Oh Goodness

I WANT ONE

imagine a dragon who hoarded librarians and every so often knights come to rescue them and the librarians get very upset because the dragon is quiet and reshelves everything neatly and the knights are Very Annoying

can I just

dragging your friends into the hamilton fandom 

"Put your lips close to mine, as long as they don't touch. Out of focus, eye to eye, 'till gravity's too much."

🦋

Thank you all once again for trusting the process with me.

I am in love with this piece. A Red concept brought to life.

They feel, they know. Yet confessing makes it real. Something to act upon. But as long as they are silent they get to stretch the unspoken truth between them. Both an abyss and a bridge to cross through. A bright light they both choose not to look at, and neither the perfectly shaped shadow of their bodies standing so close they look like one. Light butterfly touches that need no justification. Sharing warmth, and gazes, secretive smiles under the wing of the autumn, where the decay and decadence of perishable life feels a lot too much like a foreshadowing of their untold story.

But they feel.

And they know.

pairings: Eddie Munson x Vampire! Reader, Stranger Things AU

summary: Eddie doesn’t know what it is about you that has him spun, completely under your spell.

author’s note: Uh, I wrote the last 2k with one hand and did my best to edit it, so if you see mistakes (no you didn't) 🖤 i just wanted to write a little something for fun, an idea that popped into my head two weeks ago.

As always any feedback is so appreciated! Thank you for all the support so far 🖤

w/c: 7.7k

warnings: smut - oral (Eddie receiving), unprotected p in v, blood drinking, brief mentions of religion (Christianity) in relation to reader's upbringing, drinking, drugs, death, a small descriptor of reader having hair long enough to tie into a ponytail. Please let me know if I missed any!

The year was 1740, the year of your birth.

Your second birth. 

You were an average twenty-two-year-old. Desirable by all societal standards but unwed and edging closer to that worrisome age where your family began to question if you would ever marry.

But you didn’t have any desire to be a wife, to give birth to child after child in an endless cycle of pregnancy until the day you died.

It all seemed uninteresting, the furthest thing from your deepest desire. You wanted to be far from ordinary, something so exhilarating that it scared you. Something or someone that even your imagination couldn’t dream up.

One night it seemed like all of your wildest dreams and all your worst nightmares came true at once.

It had been a cold winter night, the snow covered the ground in a thick sheet. Loud underneath your boots as you walked through the town, obscured by your hooded cloak. 

The streets were silent, dark except for the dim light of your oil lantern guiding you on your quest. It was naive in retrospect but your feet moved eagerly toward the secret spot you agreed to meet him. 

Henry Davis was, by all appearances, a gentleman. Minus the usual shrewd regard for anything or anyone considered other. He liked your independence, the way you disregarded societal expectations. 

The way your ass felt pressed against his clothed cock. 

That night was meant to be the night; clothes shed, bodies pressed together, breaths mingling. 

But you never made it there. 

In the dark of night, a shadow shifted and you wrote it off.

Your mind was just playing tricks on you. 

Then another shifted and suddenly you were surrounded, encircled mostly by men you didn’t recognize. Men whose faces were masked in cruelty, their eyes hungry. Angry. The threat of them had sent a shudder through your spine. 

And amongst them was Henry, his gruesome smile the worst of them all. Pride coming off him in waves because you’d been tricked, you’d been had, and it had been his doing.

You were too scared to be embarrassed, your eyes searching for an exit but the men were closing in. 

In an instant, you discovered that it wasn’t your body they wanted. 

It was your blood. 

Their teeth were sharper than the frigid air, cutting into you like knives. 

Stealing your life force. 

Leaving you for dead or close to it. 

You’d laid there dying, vision blurring at the edges as you gasped. Unable to catch a breath. Begging your God for the end.

You’d thought it was a figment of your imagination, that someone had returned and pressed a thick coppery liquid to your dying lips. 

And you thought it was part of dying the way your insides twisted, the way your veins felt like they’d been set ablaze. Heart hammering as it beat wildly against your chest and you clawed at your throat trying to escape what was inevitable. 

Your heart thudded once, twice, and then never again. The final breath that escaped your lips shallow and no longer necessary. 

The silent night turned loud, the sound of the bugs blaring and ringing in your ears. You could see through the darkness, your eyes darting to animals as they scurried in the trees and amongst the fields.

“Hello, my child.” 

His name was Thomas, and he was beautiful. Skin resembling porcelain and free of any blemishes. Captivating blue eyes transfixed on you, hand beckoning you towards him. And without hesitation, you took it.

From that moment he ushered you into a new life. One filled with an endless bloodlust, a seemingly endless need for power and control.

It is 1989 and you’ve been alive for over two hundred years.

The world around you had changed but you were no different than the day you had died. 

You were the same twenty-two-year-old. Far from average, and beautiful in a way that was unnerving to strangers that encountered you. They were never able to put their finger on it, the way you made them uneasy despite not doing anything for them to feel that way.

Too dumb to realize it was their sixth sense telling them to run, warning them of the immediate danger.

You bored of the hunt long ago, the blood lust not nearly as strong as it once was.

Well…not as fun.

All the money and power hadn’t made you happy.

The joy of exacting revenge and letting Henry meet the sun only lasted a century.

Though it did make you grin when you thought of the way his ashen remains drifted in the wind. 

No one to remember him, no one to care. 

Now, you didn’t know what you wanted but you knew it couldn’t be found in the crowded streets of the concrete jungle and you went searching for something that felt like home.Whatever that meant for an orphaned vampire.

You moved from New York City and made a home out of Hawkins four months ago. 

The small town reminded you of the life you once had. The deafening silence and hushed whispers. Religious nuts with an agenda. 

But you quickly found your crowd, someone you might refer to as a friend if anyone asked. And seeing him every night made your never-ending, suffocating loneliness worthwhile. 

Less daunting. 

You pulled open the doors to The Hideout, their old wood creaking with the force of your strength. 

Eddie’s head cocked up at the familiar sound of your heeled shoes and watched as you approached, a familiar look shading his molten honey eyes.

The kind of look you were used to getting from those around you, their innocent human minds unaware that their attraction was due to the natural vampire allure that exuded from you and made them easier prey. More likely to follow you down a dark alley despite their better judgments.

He smiled at you wide, his dimples piercing the flesh on either side of his plump lips. 

Eddie Munson was a real salt of the earth man beneath the layers of anger and resentment that he hid behind but you’d found that he was easy enough to unravel. Months of nightly visits exposing his molten center and it took him just as long to crack your hardened exterior. 

“Busy night, Munson?” you asked and gave him an equally broad smirk as you glanced around and slid onto the stool before him, a small chuckle escaping your lips when you noticed Mr. Cartwright falling asleep with a beer in hand.

The bar was nearly empty except for a few regulars spread around in varying states of inebriation. Madonna played on the jukebox, a cute blonde danced offbeat to the insipid song. Her partner held onto her like a life raft. 

It was the typical crowd for a weekday. The Hideout’s only busy nights were on Fridays when bands came to play or the weekends when there were specials on the drinks.

“Nothing crazier than a Wednesday night,” he responded, his words heavy with sarcasm and a raise of his eyebrows. His strong hands already reaching for the ingredients of your usual drink.

A strawberry Negroni; a bitter drink with an eerie color resembling blood before it oxidized.

“Am I that predictable?” Your brows quirked as he pushed the glass towards you.

“Just a little, City Girl,” he teased and began to rinse the mixer he’d used to concoct your drink.

You took a swig, jaw clenching as the alcohol burned your throat. The warmth still felt as it settled into your empty stomach.

If you were honest, you enjoyed the quiet lull of the bar and the fact that you got Eddie’s undivided attention. 

At first, you were guarded; completely thrown by his dramatics and how he talked to everyone without restraint. Slowly he had chipped away at your marble exterior, teasing you and asking you questions, at least one, every time he saw you. Doing his best to get to know you better, a concept that had been foreign to you for some time. 

Where are you from?

Why’d you leave New York?

Is it as great as they say?

Why the fuck would you choose to live in Hawkins?

He knew your favorite drink, the songs you hated from the downturn of your mouth whenever they came on the radio, that black seemed to be your favorite color, and he’d noticed that you only came out when the sun had set.

“I have a question for you,” Eddie remarked.

“Don’t you always?” You grinned around your glass and took another sip.

He ducked his head, a hint of embarrassment vibrating off him—the thrum of his heart loud.

“There is one thing I still haven’t figured out,” Eddie began.

“You’ve been trying to figure me out?” You interrupted, settling your glass back onto the wooden counter. A cheeky grin pulling across your lips.

The banter between friends had become passive flirtation weeks ago when you began to crave more than just his blood.

You loved to tease him, to watch how his eyes would always go wide in surprise, or how a crooked smile would spread across his lips. 

“I’m sure everybody in this small town is,” he laughed, though his cheeks turned a brilliant red at your question.

“And what have you uncovered, Detective Munson?” You played along, voice sing-songy in your encouragement.

“Not much,” he raised his hands as if to show you he was empty-handed.

“Why is it that I never see you in town and only see you here when the sun has set? You must work some crazy long hours. You a nurse or something?”

“‘M not a nurse, blood makes me queasy,” you lied. 

Eddie’s lips pursed at your confession, mind working overtime to figure you out. 

“Then what are you? Come on, you’ve got to at least give me a hint,” he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows at you expectantly. 

Your gaze traced his lean muscle, eyeing the way his biceps bulged beneath the plain black t-shirt he wore. The way his hair was tied into a low bun, loose strands framing the sharp lines of his face. The veins in his hands were pronounced, the blood that coursed within them a low hum. 

If your heart still beat it would’ve been racing with want.

“Now what would be the fun in that?” Your gaze met his as you raised your glass to your mouth, rubbing the cool rim of it against the swell of your lower lip.

You were teasing him despite how close he was to discovering your secret; why you could only come out at night or risked being roasted by the sun.

An intensity passed between you, a stimulating silence that filled the small bubble you shared with him.

“That’s it? No other guesses?” You asked, breaking through the tension.

He shrugged, trying to appear unaffected by the energy buzzing between you.

“Maybe a creature of the night,” he joked and wiggled his fingers at you, making a noise that resembled a caricature of a ghost and for the first time in centuries you giggled.

A light sound that made Eddie feel a pang of pride.

“And if I was?” You arched your brow at him, gazing into his big amber eyes from below your lashes. 

A little hypnotizing. Enticing him despite the looming threat.

“Are we talking furry friend or something closer to Nosferatu?”

“Well, I don’t have a tail to wag and you don’t see me outside howling at the moon tonight.” You pointed a sharp nail toward a window and to the full moon that cast a yellow glow into the darkened parking lot.

Eddie chuckled at your dramatics.

“I mean, I’ve seen Vampira. Undead chicks can be hot,” Eddie shrugged.

“Oh? You don’t mind a little biting?”

You wiggled your eyebrows, listening as the blood rushed to his cheeks, noticing how his breathing quickened at your words.

It had always been a fun little game, toying with a potential meal. Flirting until they were stuttering, unable to produce a sentence. You could still hear what your old master used to say.

Don’t play with your food.

But Eddie wasn’t food and you reminded yourself, repeating the words like a mantra.

Eddie is not food.

Eddie is not food.

“I’ve never shied from a little nibble,” Eddie interrupted your internal battle and leaned his elbows onto the counter, openly flirting despite the thrum of his heart. The nerves that seeped into his sinew.

“I should’ve known,” you pointed your finger at him, fighting the smirk that threatened to give your enjoyment away. 

Eating up his words.

“What is that supposed to mean, city slicker?” Eddie moved a half an inch closer, playing into your game; teasing you just as you were teasing him. 

Daring you to say exactly what it was you meant.

Your usual game of cat and mouse had new stakes. Leaving you to question who was the cat and who was the mouse.

“I could just picture you covered in love bites, dabbling with handcuffs.”

Your eyes drew the brunette in, bewitching him despite your lack of immortal abilities.

“Are you trying to find out?” He challenged you. 

You tiptoed near the line; the one that put you at risk.

“Are you trying to show me?” 

You finished your drink, swallowing hard before setting the glass onto the counter with a thud; fingers playing with the condensation. Eying the way Eddie’s adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his carotid thrumming with exhilaration.

He was caught off guard, your conversation turning from the typical flirty banter to an open invitation. 

The hesitancy was written on his brow, etched into the lines of his forehead and you wished you had the power to read his mind. 

“What if I am?” 

“Then you should come to my house once you close up.” You whispered, leaning closer. 

Instinctively Eddie closed the space, his mouth inches from yours.

You gave him a teasing smirk, reaching over the counter for a napkin before settling back into your seat. He watched as you opened your purse and fished for the spare pen sitting at the bottom. Quickly you sprawled your address on the paper, pushing it toward him once you were done along with what you owed him for your drink.

You didn’t wait for his reaction, hopping off the barstool and walking through the doors. Back into the warm summer air.

Hawkins smelled a lot like how the world used to before it got itself into a hurry and became a flurry of machinery; polluting the sky with waste from industrialization. 

But this air was sweet; maple leaves and wet soil. The corn fields exuded an aroma that mingled with the rest. 

And the night was loud, the chirping of the crickets amplified. Creating a song with the cicadas that lived in the trees. In the distance, you heard the sound of idling cars and whispers from a pair of lovers near the lake. It had been hundreds of years since you couldn’t hear everything around you. Couldn’t read people based on their increased heart rate, or the sound of their quickening breath.

It was in the streets of New York where you began to long for the mystery, to miss wondering what came next. Trying to guess what someone’s intentions were. It made life less predictable, less monotonous.

Cars whizzed past you as you walked the dirt path that led to your home; an abandoned Victorian mansion that townspeople believed to be haunted.

You’d encountered ghosts before but they didn’t live within your walls. The only thing spooky about the home was its murderous past; though those killings didn’t compare to the trail of bodies you’d left behind.

There was never a knock on your door or any questions raised about your renovations as you scraped and cleaned the dirty interior.

You figured the towners were too polite or scared to ask questions opting to gossip amongst themselves instead. 

But you didn’t mind the whispers. 

Finding amusement in their sideways glances, and increased heart rates when you were around. Fear of the unknown taking hold of them. 

The only challenge of the small town was its population. 

Hawkins had a mere ten thousand citizens, a far cry from the sprawling city you’d retreated from making it harder to hunt. To find food that satiated your hunger. 

You’d settled for rabbits, bobcats; really whatever you could find. But their gamey blood didn’t compare to the richness human prey had to offer. 

Every human had a special flavor based on their dietary preferences and varying lifestyles. Some had bold, deep flavors while others were light; almost tasting of fruit. A select few tasted as polluted as the air around you, toxins mingling within their life force and tainting their taste.

You couldn’t help but wonder what Eddie would taste like. Imagining his strong flavor as his blood coursed over your tongue and your incisors grew, poking into your lips at the thought.

Eddie is not food.

Eddie is not food.

Eddie is not food.

The words repeated over and over, engraining themselves into your brain. 

The door creaked as you stepped into your home, the dank smell of mildew and dust greeting you despite the hours you’d invested trying to clean the place. 

You dropped your purse onto the coat rack nestled by the front door, kicking off your heels and pulling up your hair as you walked further into the home. 

The original chandeliers gleamed above, flashing occasionally due to the old wiring. You’d decided to paint the walls a forest green; a color that stood out against the wood paneling covering half its surface and matching the tiles lining the fireplace in the foyer. 

Candles were perched on nearly every surface, wax melted below them and clinging to the candelabras that held them. 

You ran your hands along the wooden banister above the fireplace, glancing at the grandfather clock that marked the passing minutes in loud ticks.

There were several hours between now and when Eddie got off work. And you debated whether to change into something a little more comfortable. Questioning if that would be too obvious.

Did you really care if it was?

Taking the stairs two at a time you walked to your room and opened the armoire that sat against the wall closest to your bed; rifling through its contents until you found something indecent. Something that left little to the imagination. 

It was a burgundy dress hemmed in black lace that had a deep v-cut down the middle and a high slit on either side revealing the length of your legs. The curve of your ass was nearly exposed and barely covered. 

You sat at your vanity and reached for your red lipstick, swiping the vibrant color along your lips. Smiling at yourself despite the lack of reflection. 

Completely aware of just how good you looked. 

The snap of a twig caught your attention and you stilled as you listened to the approaching footsteps outside your home; recognizing the heavy tread of his shoes.

He’s early.

Eager.

You grinned to yourself and slowly made your way downstairs, anticipating the moment his hand rapt against the wood.

Giddy when it finally did.

Slowly, you opened the door. Measuring his response, enjoying the way his eyes widened and nearly bulged out of his head as he took you in.

“I could’ve sworn the Hideout was open until one,” you tapped a thoughtful finger against your chin. Pressing your lips together to fight the smile that threatened to give your satisfaction away.

“The customers understood I had more pressing plans.” Eddie pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging his shoulders and trying his best to conceal how antsy he was.

And you did your best not to notice.

“Do you want to come in?” You tilted your head and held the door open wide.

“Yeah,” he breathed and walked past you. Eddie smelled of bergamot and tobacco. Cozy, the way a warm fire used to make you feel. You could smell the spearmint gum hidden behind his lips, the tequila still burning on his tongue and you itched to taste him.

You watched as he glanced around your home, auburn curls free from the hair tie that restrained them before. Loose ringlets framing his face perfectly. 

“Knew I recognized the address,” he laughed, eying his surroundings.

“Haven’t been in here since it was condemned.” 

“Are you another superstitious townie?” You teased. 

“Oh come on, the Creel house is definitely haunted.”

“I’ve never seen a ghost.”

“Maybe they’re lurking, watching.” His voice dropped low, eerie as he began circling you. 

Doing his best to creep you out.

You shivered as his warm breath fanned against your exposed skin and if you were still alive your nervous system would’ve triggered goosebumps to sprout along your arms.

He stopped in his tracks as your fingers grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt and held him in place.

“I don’t scare easily, Eddie.” You walked your fingers up his chest and rested them against his sternum, eyeing him with want. 

He bent his head down towards yours, drawn in like any human would be.

But you weren’t ready to devour him just yet.

“Want some wine?”

You didn’t move, enjoying the way his warm breath felt as it fanned across your face. 

He nodded quickly and watched as you disappeared into the kitchen, his hand rubbing where yours had rested. 

Eddie walked further into the home, glancing at the pictures that lined the wall. Photos from an old world, at least a century ago. Solemn faces long gone, captured in a flash. 

He chuckled at the oddities that adorned another wall, preserved insects and wilted flowers. 

“Something amusing?” You questioned, handing a glass to him and holding onto one of your own. The red wine mixed with blood from a rat you’d just captured.

You weren’t fond of rodents but it would satisfy your thirst for now. Otherwise, you risked ripping Eddie Munson’s throat out.

“Just admiring your collection,” he pointed as he took a sip, trying to hide how the tart flavor made his face twist as it coated his tongue. 

“I have loads more in the study, those just happen to be my favorite.”

“Have you always collected bugs?”

“Bugs, trinkets, people. I go through phases.”

“People?” His lip quirked as he took another sip.

“You know, friends. More than friends. Depends on my mood.”

“What type of mood are you in tonight?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you answered playfully, both of you knowing it was a lie and reached for his hand, guiding him toward the living room. 

His palm was warm against your own, his pulse fluttering and felt throughout your cold body.

Like a jolt of electricity trying to bring you back to life.

The living room was gilded in antiquity, the walls lined with Victorian-style wallpaper. A green that matched the painted walls. 

A record player sat against one wall next to rows of records. A collection bigger than one Eddie had seen, bigger than the stock at the shop downtown. He dropped your hand, immediately intrigued. 

You watched as his eyes skimmed the titles, an impressed chuckle escaping his lips when he recognized they were alphabetized and organized by decade. 

“You listen to a little bit of everything,” he commented.

“I do but the sixties happen to be my favorite decade.”

For the music, the drugs, the sex.

“Let me guess, you were born in the wrong decade?” He snickered and you shook your head in disagreement. Coming to stand beside him, eyes dancing over features before turning to the covers as you recalled the memory of each one.

“I was born at the exact right time, got to experience everything.” 

Eddie’s face contorted, disbelief covering his features.

“You’re only, what, twenty?” He guessed.

“Something like that,” you smiled coyly and reached beside him, pulling your favorite album from the shelf; Rubber Soul by The Beatles. 

“Out of all of them, this is my favorite. Especially Nowhere Man.”

“Why?” He questioned and took another sip of his wine, fully invested.

“When I heard it, I was at a point in my life where I had lived for so long under someone else’s thumb and by someone else’s rules. I didn’t have any other perspective except the one that was given to me. I was nobody. Stuck in this endless comfortable cycle because I was too afraid to be uncomfortable. That’s the whole idea of the song, the angst of figuring yourself out and being too afraid to step out of what you’re used to.”

Eddie stood in silence, processing your words and suddenly you felt awkward. Like you’d shared too much. Made things weird or too heavy.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “I didn’t mean to, like, drop my existential crisis on you.” You grimaced and moved to place the album back on the shelf but he intercepted you.

“You don’t have to apologize, there’s a lot of songs I feel that way about,” he paused. “My mom was more of an Elvis fan but sometimes she played these guys. Had me dancing in the middle of her kitchen. My little feet on her always clean tennis shoes. Personally, I’m a bigger fan of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. It was a little more groovy, psychedelic, but we both know that was because of the drugs,” he chuckled. 

“Definitely because of the drugs but then again, there was nothing better than dropping acid and listening to them back then,” you laughed with him, not realizing your slip.

“Back then?” His head tilted in confusion. 

“Yeah, a few years back in New York,” you waved your hand absently, eyes blink quickly. Anxiously. Suddenly very aware that this was incredibly dumb and you were on the brink of revealing your secrets.

“I have Elvis here, what was your favorite?” You changed the subject.

He hesitated for a moment, and you could feel his eyes studying the side of your face before he responded.

“Stuck On You,” he finally answered with a hint of fondness, his eyes somewhere in the past. You reached for the album and placed it on the platter, placing the tonearm down. Watching as the needle fit into the grooves of the record. 

The familiar crackle of the record player warmed you and you looked to Eddie as the song came through the speakers. 

His head began to bob as he closed his eyes and smiled to himself. You wondered where his mind went. If he was right back in the kitchen with his mom. Little feet on hers, small hands clasped to soft palms. 

Eddie held his hand out towards you, a silent invitation. Welcoming you into part of his world, one that felt more intimate than anything you’d experienced. 

The night taking a different turn than you had expected. 

You hesitated, looking up at him with uncertainty but slowly slid your hand into his larger grasp. There was a moment of visible shock when your cold skin was pressed to his again and he jerked at the temperature. Your flesh frigid like the winter you’d died.

But he pulled you close. Your chest pressed to his, one hand nervously resting on your lower back and the other holding onto your hand. 

It wasn’t so much dancing as it was swaying but you could feel his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage and you wondered if he noticed the lack of thrum from yours. 

You closed your eyes, enjoying the press of him against you. The smell of him, the way his long hair tickled your cheek when you rested your head against his shoulder, how his breath skipped when you rubbed circles at the nape of his neck. 

Eddie pulled away from you but still kept you pressed against him, his face now inches from yours. Brown eyes darting from your gaze to the swell of your lips. 

It was a look you’d never had pointed in your direction but read of plenty; longing. 

An unfamiliar emotion clawed at your throat, one you hadn’t addressed since the days you were human; want. 

You wanted Eddie, more than just his blood or his body. In a way that scared you despite all the horrors you’d seen or experienced.

You leaned closer to him, eyes fluttering closed and hoping he’d close the space. Hoping you hadn’t read him wrong. 

His lips were soft as he kissed you once, measuring your response before he kissed you again. Eddie’s hand dropped yours to hold your face on either side, deepening the kiss. Paying special attention to the swell of your bottom lip. It made your body feel like it was buzzing with warmth, how it used to feel when you’d lay out in the sun many years ago. And you wanted to bask in it, to get lost in the feeling of kissing him. Your hands wrapped in his curls, arms twined around his neck. He moved his grasp to your waist, fingers pressing into the skin. Pinky rubbing circles against your exposed thigh and your desire clouded your judgment when you pulled at his lip, sharp incisor swiping against its flesh.

“Fuck,” he breathed and pulled away from you instinctively. Pressing his fingers to his lip and pulling it back, eyebrows raised at the site of blood. 

“Got some sharp teeth, sure you’re not a vampire?” He teased and pressed his finger to his lip again, attempting to stop the blood.

It felt like your mind went blank, every thought and every excuse evading you. Unable to come up with a convincing lie. You stared at him blankly, hand covering your mouth to conceal the fangs that had sprouted in your arousal. 

Eddie’s eyebrow raised as he looked at you, at the horrified expression that painted your features. 

“I was just kidding, City Girl,” he joked but he could tell that something was off. That something was wrong. 

He reached for you but you backed away, hand still covering your mouth.

“Did you hurt yourself too?” He asked, worried and you shook your head no. 

You knew it couldn’t go on like this, that you couldn’t hide forever and have him too. 

And maybe it was for the best that he knew now so he could run. 

He should fucking run.

Your hand dropped from your face revealing the two fangs that pushed against your mouth, their tips poking out and pressing into your bottom lip. 

Time ticked by slower, the grandfather clock’s arms louder as you waited for his reaction. 

Waited for him to run out of the house and tell everyone that the Devil was real and lived in their town. 

“A-are those real?” He approached you hesitantly, eyes focused on your incisors. 

“Yes,” you whispered, closing your eyes and allowing your shoulders to sag. Feeling defeated and exposed.

“You’re a vampire?” Eddie’s voice rose several octaves as he looked at you, eyes round like saucers. The sound of his thudding heart was loud in your ears and you could only nod in response.

“What, were you planning to have me for dinner?” His voice was incredulous, brows raised high on his forehead and lost underneath his curly bangs.

“Of course not,” your voice was sincere and you began to reach towards him but thought better of it, your hand falling to your side. 

It felt impossible to explain that although you craved him that you had no intention of succumbing to your vampirisitc instincts. 

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Do you think I’ve ever openly told someone I’m a vampire? I’m not trying to get a stake through the heart or be forced out into the sun.”

Eddie hesitated, chest rising and falling in quick succession as he studied you. Uncertainty evident in his gaze.

“All that stuff is true?” He asked quieter. 

“Some movies aren’t too far off,” you shrugged. Why did that matter?

“You owe me answers,” he plopped onto the couch, eyes darting to the cushion beside him.

“Are you serious?” You asked incredulously.

“Spill, City Girl.” He pointed his hands toward the couch and you obliged. 

Happy that he wasn’t running away. That for now he was staying.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. I mean, how old are you? When were you turned? How were you turned? What’s real and what’s fake?” He began to ramble off questions with the same curiosity you’d grown accustomed to whenever you’d walked into the bar. And the nerves that had been clawing at your throat began to subside.

“I’m twenty-two but I’ve been twenty-two since 1740.” 

“Holy shit-”

His eyes were wide once again and you could tell he was trying to do the mental math.

“Shut up,” you pushed gently at his head but laughed at his reaction. A certain levity brought to the conversation that allowed your fangs to shrink back to normal so you were more human than ghoul.

“So that makes you?

You groaned, humans and their need to put a number to everything.

“Two-hundred forty-nine. If we’re counting.” 

“Wow-”

“I know, I’m old,” You interrupted as you looked at your nails, avoiding his reaction. As though this news was worse than hearing that you were undead.

He grabbed your hand and entwined his fingers with yours. You looked at where you connected and back up at him, warmth spreading in your chest at his dimpled smile.

“I’ve always had a thing for older chicks,” he joked and you rolled your eyes.

“But you weren’t kidding, you have seen everything.”

“Well, mostly everything. I haven’t been around as long as some of the others.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up at your revelation. 

“Some of the others?”

“There’s an elder who’s a few thousand years old,” you shared, slightly uncomfortable. It was against the rules of the coven to share your secrets, your history, with humans. Only the Elders could decide who was worthy.

“Is that who turned you?” 

You’d never talked about that night before, it wasn’t a conversation you had with other vampires. They didn’t focus on how they became just on what they were and it was easy to adopt that mindset, to try to push the cruel memory to the recesses of your mind. 

“No,” you shook your head. 

“My maker’s name was, is, Thomas. I don’t know his exact age but I imagine he is older than even the world that I was born into.” 

“Did you ask him to change you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Some of the humans who’d offered themselves as concubines or servants to the Elders had begged for the gift but you couldn’t imagine being a vampire now that you’d lived the life of one and endured the years of suffering. The endless hunger and the isolation.

“Back then, the church saw anything that wasn’t scripture as the work of the Devil. There were whispers of witches and worshippers. Talk of animals that had been butchered around the village but the idea of a vampire had never even occurred to me. That night, I was out to meet a boy but it was all a lure so they could drain me. They’d left me for dead when Thomas took pity on me. It was the worst pain I’d ever experienced.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered and you shook your head at him. A bloody teardrop ran down your face and you quickly wiped at it, hoping he didn’t notice.

“You have no reason to apologize, it’s practically ancient history after all,” you joked with a small laugh. Trying your best to bring a bit of mirth to the situation. 

But Eddie didn’t buy it and pulled you closer until you were flush against him in a warm embrace.

“Why’d you choose Hawkins?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

“I closed my eyes, put my finger on a map, and decided to go wherever it landed.”

“Too bad it didn’t land on a much more interesting place.”

“It’s pretty interesting so far,” you hummed, letting the insinuation settle over him without another word. 

Eddie’s pulse had quieted to a steady thud, his fear subsided and it made butterfly wings unfurl at your center. 

The dormant feeling making itself known again. 

“Would you ever drink from me?” He asked barely above a whisper while he played with your fingers.

“Of course not!” You pulled away from him, gaze serious and set on his.

And he looked hurt by your words, as though there was something wrong with him that prevented you from feeding on him.

“Why not?” 

“E-Eddie, I-” you stammered, trying to compose your thoughts. Debating how honest you should be.

“I haven’t fed on a human since I moved here. I don’t know if I could stop,” you answered frankly. 

“What have you been feeding on?”

“Squirrels, rabbits. The occasional bobcat.” 

“Do they taste the same as…you know?”

“Humans? Gods no,” you sighed. 

“Do they satisfy you?”

“I haven’t been satisfied in ages.” Your gaze danced back and forth between his. A hidden meaning to your words.

Your eyebrows arched with a bit of jest.

“You can feed on me,” he insisted. 

“Eddie-” Your fangs began to grow at the thought, your jaw clenching as you imagined the way his blood would taste.

“I trust you.”

“You barely know me,” you chuckled.

“I could list everything I know about you, City Girl.”

“Name one.”

“You so want to taste me,” he baited, his words teasing and silly. 

You were happy you couldn’t blush. Even though it didn’t seem to matter, he could read you like a book. 

He pulled your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of your hand and up your arm as you watched with eager eyes. His lips left a trail of fire behind, felt in your marrow. You stilled as he neared your shoulder, his thick curls brushing against your bare skin.

Eddie pulled you onto his lap and you went willingly, head tilted back as his tongue swiped along your neck and his mouth formed an “o” to suck at your skin. 

No bruise formed but the sensation was heavenly, a low moan escaping your lips. 

Your hips circled on his lap.

His fingers inched under your dress, warm against the jut of your hips and he pulled you closer until your lips crashed into his.

It wasn’t slow or sweet. 

It was a feral hunger unleashed. A scraping of teeth, a pull of lips. Frenzied as your mouths meshed together.

You allowed yourself to get lost in him, the world around you falling silent until the only thing you could hear were the small groans that escaped his lips.

His hands wandered further into your dress, nails scraping along your skin eliciting your own moans. 

You pushed at the hem of his shirt. 

Up

Up

Up

You pulled away to drag it over his head until his pale skin was displayed, tracing the ink etched onto his chest with your fingers lightly.

You’d always been fascinated with them; the way mortals could create beautiful scars to display.

Eddie tilted his neck, revealing his carotid that thrummed with life. You could hear the blood rushing through him. An invitation you weren’t ready to accept.

Instead you kissed his pulse, trailing lower and moved off his lap. He watched you with hooded eyes, the way you pulled at his jeans and tugged them down his thighs. Throwing them absently, your focus still remained on him.

You dragged your nails over the thick skin that covered the lean muscle of his lap, relishing the way Eddie shivered in anticipation. 

Your hand gripped his clothed cock firmly, your center aching when you felt the girth of his dick against your hand. 

He helped you push his boxers down and you watched as it sprang free, his pretty pink tip already leaking for you. Your tongue darted out, humming as his pre-cum coated your tongue; a slightly salty taste that made you hum.

Your gazes remained linked as you ran your tongue along the vein on the underside of his shaft, your saliva dribbling down its length and coating his balls. 

His hands gripped your hair, nails scraping along your scalp as you stroked him. Tongue teasing his tip once more before your mouth slowly wrapped around his cock. Mouth widened, saliva trickling from either side due to his size, and Eddie about came at the sight of you. 

You started slow, allowing his length to push against the back of your throat before hollowing your cheeks out and sucking to his tip with a loud pop.

Teasing, testing, and taking your time to drive him a little mad. 

Eddie’s moans only encouraged you, and you relished in the way his head was thrown back, curls fanned against your couch, his grip tightened on your hair as you continued to tease.

Increasing your pace, one hand following you up and down his shaft. The other massaging his balls. 

“Fucking hell-” he groaned and you continued.

“‘M not going to last like this,” he mumbled between deep sighs, losing composure.

“I want to taste you,”

“I need to feel you,”

You both stated in unison. 

Your chest was heaving despite the lack of breath and slowly you stood, positioning yourself over his lap. Holding yourself over his cock. 

Eddie took his time, kissing along your shoulders as he pushed the straps of your dress down. Mouth moving lower and lower until they hit the tops of your breasts. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked despite your obvious need, ever the gentleman.

“Please.” 

He removed your dress and hung it over the back of your couch. 

Eyes always on you, taking you in.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart,” he remarked and ran a finger along the curve of your breast. His gaze fixed on yours. 

Your nipples were hard as you anticipated the feel of his mouth, gasping when his tongue finally ran alongside the budded flesh. 

He pulled your nipple into his mouth with a tug of his teeth, tongue flicking across your perked breast. 

Instinctively, your hands curled in his hair as your hips jutted against him. The evidence of your arousal coating his cock and making a mess of his lap. 

The need was overwhelming, the lust heightened as you reached between your bodies and lined his cock up with your dripping cunt. 

He watched as you lowered yourself onto him, his eyebrows marrying in the middle at the sensation.

The stretch was delicious, causing you to ache in the best way as you wrapped around him.

You took him slowly just as you did with your mouth. 

Inch by inch, teasingly pulling off his cock to hear his gasps of pleasure. To feel his fingers press deeper into your hips. 

Until teasing wasn’t enough and you took every inch of him, moaning loudly when he was fully seated inside of you. 

Allowing yourself a moment to adjust to his size. 

“You feel so good, Eddie,” you sighed and could feel the way his cock twitched inside you at the compliment. 

You used his shoulders as leverage and began to ride him, swirling your hips to hit the spot you most enjoyed. 

“Feed on me,” he insisted, exposing his neck to you once more. 

For a moment you hesitated, thinking of all the humans you’d had. All the ones who died unintentionally and those who perished on purpose. 

But pure want overcame any hesitancy you had and you leaned closer, swiping your tongue over his pulse before you plunged your fangs into the thick skin that lined his neck.

He groaned, hands gripping your waist harder as you began to feed.

Eddie tasted just as you imagined, the richness of his blood unlike any other you’d tasted.

The lewd noise of his cock inside your wet cunt filled your home as blood began to trickle down his chest.

You licked it up not wanting to waste a drop as Eddie gripped your ass and began rutting himself deeper inside you. 

“Oh Eddie,” you whined and reached between your bodies to rub your fingers against your sensitive bud. 

You titled your head back, losing yourself in the sensation, and he began to trail kisses up your chest and to your neck. Mouth searching for yours as your hips matched his pace. 

Each of you edging closer to coming undone. 

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned into your mouth, his pace not wavering. 

Steadily pumping every inch into you. 

“Eddie, I’m going to cum,” you moaned and he began to encourage you between kisses. Coaxing your release from you and pushed his larger fingers on top of your smaller ones that worked your clit. 

It was an ecstasy you’d never experienced before; the high of human blood combined with the weightlessness an orgasm offered you. 

Your head was buzzing and it was as if the whole world disappeared around you as the orgasm took over, coursing through you in violent waves as Eddie continued to worship you. 

You repeated his name like an old prayer you once knew; over and over with conviction. 

“Sweetheart, where do you want it?”

“Fill me,” you pleaded and Eddie bucked beneath you, his seed coating your walls as he groaned your name. 

The two of you stilled, his labored breaths warm along your chest and you looked at him with a wide smile. 

You loved how his warm body felt against your cold skin, the way his heart was beating wildly against his chest, and how perspiration made his bangs cling to his forehead. 

His cheeks blossomed a bright pink. Eyes hooded and body spent. 

So beautifully human. 

He helped you off his lap but kept you close, holding you next to him as you lay on the couch. Your legs slotted between his, long nails grazing along his chest as he pressed kisses to your forehead. 

Eddie’s breathing became heavier and you knew that he was sleeping.

You felt that familiar pang, deep in your chest where your heart once beat. 

It didn’t feel like falling in love, it felt like recognition. 

Kentucky welcome

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Content: 100% pure shameless fluff, a little kissing, a little spicy talk, mention of food, everything I know about Kentucky came from Google, Jack is a fool for romance and I love him

Word count: ~2700

Note: An epilogue to Visions of sugarplums, requested by an anonymous (and patient) friend

Mood song: I Want More, KALEO

Part one: Visions of sugarplums Part three: Just say you will

Taglist (if you’d like to be tagged, un-tagged, or make a request for future fics, feel free to let me know): @beccaplaying @songsformonkeys @emesispo @yespolkadotkitty @flightlessangelwings @keeper0fthestars @writemessystarwars @driedgreentomatoes

———————–

“Close your eyes.”

Jack’s honeyed voice draws your attention away from the sun-dappled green of the maple trees that line the long driveway.

“Why?”

“I want you to get the full effect.” His dimpled grin is almost boyish in its teasing happiness.

There’s no request you wouldn’t indulge when it comes wrapped in a smile like that, but it’s probably just as well he doesn’t know it.

With your eyes closed, the world narrows to the soft wind ruffling your hair, the calloused warmth of Jack’s hand enveloping yours, the crunch of gravel under the Bronco’s wheels.

You feel the truck round a bend and slow to a crawl, and your anticipation bubbles over like champagne in a too-full glass.

“Can I open yet?”

“All in good time, darlin’.” You can hear the smirk in Jack’s voice. “Only ever seen you this impatient when my clothes are comin’ off.”

“Maybe they are coming off when we get there.”

He brings your joined hands to his lips, brushing a kiss over your knuckles. “Now, that might almost make a man risk a cracked windshield on a gravel road.”

Keep reading

On the run! A heist gone bad? I love Fujiko and Jigen as worsties that are still ride or die. My tablet pen is broken btw and this was a real struggle lol

1. You realize that Tyler Oakley is in fact, a real person. A person who shits himself on the way to his college class actually.

2. Tyler Oakley’s laugh in person is actually the cure to all physical and mental diseases. (there is nothing better)

3. You get...

I’m TRYING to love myself but SOMEBODY *glares in the mirror* is having a TANTRUM

18+ minors DNI, almost everything here has explicit sexual content

*******

Eddie Munson

Blurbs

Harder

Drunk dial

Best friends

And then head?

Nasty

Let it all go

Give me a show

One more

Good boy

Movie night

Pathetic

Porn

Kas Eddie

A mess

Tease

Obsessed

Teasing Eddie

One shots

The Pact

The switch

4/20

Just Friends

No one fucks me like you

Mark Me

High on you

Good Girl

Thots and drabbles

Eddie is a munch

Pussy drunk

Cum on my lips, baby

Mine

Morning head

I want a bite 😩

Dorky Eddie

Eddie fluff

Desperate

3 am

Giving Eddie head for the first time

Eddie’s Diary

Home page

Intro

There’s a first for everything

A taste

Ex Boyfriend Eddie

I hate you, I love you

Steddie x Reader

Cashmere and Cigarettes

Steve Harrington

Blurbs

Dreams

Animal

One shots

Memory lane

I need more Boromir fics in my life and in the world. Thank you for writing this!

Watching, Wanting

A/N: Hello! (its been awhile) I just wanted to indulge in my love for Boromir (ft some faramir bc i love my brothers). Very vague plot if you squint. It's a bit spicy, but nothing explicit!

Reader gets sent out in a storm by Faramir and turns up at Minas Tirith soaked.

Boromir x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

Rated: TEEN

2.3k words

---

The low hills of Emyn Arnen at your feet gave way to soft fields and in the distance the Anduin meandered through the landscape. There were dark clouds on the horizon, grey and heavy, and the faint earthy scent of coming rain was in the air. If you rode fast, you could make it to the city in a few hours, but judging by the clouds, you would be riding right into the storm anyway. You sighed and turned to Faramir. “Are you certain this is of such vital importance that I have to risk getting soaked to the bone?”

He nodded. “My brother requires these maps. I would have sent it with the trade carts this morning but it slipped my mind.”

“Rather uncharacteristic of you,” you muttered, raising your eyebrows at him.

He shrugged, an easy smile on his face. “My mind has been occupied of late. It is no easy feat, establishing a settlement.”

You softened at his words. Eowyn and Faramir had been working from dawn to dusk the past few weeks and the spring rains had been slowing construction and delaying the new workers and settlers journeying to Emyn Arnen. 

“Very well.” You tucked the long, flat wooden box into your pack and buckled the waxed canvas securely. “I’ll be off now.”

“Safe travels, my friend,” he grinned and waved.

You swung onto your horse and, with a flick of the reins, started off down the road. As the grass and trees sped by, your thoughts drifted to Boromir. 

You had become friends with Faramir first and, in the months Boromir had been away from Minas Tirith, you had helped coordinate the Ithilien Rangers from the city. Boromir had been civil to you when he returned, respectful of your battle and logistical strategies, but distant outside of the war rooms and planning councils. But something shifted one evening. 

It was one of the many victory dinners, a smaller, more intimate one for The Fellowship and close companions. The hobbits had pulled you into their game of roughhousing and somehow you had ended up sprawled on top of Boromir. He had been large and solid underneath you, his hands heavy on your waist. You looked up into his grey eyes and your breath caught in your throat. 

After that, it seemed as though his eyes were always on you. Across dinner tables, across courtyards, even, once, from across the throne room in full view of everyone.

You thought that with the end of the war, there would be no need for much contact between you and him, that all you would ever do is look, but Faramir had unofficially appointed you as a representative between the city and Emyn Arnen.

There had been so many afternoons spent with Boromir, shoulder to shoulder, pouring over maps and trade routes, so many nights spent eating across from each other in the low light of his private dining room. Yes, he was brave and proud and a fantastic tactician, but all that seemed to vanish when you saw him. 

Really saw him. 

Him with sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong forearms. His hair tied up, the pale column of his throat on full display. And those training breeches, somehow loose and tight at the same time… 

What would he look like sprawled on your bed? Eyes glazed and chest heaving, hair mussed and lips parted. His breath hot in your ear, his voice low and raspy.

Thunder clapped overhead and rain started to fall on your overheated skin. The drops were cool and refreshing and you tipped your face to the sky. 

How were you to spend another evening, another moment, in his presence? It was maddening, the way his eyes would blaze, the way he would draw close to you but never touch.

Why would he not act? It is true that you did not hold as high a standing as his family, but the brothers never seemed to care about such a thing. Even though that may be true, surely he understood that it was not as if you could do anything — it would be far more impertinent that you, of a lower standing, should be the first to move.

You shook your head and tightened your grip on the reins. You would ride back tonight to Emyn Arnen, even if you had to make the journey in the dark. It would be too much to spend another night near Boromir only separated by a few doors.

-

Boromir rushed down with the panicked servant who had burst into his study. What was his brother thinking? Sending you to Minas Tirith in the storm? He rounded the corner and found you shivering and dripping onto the polished marble. Someone had already taken your cloak and pack and you stood in your soaked clothes and saturated boots, clutching a wooden box. He swallowed at the sight of the fabric clinging to your form and strode towards you. 

“Riding in such a storm is madness. What was so urgent it could not wait until morning?” You shoved the box into his hands and he stared at it for a moment before shaking his head. “Come, let us get you warm and dry first.”

He led you to his rooms and sat you down before the fire. “You cannot stay in those clothes,” he said, handing you some towels and a blanket along with some of his spare clothes. “You will catch your death.”

“But, Boromir, it is not proper —”

“I do not care. I would rather some impropriety if the alternative is illness or death.” He turned around and faced the wall. “I will not look until you are sufficiently… dressed.”

For a moment, he thought you were about to protest some more until he heard the slick swish of your clothes. He could imagine you, peeling off your layers, bare skin tinged orange by the fire. Heat crept up his neck to his ears. By the gods, he needed to control himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew a ragged breath in. 

What sort of delightful torture was this? How many days had he spent beside you, close enough to breathe in your scent? How many nights had he spent staring at his bedroom door, willing you to walk through it?

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sound of your wet clothes hitting the floor. He had to be proper. A gentleman. A man of honour. He had to be mindful of his position and standing. Yes, his brother had appointed you various titles and responsibilities, but whatever they were, they were still ranked below his own title of Captain of Gondor.

He had heard too many stories of people being swayed and persuaded by the nobility — he would not allow you to feel obligated to reciprocate his own selfish desires simply because he was ranked higher than you were. 

There was the rustle of cloth, the whisper of cotton on skin, and he fought the images of you donning his clothes. Oh, how will he ever wear that tunic ever again and not think of you?

You were wonderful and smart and were filled with endless ideas for new laws and trade. But in his quiet moments, he wondered what you would feel like under his touch, wondered what sort of sounds you would make.

How would you say his name? In a whisper? A gasp?

In a cry of pleasure?

He spied the wooden box you had brought with you on the side table and shook his head. Damn Faramir for putting him in such a position! What could possibly be so important?

“I, um — I’m just going to look at what my brother sent. Do not be alarmed by my movement,” he said and heard you hum in assent.

With slow, measured steps, he made his way to the box and opened it.

“Faramir said you needed maps,” you muttered behind him.

There were maps indeed, but they were just the regular sort that anyone could buy at the market cartographer. He frowned, rifling through the parchment, and pulled out the envelope tucked in between the papers.

Brother, 

Forgive my deception, but I hope my interference will be forgiven. Aragorn has written to me saying he is on the verge of tearing his hair out at the sight of you two. Eowyn and I are not faring much better here in Emyn Arnen with the constant pacing and faraway looks my, our, friend has whenever they return from the city. 

I pray you spare all of us any more heated longing stares. 

Best of  luck,

Faramir

The nerve of his brother! To send you out in the storm simply for the purposes of… of… matchmaking! The paper crinkled in his grip and his eyes wandered down to the scrawl at the bottom.

P.S. I am not so foolish as to send them out in anything threatening. Spring storms may be chilly, but hardly dangerous. 

That mollified him little and he grumbled. 

“Is anything the matter?” you asked. “Were they damaged in the rain?”

“No, not at all. It is nothing. Simply my brother being… my brother.” 

He read the letter again. Pacing… faraway looks… heated stares… Was his brother implying…? No, that could not be, could it? But, then again, perhaps he did not imagine the way you would linger in the sitting room after dinner or how he would feel your eyes on him sometimes. Your expression was always unreadable, careful and controlled, that he could hardly be sure of what you felt for him. If you felt anything at all. 

And yet, Faramir’s letter…

Your bare feet shuffled on the stone. “You may turn around if you wish.”

He folded the letter away and replaced it along with the maps into the box. He turned and his stomach clenched at the sight of you.

You were bathed in the warm light of the fire, your skin aglow, incandescent in the dim light. His tunic was loose on you and the front ties of the collar were undone, revealing the skin of your chest. His eyes wandered down to the pile of wet clothes on the floor and he spotted, what were unmistakably, underthings, heaped on top. 

Heat flared low in his belly and he glanced away. 

You. Naked under his clothes. Valar help him. 

-

Boromir had that look in his eyes again, all aflame and intense, except he was directing it at one of the tapestries on the wall. You glanced down at the wet clothes at your feet. Well, he could not have reasonably expected you to keep your underthings on, could he?

He was still staring at the wall. His jaw was tense and his hands were clenched by his sides. You took a step forward and he stood straighter. His eyes cut to yours for a moment, smoldering with want, before they went back to the wall. He took a shuddering breath and you took another step. 

Perhaps if you couldn’t act, you could make him act first instead.

You fought a smile and walked to stand before him. You could smell him fully then, his familiar musk mingling with cedar from the scent he favoured.

“Boromir,” you whispered.

His eyes snapped to you and he swallowed.

“Boromir.” 

You tipped your head to the side and parted your lips.

“Boromir.”

He crashed his lips against yours, his hands coming up to cradle your face. He deepened the kiss, his chest rumbling in a low moan when your fingers curled into his shirt. He tasted like the bitter tea he favoured after dinner. His hand drifted down, skimming your waist before coming to rest on your hip. Your nails scraped at the nape of his neck and he groaned.

His body was warm, hot even. He pressed himself closer to you and you could feel him, hard, against you. Heat pooled in your stomach and you moaned his name. His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt and he pulled back for a moment. “Is this alright?”

You nodded and tipped your head back. “Don’t stop.”

“I’ve… wanted this… for weeks,” he said, kisses drifting towards your jaw. The delightful scratch of his beard was followed by soft, warm lips as he worked his way down your neck. “Wanted you.”

“You should have done something.”

He smiled against your skin. “I’m doing something now.”

His lips paused at the curve of your neck and shoulder, sucking for a moment, as his hand slid up your side, his touch gentle but demanding. Your fingers fumbled with the ties on his tunic and tugged on the fabric. He pulled it off and tossed it to the side and he stood flushed and grinning before you. You trailed your fingers down his solid chest, past his stomach, following the light dusting of hair down.

“Maddening man, you —”

There was a knock on the door and you yelped, startling away from him. 

“Who is it?” he asked, voice low and rough. He cleared his throat. “What is the matter?”

“Should we prepare a hot bath for your friend in the spare room?” The servant’s voice was muffled through the door.

His eyes darted to yours before a smirk spread across his face. “There is no need for that, thank you.”

There was the sound of retreating footsteps and you exhaled. Boromir let out a relieved chuckle and pulled you towards him. 

“Sending my warm bath away?” You threw a challenging look at him. “How ever will I get warm?”

“I can think of a great many ways.”

“Will I like any of them?”

“I think you will find that you’ll like all of them.”

He dipped his head, capturing your lips, and tugged you in the direction of his bedroom.

---

I never realised just how quick things can head into a mature rating until I wrote this lmao. Not sure if I will ever write smut but well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (maybe)

Tags: @sotwk @ass-deep-in-demons @thetempleofthemasaigoddess @hippodameia