POV: You find a writer who loves the same books/tropes as you… and suddenly you’re not just a reader anymore, you’re emotionally invested in their entire fictional universe 😭📚
As a beta reader, this is honestly my favorite part, finding those little moments in a story that make you go “YES, this is exactly why I love this.” 😂
What’s a book trope that instantly makes you want to keep reading? 👀
A new month means new opportunities, fresh goals, and another chance to grow. Whether you're writing your first chapter, editing your manuscript, building your business, or simply taking things one day at a time, I'm rooting for you.
May this month bring creativity, productivity, good health, and unexpected blessings. Don't forget to celebrate even the smallest victories; they matter more than you think.
What is one goal you're hoping to achieve this month?
Writers, what’s the hardest part of the writing process for you?
For me, it’s fascinating how a story can be crystal clear in your head and then completely different once it’s on the page. That’s one reason I enjoy beta reading so much: it helps bridge that gap between the writer’s vision and the reader’s experience.
One of the things I enjoy most about beta reading is helping writers bring out the best in their stories. Whether it's pacing, character development, dialogue, emotional impact, or overall reader experience, I love providing honest and encouraging feedback.
Every story deserves a fresh set of eyes, and it's always exciting to see a manuscript grow stronger through collaboration.
Writers, what part of your work do you struggle with the most when editing on your own? 👀
Interesting point, this is something I’ve seen come up a lot in publishing conversations. I work around beta reading and book services, so it’s always cool seeing reader reactions like this.
✍🏽 When someone is talking about editing struggles
Editing can honestly make or break a book. A lot of writers underestimate how much a good edit improves pacing and clarity. That’s something I help with as part of my editing services.
Cover trends can be a bit repetitive lately 😅 As a book cover designer, I’ve worked on a few projects where we had to make sure the cover actually reflects the story instead of just following trends.
📚 When someone is complaining about fantasy/romance mix-ups
“This is actually a common issue in fantasy marketing right now, covers and blurbs sometimes lean more into romance than the actual plot. As a beta reader, I’ve seen how important it is to set reader expectations early so people don’t feel misled.”
Good morning, writers 🍳☕
The sun is up, the coffee is brewing, and your stories are waiting to be fed just like you.
Breakfast isn’t just food for the body; it’s fuel for the imagination.
Whether it’s pancakes and plot twists or toast and tough edits, take a moment to breathe, sip your coffee, and remind yourself your words matter.
Every page, every paragraph, every rewrite is a step closer to the story you’ve always wanted to tell.
So, author, what’s on your breakfast plate , and what’s on your writing plate today?
Just finished reading Unwanted – Chapter 1 and I can’t stop thinking about it! The way you portray the alpha/omega dynamics is intense and so immersive—it honestly had me holding my breath in some scenes!
I love how each character feels distinct, from Jungkook’s dominating presence to the complex layers of the whole pack. Your world-building in the omegaverse is next level.
Quick question: I’m dying to know—how do you come up with the scents for each character? It makes everything feel so vivid! 👀
Thank you for sharing this story—I’m officially hooked and can’t wait for the next chapter! 💖
Warnings: demon!Eddie, so if you don't like the supernatural, this story is unfortunately not for you. Sorry!
And then, as always… mature language and context, sex, praise kink, allusions to hell — I bet you never would have guessed it, right?! 😅😜🤟🏻
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You didn’t usually mind being home alone.
In truth, you kind of love it.
The way the house settled into your own rhythm the moment your parents stepped out, as if even the furniture exhaled a deep, held breath.
Loneliness felt neat for you, in a way that daylight and polite conversation never were.
It was cozy, quiet, safe.
And tonight should have been exactly like that.
One of those crispy evenings that clung at the edges of the soul — warm inside, all dim lights, incense and something cheesy baking in the oven; but cool and stormy outside.
Your folks had left an hour earlier, dressed up for some anniversary dinner at a place too expensive for anyone under the fifties. They’d told you not to wait up, which you interpreted — very gratefully — as ‘we’ll be back very late’.
It was pure perfection.
You lazily showered, pulled on your sleep shorts and your oversized Muppets t-shirt — the one so worn in that it didn’t really cling to anything, just draped over you like your own personal hiding place — and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
The storm wasn’t here yet, you could only hear the distant rumble of thunder rolling through the Indiana flatlands — a warning growling too far away to take seriously.
The stereo in the living room played something breezy, one of those pop tracks Robin had slipped into the mixtape she made for you last summer.
“It’s for mood,” she’d said, wiggling her eyebrows before leaving for college.
The girl had a strange definition of mood, but you’d grown fond of the tape anyway.
The song now was all warm vocals and low synth, the kind of thing that made the air feel a little lighter.
You hummed along as you opened the freezer, grabbed the boxed pizza and set about the deeply scientific process of peeling the plastic off without tearing it.
You slid the paradise-made-food into the oven, set the timer and leaned on the counter as the kitchen started smelling like tomato sauce and basil — arms folded under your braless breast, painted toes tapping to the music.
You weren’t thinking about anything in particular — not school, not work, not the weird dream you’d had last night where red lightnings rattled your bedroom’s ceiling windows even though the sky had been clear.
And definitely not about Eddie Munson — at least for once.
Except… the moment you told yourself not to think about him, he appeared in your mind like a vivid picture — all wild curls, plump lips and brown eyes with something sweet buried behind all that bravado.
The denim vest covered in patches no one else knew a thing about.
The loud laugh he always tried to suppress behind his ringed hand during class.
You had a terrible crush on him that bordered on humiliating since time immemorial — the kind that sank deep roots and never quite let go, even when the metalhead himself faded into memory.
It had been a year and half since you’d last seen him up close on graduation day.
You’d only caught glimpses of him around Hawkins since — at the gas station, outside the Hideout, in front of the workshop where he worked.
Once even in the parking lot at the grocery store, where you hadn’t looked directly at him because you didn’t trust what your face might give away.
But you’d had the distinct feeling he'd been watching you intently the whole time you'd loaded the car with bags, put the cart away and sped away without remembering to yield at the stop sign.
Thank goodness you hadn't caused an accident, your dad just wouldn't have forgiven you for wrecking the car.
Not after your decision to skip college and work as a clerk at the new mall.
You shook your head, smiling at yourself like a silly little girl.
“It’s pizza night,” you muttered under your breath. “Not pathetic nostalgia night.”
You wandered into the living room and stretched out on the couch, deciding whether to turn on the TV or not, the stereo still playing low from the corner.
You could smell the faint sweetness of shampoo on your hair, the fabric of your t-shirt brushing lightly over your nipples in a way you tried not to think too hard about.
You were comfortable.
Relaxed.
The storm rumbled again, closer this time, but still not enough to worry you.
You let yourself sink deeper into the cushions, into the atmosphere, into the haze of a night that wasn’t asking anything from you except to enjoy yourself.
The kind of rare, perfect quiet that came before—
—click!
The house went dark.
The stereo stopped abruptly.
The hum of the oven died.
The screen went dark as soon as it turned on.
You blinked into the sudden black, heart rising fast and stupid in your throat.
“Great,” you whispered into the silence. “Perfect timing, really.”
The darkness wasn’t absolute — not yet.
Lightning pulsed restless through the thin curtains, white-blue and flashing.
You could hear the howling of the wind now, pressing against the windows like an invisible, sentient thing.
You took a deep breath.
Hands out in front of you, you moved slowly toward the kitchen drawer, bumping your feet into a chair leg hard enough to make you wince.
“Shit! Fuck— okay, got it…”
Drawer.
Matches.
And then, in the cupboard, the ridiculous kitsch Christmas candle your aunt had gifted you some time before.
Red as a widow vamp’s lipstick and dusted in golden glitter that somehow never came off.
You lit the match with shaking fingers.
The flame flared, trembling.
You touched it to the wick and the candle bloomed to life, flickering molten red and gold shadows across the walls.
The kitchen looked… different in that particular light.
Too reddish, almost… alive.
Like a huge, beating heart.
You set the candle on the counter and inhaled slowly, trying to laugh at yourself.
“It’s just the storm,” you said out loud. “How old are you? Five?”
But your voice sounded small, insecure — like the darkness itself swallowed it to prove you wrong.
A sudden burst of thunder cracked on the ground, quite near the house, shaking the windowpanes.
You yelled, heartbeat fast, then—
TOC TOC.
Knocks.
Sharp, deliberated.
You froze, head snapping towards the front door.
Nobody should have been out in that weather.
Nobody should have been on your porch.
And nobody — absolutely nobody — should have been aware you were home alone.
TOC. TOC. TOC.
The knocks came again.
Slower, this time.
Calmly, as if the person on the other side wasn’t worried about the raging flood at all.
Or about anything, maybe.
You swallowed hard on nothing.
Your breath was shallow, pulse wild in your ears.
You stepped toward the hallway, each footstep too loud in the hush of the powerless house.
Shadows stretched long across the walls, swaying with the candle’s trembling glow.
Another rumble of thunder.
The sound of wind clawing at the siding.
And then—
Hell’s Bells began playing.
Loud.
From the living room.
From the stereo with no electricity.
The opening bell struck through the house like an omen — deep, low, ritualistic.
Then the guitar, scratchy and rolling — the sound vibrating through your bones.
Your stomach dropped, your throat threatened to close.
That song wasn’t on the tape.
You hadn't any AC/DC between the various cassettes, you were sure — your parents hated rock music.
Holy shit, there was a fucking blackout going on — it wasn’t supposed to be there at all in any way.
“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “No. I’m dreaming. That’s not—”
The knocks became a little jingle drummed precisely against the wood, softly, with practiced fingertips.
Toctoctoctoc—toctoc!
You realized the inevitable with a shiver down your spine: whoever was outside was waiting.
For you.
Your hand shook as you reached for the lock.
You told yourself not to open it.
You told yourself this was wrong, fucking insane.
But the song reverberated behind you, in the darkness of a house that only a couple of minutes ago was your cozy nest — and something unstoppable pulled your fingers forward.
You turned the knob and pulled the door open.
Eddie Munson stood in the threshold.
Soaked through.
Pale as october mist.
Eyes darker than you remembered.
He was watching you like he’d been standing in the storm for hours, just waiting for you to open the door for him.
Suddenly the rain behind him didn’t sound like rain at all.
It was like thousands of violent and creepy applause, pouring down as if celebrating your unexpected reunion.
Water dripped from his long hair, sliding along his hard jaw, trailing down the hollow of his strong throat.
His t-shirt clung to him like a second skin, his breath rose in faint clouds dissolving fast in the chill air.
But his eyes — his eyes were the real problem.
Bottomless, intent, fixed on you like he’d been starving and somehow only just discovered what food was.
In you.
“Eddie!”
Wow — so original.
But you were really surprised.
“Hey,” he breathed, voice rough. He cleared his throat, then — softly, “Hey, sweetheart.”
Your blood went to boiling point in a second.
Eddie Munson had never called you that — other girls yes, but not you.
Not once in all the years of high school hallways, classes and cafeteria glances you pretended not to steal.
To tell the whole truth, you had never had a conversation that was more than a snippet of a couple of words each.
“I—” you started, gripping the candle tighter. “I didn’t even know you knew I exist.”
The words dropped between you like a dumb bomb.
He tilted his head just slightly, his gaze traveling slowly over your face, your hair, the oversized t-shirt hanging off one your shoulder, the bare legs exposed beneath it.
His jaw tightened imperceptibly.
“Are you serious?!” A half-laugh escaped him. “Oh princess… I know really well who you are.”
Your cheeks warmed, something low and tangled and very inopportune shifted cruel deep in your belly.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the words slipped out shaky instead. “It’s… it’s a hell of a storm to be outside.”
A twitch pulled at the corner of his lips.
Not a smile exactly — something thinner, crooked.
“Yeah,” he murmured, stepping closer to the threshold, leaning on it almost by chance. “It really is.”
A gust of wind tore across the porch and the candle in your hand flickered violently — the flame bending toward him as if magnetized.
Eddie saw it.
His body went stiff.
His expression darkened, some shadows moving beneath the familiar surface of him.
Hell’s Bells crashed through the house again, the music tolling sinisterly in the floorboards.
He didn’t flinch, not even a little, but you did.
“Your power’s out,” he stated.
You nodded, and your hand grabbed the doorknob.
“And your stereo…” His gaze drifted past your shoulder into the dark behind you. “It’s not plugged into anything anymore, is it?”
Goosebumps lifted along your arms.
You swallowed hard, throat dry.
You should have told him to go away.
You should have closed the door.
You should have asked some reasonable questions—
“No.”
He rubbed his fingers across his eyes, pushing wet curls back with a hand, then forced a shaky breath out and met your gaze again.
“That's interesting.”
He hesitated.
“I came here because— it is time.”
You shivered, and not only for the cold air of the night. “What?”
You saw the exact moment he realized and became restless.
“Uhm… I don’t know, okay? I was on my way home, but my van stalled. Then started. Then stalled again near your house like it wanted me here.”
His eyes flicked down your body again, almost in a feverish, feral way.
“And you opened the door,” he whispered.
You swallowed hard, held the candle even closer.
Its glittering red glow painted gold flecks across his cheeks and throat, but not his eyes.
That was the first hint something was wrong.
His irises didn't catch any light — just remained black and it occupied almost all the white.
“How do you know where I live?”
He shrugged.
“I didn't know, indeed.” He huffed an humourless laugh, shaking his head. “I remember getting off work, then somehow I was at the end of your street. Then your driveway. Then your porch. And I just… waited— thinking about you.”
You stared at him without what to say — what to think.
“Listen Eddie... if all this is some kind of joke—”
He stared back, then blinked furiously.
“What? No! I swear I didn’t plan to look like some creep in a horror movie!”
For a second — one long second — he really was just Eddie to you.
The awkward metalhead who doodled strange demons on his math notes, who led a group of nerds called Hellfire, who played with his band at the Hideout every tuesday night for a handful of drunkards.
He was again only the loud boy everyone judged and no one knew, a natural-born leader who loved to give speeches on cafeteria tables.
You felt warmth gather in your chest — an old, familiar ache.
“Okay… Why don't you come in for a moment? So we can try to figure something out of this… mystery.”
A thunder cracked behind him and you jumped.
Something shifted under his skin — something quiet but enormous.
Like pressure building inside him, altering his skin.
His eyes darkened not in color, but in depth, as if someone had turned down a dimmer from behind them.
He looked away from you abruptly, jaw flexing like he was holding something back.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Listen to me. Don’t freak out. But, uh…” His voice dropped. “I’m kinda freaking out myself.”
You opened your mouth, but Eddie rushed ahead, words spilling like he couldn’t stop them.
“Look, I know this is weird. I know I’m weird. Always have been. But, sweetheart… This is different.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, glance darting everywhere except your face.
He looked confused, vulnerable, terrified.
But then the next chime of the bell hit the air and he shuddered — literally.
His breath hitched, his hands fisted, and when he looked at you again…
The boy you knew was still there, but buried under something else.
Something hungry.
Something ancient.
The candle flame bent toward him, stretching unnaturally against the wind.
He tried to step back from the threshold, but you could tell his body didn’t obey him.
His fingers curled against the doorframe like he needed to hold himself in place.
“I shouldn’t… sweetheart, I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered. Same petname, but the tone was different now — deeper, edged with velvet darkness.
“You have no idea what’s happening to me.”
You took a little step back.
“You’re scaring me…” Your voice was small, just a shaking whisper in the night.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured and he really seemed to be, “But you ain't helping me. You shouldn’t look at me the way you do.”
Your heart stuttered.
“Like what?”
He swallowed, his Adam's apple went up and down.
“Like you want me.”
You felt heat rush up your neck, climbing your cheeks.
His sour and faint smile trembled, then disappeared completely.
He stepped closer, the movement slow, deliberate, animalistic.
Instinctive.
“But you always did, right? You always wanted me.”
Shame exploded raw in your stomach and you knew he knew it.
“How do you—”
A lightning split the sky and for one terrible but somehow beautiful moment, it seemed to you that its light was an electric red.
Just like in your strange dream.
You fell silent.
“God,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now, just standing here. Like… this.”
His voice faltered, but not with confusion this time.
It was restrain.
“I shouldn’t be near you at all.”
He shut his eyes, fighting against something you couldn't understand.
“But you had opened that damn door, sweetheart,” he said, suddenly extremely syrupy.
Your body reacted with a languid squeeze right in the middle of your thighs, making them tighten.
“Can I— uhm, can I help you in some way?”
It was crazy, you knew, but you were sure that in a blink of an eye his face had changed again, becoming sharper, more… predatory.
His gaze meaner, savage.
"Yeah… Will you let me make your wish come true? Do you want to finally be my little whore?”
A nasty pull in your gut stole the air from your lungs.
That wasn’t normal, wasn’t safe, wasn’t even human, probably — but fuck, he turned you on as hell.
“Eddie —”
“I swear I’m trying!” he was almost crying now, eyes locked to yours.
The speed with which he seemed to change his demeanor — if not personality — made you feel dizzy.
“I swear I’m trying to be… normal. Me. But sweetheart, every time you look at me, I—”
He cut himself off again, chest rising and falling fast.
“Please, don’t let me in.” He murmured.
But his eyes…
His eyes begged you to do exactly that.
You stared at him for a moment that felt infinite, watching closely whatever was fighting inside him tangling and unwinding endlessly, without giving him a moment's respite.
You were afraid, sorry for him, but…
But of one thing you were certain: Eddie was looking at you like no one ever had, like you were the most important creature in the world.
He looked at you as if he wanted to eat you alive, but not to kill you... to finally make you complete.
You couldn't explain why — maybe it was the storm whispering too many secrets you can't understand in your ear.
Maybe it was just Eddie Munson being finally here, in front of you — even drenched, pale and visibly unraveling, but still the boy you’d wanted since forever...
You stepped back.
Not in fear.
In invitation.
The candle trembled again, that ridiculous glittering glow casting dancing shadows across the hallway.
“Come inside,” you said softly.
He flinched, like the words physically hit him.
“Have you heard at least a thing I've said so far?”
“Yes, I have. And I think you'd better come in.”
You reached for him with your free hand, grabbing the damp cotton of his t-shirts, right above his heart.
You could feel it drumming wild.
Your trembling fingers clung to it, and you tried to pull him closer.
He moved fast and suddenly — his hand was on your throat.
Not out of anger. Not to hurt you.
Your breath caught in a loud gasp.
It wasn’t violent.
It wasn’t rough.
It wasn’t even tight.
His palm just rested there, large and scalding hot against your skin, like you’d touched a furnace and didn’t pull away.
You didn't want to.
It made your legs wobble, your knees buckle just slightly.
Your own heart pounded against his palm like a small animal, matching his.
You looked up into his eyes, wide and dark and torn.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “God, I’d never hurt you.”
“I know. I trust you.” you said, comforting him.
For the first time since this absurd situation had begun, Eddie smiled at you — he actually smiled.
Soft lips curled upward with nothing hidden behind them, deep dimples on either side of his nose, eyes... happy.
Still pitch black, but really contented.
“You're so cute, so kind... You always have been…”
He stared at you for a second too long — as if he were trying to memorize your face before something terrible happened.
Then he stepped over the threshold, making you move backwards without having to push.
The door slammed shut behind him on its own — BANG!!! — hard enough to make the walls shiver.
Hell’s Bells stopped mid-riff, the abrupt silence like a gunshot to your ears.
You couldn't even hear the storm raging anymore.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The only sound was your tangling breathing — shaky and shallow.
Eddie let go of your throat slowly, like his fingers didn’t want to leave you.
You could still feel the burn, a ghost of heat, the outline of his touch seared into you.
He didn’t move any further into the house.
He stood just inside the doorway, dripping water onto the floorboards, his silver rings shimmering faintly in the penumbra.
“I'm sorry. I'm flooding your floor.”
You tried to joke it away, but that’s when it happened.
The air glowed around him, like a newly lit bonfire on a moonless night.
You blinked, taking a step back — involuntary.
But then his skin glowed too.
A dull, pulsing red light, like embers in a dying fire, began to radiate from underneath his soaked clothes — not bright, not blinding.
Just warm, mesmerizing.
It lit the hallway walls with flickering red halos.
And behind him — clear, sharp, terrifying — his shadow shifted.
Long.
Twisted.
And crowned with horns.
You gasped.
Eddie saw the fear flash in your eyes and immediately turned around.
“Shit— fuck, I’m sorry—”
He reached up to touch his own head like he could feel them arise from his skull.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen. I swear— I don’t know what’s happening to me—”
“Your shadow…” you whimpered.
“I know,” he said through gritted teeth. “I know. I see it too, sweetheart.”
Your blood raced.
Your brain screamed.
But again, you didn’t move.
You stared at him with wide eyes.
The red light under his skin pulsed in time with his breathing, releasing tiny dust that dances like... ash.
His irises, though darker than they used to be, were still his.
Still Eddie.
Still the boy who carved DIO into his desk in senior year and get detention.
Still the guy who used to sneak dessert from is friends at lunch.
Still the boy you crushed on so hard it physically hurted you.
And now… he was more.
He was something else.
Something dangerous, probably.
But he hadn’t hurt you.
He could have, so easily — and yet he didn’t.
Even now, you could tell he was trying so hard not to.
“Eddie,” you said again, breathless. “What… are you?”
His mouth opened.
Then closed.
He looked down at his hands, flexed them, watched the light fade a little — like he was trying to reel it in.
Like he was trying to be just a himself again.
“I think I’m becoming something,” he murmured. “Something that… that I’ve always been, deep down. But I didn’t remember. Not until—”
He looked at you.
“Not until you.”
Your tongue went dry. “Me?”
“I dreamt of you,” he said. “Every night for years. Dreams that didn’t feel like dreams at all. I felt your skin. Your voice. Your desire.”
He stepped forward.
The light from his chest illuminated your face now.
“And now it’s like… I can feel you thinking about me. Wanting me, even if you know full well you shouldn't. It’s like your fucking lust is what brought me here.”
You shook your head and step backwards, towards the darkness.
“That's not true, I—”
Eddie followed you — slow, slow, slow — and your back hit the wall.
“Tell me the truth, sweetheart. Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. Tell me I haven't been your obsession since the first time you saw me.”
He grinned, a dangerous predator in heat.
“Tell me you didn't spend your adolescence spying on me from afar, wanting me to ruin you for all the other boys. Tell me I saw wrong a couple of nights ago, while you were masturbating in your bed, whimpering my name.”
Your mouth dropped open in a silent, horrified scream.
Your room had only one window: the one in the ceiling.
But it was on the upper floor of the house, and there were no external stairs to reach the roof.
Eddie planted his hands on either side of your head, trapping you in a cage of heat and dancing dust.
“Maybe that’s what I am now,” he whispered, leaning in close — close enough for you to feel the heat of him against your thighs, your abdomen, your breast, your face.
“Maybe I’m yours. Maybe I’m what you made me.”
He smiled at you one last time, then blew out the candle between your trembling fingers.
The hallway went black.
Except for the red.
The red coming from him.
The glow of Hell.
“Maybe I’m your own personal demon, finally ready to satisfy you. Sweetheart.”
You couldn’t breathe.
His eyes glinted with a depth of emotion so ancient it made your chest tighten.
Like he’d been searching for you across oceans of time.
Across life and death.
“Eddie…” you whispered.
He didn’t answer.
He grabbed you.
Not gently — but not cruelly, either.
It was the grasp of someone who had waited too long — fingers digging into your soft hips, arms closing around your waist like iron bands as he pulled you flush against him.
Your bodies collided and you gasped in awe.
Eddie moaned.
Low and guttural, like it had been ripped straight from his throat.
“If I lose control…” he said, voice shaking. “If I go too far—”
“You won’t,” you whispered, threading your shaking fingers through his hair.
He stared at you one more second, then it happened.
His mouth crashed into yours.
He was not sweet, not gentle, but still perfect.
His kiss was like a possession, like the sealing of a deal already inked in your blood and written across your dreams.
His tongue demanded access and you parted your lips.
Your fingers clawed at his shirt, now completely dry — the heat of his body had evaporated every rain drop — and you felt it.
Him.
His chest, his muscles, his body.
Stronger.
Defined.
Not monstrous, but more broad than usual.
Like a statue of Eddie had been carved into marble from smoke and fire and now pulsed against you, alive.
You groaned, moving your fingers through his curls… and suddenly you felt them.
His horns.
Long, curved and black, erupting slowly from his scalp — like bone pushing through skin, elegant and terrifying all at once.
You reached up, trembling fingers brushing the base of one as his mouth stayed locked to yours.
He shivered.
His hips pressed forward.
You felt how hard he was.
How much he was holding back.
He broke the kiss with a snarl, eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth parted just enough for you to see them—
The thin and pointed fangs.
Four of them, sharp and pale against the red light of his skin. Not bestial.
Not grotesque.
Just wrong enough to make your thighs squeeze together.
The full transformation was unbelievable and you took your time to savor it.
Eddie saw your expression and flinched.
“I’m sorry— fuck, I didn’t mean to—”
But you silenced him with your index finger on his burning lips.
“Don’t,” you breathed. “Don’t apologize for what you are.”
He stilled, breath caught in his throat.
You studied him with eyes full of wonder and compassion.
“Did they hurt you?” you whispered, referring to his new demonic modifications and he shrugged.
“You— you worry about me… You’re not afraid,” he murmured, almost sceptical.
You leaned in, resting your forehead against his.
“I think you were always meant to be this way,” you said. “And I was always meant to see it.”
He wasted no time and kissed you again, deeper this time, slower.
Less desperate, more reverent.
Like he finally believed you wanted him.
All of him.
The boy.
The demon.
The thing in between that adored you.
He gripped the back of your thighs and lifted you, making you wrap your legs around his hips. His hands took hold of your ass, squeezing hard, dragging you up and down against the bulge in his jeans.
Your back hit the wall again, hard enough to rattle the picture frames.
He thrusted against you, his erection hard and throbbing, a hot growl vibrating from somewhere deep inside him.
“I want you,” he whispered hoarsely against your neck. “I want to feel you, all of you— fuck, I need it, sweetheart.”
You moaned, a rush of slick wetting your shorts.
His nostrils flared, sniffing the air between you — like a beast— and you couldn't take it anymore.
“Are you going to brand me as yours or not, demon boy?”
He chuckled, shaking his head.
You rolled your hips against him and his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Fuck, honey. You're really testing me.”
Your response was a slow, languid bite on his lower lip.
Something snapped in Eddie and he settled you better against him with a little hop, walking down the corridor with you on one of his shoulders as if you weighed nothing.
“You wanted it, little human. Now I’m totally your problem.”
You giggled and squirmed as he walked up the stairs as if he knew your house very well, the red glow of his body lighting your path with a suggestive bloody shadow.
He kicked your bedroom door open with the side of his foot, then slammed it close with an invisible force.
Your room was lit only by a lava lamp on the bedside table, the wind howled between the roof tiles.
The walls shimmered faintly under the red glow of his skin.
Your skin did too.
Eddie laid you down on your bed like you were fragile and sacred, carefully hovering above you — breathing heavy, jaw clenched like he was still trying to be good.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped.
His voice was deeper now, touched by something raw and ancient.
“You have to say it. Just once. Just say it and I swear I’ll disappear into the dark and never come back. Like a nightmare. I can do that for you.”
You looked up at him — curls wild, horns curved like black obsidian, eyes impossibly deep, mouth parted to reveal the glint of teeth made for sin.
And you smiled.
Slow. Soft. Tender. Final.
“I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
Your voice was emotional but steady.
“I want everything you are.”
He growled — a deep, vibrating sound from somewhere buried in his soul — and something got in motion.
His mouth was on yours again, hungry, claiming you.
His hands slid under your thighs, parting them roughly, settling between them like he’d always belonged there.
“Me too.” he whimpered. “I’ve wanted you since the first fucking moment I saw you.”
Your breath caught, eyes wide.
“You don't get it, mh? You were standing by your locker on your first high school day,” he continued, eyes dark and blazing. “Wearing that dumb velvet scrunchie around your wrist and humming some song I didn’t know. And I looked at you and—”
He shook his head and he rubbed your noses.
“I didn’t even fucking understand it. Just… something snapped in me. Like... like you’d flipped a goddamn switch I didn’t know I had.”
You stared up at him, your chest tight, your inner walls already pressing together in aching need.
“I spent years pretending I didn’t see you,” he growled. “Didn’t want you. Didn’t dream of ruining you.”
He pressed forward, making you feel every inch of his hard desire.
“But I fucking did, sweetheart. Still do.”
He leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth, your eyes, the edge of your jaw, your neck — leaving burning heat in his wake like a damned path.
You gasped out loud, clutching him with shaking hands.
“And now you’re here,” he whispered in your ear. “Telling me you want this. That you want me.”
You nodded, breathless — wordless, and he grinned in amusement.
He pulled back just enough to speak, breath hot against your cheek.
“You’re wet, am I right?” he chuckled. “All for me?”
“Yes,” you breathed, hips grinding upward instinctively.
“I can smell it,” he hissed. “Your fucking need is like a drug— fuck, it’s making me crazy.”
One of his hands dragged your sleep shorts down, slow and deliberate, baring you to him.
He dropped to his knees at the foot of the mattress, shoved your thighs open and on his shoulders. Then he dove in like a starving man.
“Eddie!”
His tongue was hot.
Strong.
Long.
Fast.
Desperate.
You cried out, twisting into the sheets, your fingers clawing at the mattress.
He moaned low and filthy, the vibration making your whole body tighten.
Eddie licked and sucked, his fangs brushing your folds in just the right way — dangerous, thrilling—
“Fuck me. I could live forever between your legs, buried in your sweet pussy…”
“Please,” you almost cried. “Eddie, please—”
He looked up, licking his lips like a man who just fed.
“You want more already, sweetheart?” he panted. “You want this demon’s cock to split you open, make you mine?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes—”
He stood in a flash, his new claws working his belt loose.
“Needy little thing, aren't you?”
He stripped off his clothes, finally revealing his body fully to you — broader, stronger, marked with swirling dark veins that seemed to shimmer across his skin.
And his cock — thick, hard, flushed almost purple and dripping — stood proud between his hipsbones when he shoved down his ripped jeans.
You immediately went on fire.
“Eds… You—”
He helped you take off your own t-shirt, throwing it blindly behind him.
“I know, baby. I got you.”
He crawled over you like a predator, chest glowing, breath wild, and kissed your mouth.
“You sure?” he asked, pressing the head of him against your entrance, gathering your juices and his saliva.
You nodded, biting down on your lip.
But that wasn’t enough for him.
“Say it,” he growled, hand wrapping around your throat again — gentle, but firm.
“Tell me you want to be fucked by your demon.”
“God, yes,” you squirmed. “I need it— I need you inside me so bad!”
“Fuck yes you do,” he snarled, pulling away,
“You ready?” he asked, hovering at your little hole, face twisted in restraint.
You reached down and wrapped your fingers around him — hot, throbbing, inhumanly perfect.
“I said I want you. All of you.”
He whined and pushed in.
Slowly, but steady, helped by your hand.
The stretch stole your breath away.
He was big.
Too big.
But incredibly your body opened for him like it had been made for this.
For him.
For the demon he was and the boy he still held inside.
Eddie groaned and stopped, hiding his face against your neck.
He was sweating and it smelled like laurel smoke.
“Shit,” he panted, pressing his forehead against yours. “You are so tight. You drive me fucking insane, love.”
He bottomed out slowly and you moaned in pleasure.
“So good— please…”
He growled and slammed into you in one deep, brutal thrust.
You screamed — not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming fullness.
Then he started moving.
He fucked you hard — like he couldn’t help it.
Like he was driven by some deeper law than biology.
The bed creaked under your tangled bodies.
The air thickened with the scent of wild sex.
Each thrust sent your body arching, made your toes curl, your eyes roll back.
“You were meant for this,” he groaned. “For me. I’ve seen it. Felt it. Across lifetimes.”
His hand found your throat again, not tight — grounding.
“You don’t belong up here,” he hissed, eyes shimmering crimson. “You belong with me. You always have.”
His other hand caressed down your stomach, between your thighs, rubbing your clit in rhythm with his strokes.
“I can make you mine. I can take you with me. All you have to do is say yes.”
Your body trembled.
You were close.
So fucking close.
“Want your demon to fill you up, sweetheart? Do you want me to drag you to Hell? With me?”
“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, Eddie. Take me. I’m yours. I love you!”
His eyes widened.
His thrusts grew frantic.
Suddenly the room sparkled, blinding your vision for a wholesome moment.
Reality cracked.
Behind him, the walls began to glow — symbols appearing in molten gold, the air heavy with the scent of smoke, jasmine and dry blood.
“You say the words,” he whispered, voice unraveling. “Say it again, baby, say you’re mine.”
“I love you,” you whimpered. “Forever. Take me with you, Eddie. I want to come.”
That was it.
He roared — animal and powerful — and came inside you.
Hard, burning, with a violent thrust that sent your soul spiraling.
You followed with a wild scream — body arching and shaking, your own orgasm ripping through you like fire and light and shadow all at once.
I finished a romance novel last night, and in my dream, the main character came to dance with me.
His hand was warm, his smile exactly as the author described.
Now I’m wondering, does that mean he’s in love with me,
or did I just fall too deep into the story?
