. Pain and pleasure collided in a sickening rush. He held you there, feeding on your terror, until the last of your strength slipped away.

The last thing your human tongue remembered was the honey-sweet taste of his blood.

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