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#losers club plus one

esmethenightdemon · 6 months

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y'all have got to start putting some justice on my boy mike hanlon's name he did not face the brunt of henry bowers' gangs violence, manage to learn more about it and derry than ben, and stay in derry for 27 years swimming in his trauma of that fuck ass town so that he could be the one to call back all the losers to defeat it just for y'all to be overlooking him like this

#plus every version of him is so sweet especially chosen jacobs :(#he's the most underrated loser i said what i said #he deserves the world and more #mike hanlon #it #it 1990 #it 2017 #it 2019 #it miniseries #it chapter one #it chapter two #stephen king's it #the losers club #the losers

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hannieehaee · 13 days

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18+ / mdi

content: loser!jungkook, sub!jungkook, softdom!reader, afab reader, loss of virginity, smut, dry humping, handjob, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 1894

a/n: this wasnt proofread at all so pls excuse any mistakes</3

masterlist

"o-oh, i don't think we should-"

"you don't want to?", you pouted at the wide eyed boy under you, hand on his chin as you made him look straight into your eyes.

"it's not that- it's just that, uh, i- i wouldnt want to be disrespectful or anything," he stumbled over his words, bunny teeth biting into his bottom lip.

you chuckled patronizingly, readjusting yourself on his lap and making him let out a low hiss at the movement.

"it's okay, bunny. we're just having fun, right? nothing wrong with it if we both want it, hmm?", your hands went down to his dress shirt, playing with the collar, undoing the very top button, "plus, we did make a deal, didn't we, bunny?"

oh, right. the deal.

jungkook's eyes almost rolled back at the implication of the agreement you had unexpectedly dropped onto his lap a few days ago.

your grade for your statistics class had somehow dropped below average somewhere along the semester, which caused your professor to recommend some tutoring to you, claiming that you'd likely not be able to graduate if you failed this class, as it was a requirement.

being in your senior year of college, failing was not a risk you could take, so you pleaded with your professor to assign you a tutor, whomever he deemed the smartest. that's when jungkook came into the picture.

by all means, jungkook could easily be described as a loser. his only friends were fellow members of the anime club, taehyung and jimin, equally as virginal as himself. more than anything, jungkook was just incredibly socially awkward, leading him to a life of loserdom as he made no friends and zero good impressions in life. this led him to dedicate all his efforts to school and give up on any social endeavors.

when the professor had asked him to tutor one of his lower-graded students, jungkook had no issue with it. he was offered extra credit if he did so, so it just seemed like a win-win situation to him. it wasnt until jungkook was told it'd be you he'd be tutoring that he began to have a problem with it.

now, jungkook didn't know you, he simply knew of you. so what if he had a crush on you? he didn't need to know the ins and outs of your personality to be into you.

except he kind of did.

to be quite frank, jungkook had a slight obsession with you ever since meeting you at orientation a few years ago. his friends were aware of his crush on you, always teasing him for taking the same classes you did just to get a glimpse of you whenever he could.

how did he find out your schedule? as ashamed as he was to admit it, he had wrongfully used his power as an administrative assistant on campus. he knew he wasnt supposed to, but he couldnt help in looking up your name and saving your schedule for future use.

unfortunately, jungkook never did anything other than coordinate your schedules. he was far too shy to even make eye contact with you, having never even introduced himself to you.

and now he had to tutor you. alone in your room as you sat side by side.

at least that was what he had pictured, not this. not you catching onto his crush immediately and proposing you pay him back for his efforts in the form of taking his virginity.

he could've sworn he almost had a heart attack when you'd shamelessly suggested it, somehow clocking both his crush and his virginal state within twenty minutes of your first session.

that session had ended quickly after that, with jungkook sheepishly accepting with a desperate nod and receiving a chaste kiss on his cheek as a goodbye.

and now you straddled him while he sat on your bed, hands shyly holding onto your hips.

"y-yeah, the deal," he breathed through his nose, mentally preparing himself for whatever you'd do to him. he'd take anything you gave him.

you grinned at him, lowering your head to kiss at his neck, making him immediately sigh in pleasure. he could feel the stickiness of your lipgloss leaving its mark on his neck, but he didnt care. he wished the marks could stay forever.

nibbling at his neck, you made some longer-lasting marks, making him groan as his fingers dug into your pajama-clad hips. that's when your lips made their way back up, catching his own on his first kiss ever.

he knew he might've been awkward in how he kissed, but you didn't seem to mind it, taking his jaw in your hand and tilting his head so you could lick into his mouth. his soul left him at that moment, with his tongue far too desperate in its movement while yours remained slow and sensual. despite how messy he was, you still moaned against his lips, beginning to grind your hips into his own.

"a-ah, that's ... fuck," he breathed out.

"you like how that feels, bunny?" you whispered into his mouth, "just wait til you feel my pussy,"

this time his eyes did roll back. the mere thought of you wrapped around him made him want to rip his hair out in desperation, almost unable to wait until you have yourself to him.

you continued to suckle on his tongue, making him grow more and more frustrated by the second. your hands eventually came to fully unbutton his shirt, removing it before beginning to feel up his chest and arms, gasping into his mouth when his own arms wrapped around you and brought you closer.

jungkook felt his mind cloud as you ground against him, convinced that if he didn't get more from you, he'd lose his mind. fortunately for him, no begging was necessary for you to give him something that'd have his breath catching in his throat and his tent growing even harder.

he pathetically followed your lips when you pulled away, though he sat in complete awe upon realizing the reason why you'd pulled away in the first place. suddenly the sight of your breasts became the most pressing matter in jungkook's life. his breath stopped and his heart raced, making him feel like he'd pass out if he even dared make contact with the newly revealed skin.

yet his reaction did not prevent you from grabbing his hands and placing them on your breasts, guiding him so he'd squeeze and play with them.

"o-oh, fuck. they're so ... so fucking soft," he whimpered, "so pretty and ... shit, c-can i ... can- can i play with them?", he pleaded, eyes never leaving your swollen buds as his hands hesitantly ran over your breasts.

he hoped you knew what he meant by play, because he was far too embarrassed to properly word his desire.

luckily for him, you were just so nice and so pretty and so so smart that you understood, removing his hands and guiding his face to your breasts, pressing them together so he could rub his head against them, nuzzling his nose into the skin as be groaned a gruttal groan. his shy tongue came out to lick at them just moments later, licking over your nipples all while he whined and cried as if he was the one receiving the stimulation.

at some point your hands snuck between the two of you, sneaking beneath his pants and grabbing onto his cock. you jerked him as he lost himself to the supple skin of your breasts, letting out breathy whines into your skin while his hands tightly held onto you.

as pathetic as he knew he must've looked, he didn't care. he'd wanted you for years, and suddenly he had you in his arms, willing to let him do anything he wanted? any social filters within him left him, letting his unending desire for you take over no matter how embarrassed he would be at his desperate behavior after the fact.

you let him play with your tits for a while, letting out the prettiest sighs of pleasure as he got his fill of you, eventually pulling him away so you could kiss him again. despite being out of breath, he kissed you back with everything he had, now more able to match your pace.

"bunny, wanna ride you," you pulled away with a pretty pout, letting go of his dick.

"p-please. yes, i- yes," he stammered, hands coming down to touch at his clothed cock out of reflex.

giggling at his desperation, you attempted to get up, only to be stopped by jungkook's grabby hands as he whined at you not to let go. grabbing his arms, you reminded him you needed to take off your shorts, making him get an embarrassed look on his face at the realization.

he got up to take off his own pants, sitting back down and pulling you to him the moment you'd stripped. once more, you giggled at how badly he clearly wanted you, pulling him into yet another kiss.

"i'm gonna sit on it now, okay, bunny?", you breathed against him as you lifted yourself to line him up.

jungkook didn't trust his voice to not let out yet another string of desperate pleas, so he simply nodded, taking a deep breath to prepare himself.

but nothing could prepare him for the warmth of your cunt, nor for how tightly it wrapped around his cock, taking all air out of him. he couldnt help the whimpers of desperation that came out of his mouth when you first started bouncing against him, tightening every so often just to get a reaction out of him.

burying his head in your neck, he babbled nonsense against you, incapable of halting his pathetic noises enough to hear your own pretty moans.

after some time, you grabbed onto one of his hands, leading it between the two of you and guiding him, "play with my clit, bunny," you blindly guided him until he finally found your clit, following your instructions of rubbing it all while your bouncing never seized

and god, had that been a mistake.

you got impossibly tighter, dragging your nails down his back and crying his name in the prettiest gasps ever heard by man. he knew he'd meet his end like this, far sooner than he wanted. but he was comforted in knowing that your orgasm was close too, catching onto your pleas to cum with you.

muttering constant praise towards you, jungkook's orgasm took over him as your own arrived, making him deliver endless thank you's while your speed fastened and your rhythm lost all its sense.

"t-thank you, oh, fuck. thank you ... so fucking good, it's- it's so good. oh, thank you ..."

you immediately fell onto each other when your highs had gone down, equally out of breath. being the sweet girl jungkook always knew you to be, he hummed in contentment when you held onto him, cuddling into him in a loving manner and playing with his hair.

if you weren't careful, he'd probably fall in love with you even more than he already had.

he only broke the silence after a few minutes of cuddling, still slightly out of breath.

"do you- do you still wanna go over your statistics homework?"

you laughed, nuzzling further into him, "maybe tomorrow, bunny."

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts oneshot #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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She’s Trouble

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Summary: Tired of trailing behind, feeling like you don’t matter much, you decide that 86’ isn’t only going to be your bestfriend’s year.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Word count: 16,185

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of drug usage, blood, NSFW, smut, drinking, Eddie is angry and sad in this, masturbation, slight voyeurism, breeding kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angry sex, creampie, angst, fighting, rough sex, Dom!Eddie, and MORE!

A/N: I started writing this based off the scene of Eddie smirking at the cheerleaders he lets by after his cafeteria speech. And, well… it’s spawned itself a new life and turned into a whole lot more than I planned. But so is the life of an author, am I right? ;) Eddie is a dick in this, Reader is a lot more vocal than I’ve written before. I wanted to do something a bit different and I hope this accomplishes my mission?

I wanna thank @littledemondani for helping me out of my brain fart on which direction to take this! Also, do check out her masterlist, which is pinned at the top of her blog (it won’t let me link it here). She’s an incredible author and a fellow Eddie Munson slut, and one of my longtime best-friends! ♥️

Side note: I’ve also shifted a few things in the timeline of the show, for obvious reasons. The whole Eddie/Chrissy thing doesn’t happen on the same night as in the series. Chrissy and the reader have a good interaction and Eddie is a dickhead, but his reasoning will be explained. Also, while the reader is wearing a bustier top, this is an all inclusive fic, where the reader can be anything you imagine! I believe anyone can wear anything that they choose to—regardless of their size, so don’t let that bit of the story deter your perception, as I’ve left it open-ended! ;)

Enjoy! I’ve got a lot coming up soon! Part twos of multiple fics, prompts, plus other goodies! <3 - Kristen

~*~

You watch the way that he tries to be cute and coy towards them, attempts to impress with a dramatic wave through of his hand. Short skirts, tight little tops, bouncing ponytails, and a shitload of generic gossip on their painted lips—they pass by, everything included but those damned pom poms. Apparently they are giddy at his little show of calling out every group but your own in the cafeteria. Your eyes roll so hard that you feel a protesting sting, ignoring it to stab your fork into whatever creation is wiggling on your lunch tray. All the guys—freshman to seniors, and you—the only girl since founding, and Hellfire Club’s treasurer/manager to Corroded Coffin—make up the outsider table.

This year, however, you’ve felt so fucking off base with this group and their antics that you’re getting exhausted pretending to care about their shit when they don’t respect you or yours. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are always the sweetest to you, even with Lucas joining a sport, he’s still quick to always give you a smile and a nod whenever you pass him in the halls. They’re young, unlike Eddie and the older guys. You’re finally a senior this year, but still behind your bestfriend by a year in age. All this used to be okay, Eddie multiplying how much he repeats the grade, you trailing behind him like a lost puppy without any brain of her own, but now—it’s unbearably smothering.

And thus, it’s been building. You’re over bringing chips that are from your personal stash and using your gas to go buy smokes with your small work paycheck, or clean equipment for Eddie’s band, or stay up all night just to design campaign posters for Eddie, only for him to be so fucking stoned that he doesn’t even appreciate it, nor remember it.

“Fucking fake losers,” Jeff mutters.

“So fake,” Gareth agrees, both looking towards Eddie as he settles himself back down, wiggling his brows at you.

It’s an unsettling pressure that boils inside you, crackling, and as soon as you look into your best-friend’s brown doe eyes—it all comes apart. “You wanna talk about fake?” Your chest pumps a rush of adrenaline, helping careen the words off your tongue before you can stop them. Everyone’s attention snaps quicker than you’re prepared for, eyes wide and shocked. Sure, you’re vocal and sassy, but never outwardly angry. “The fact that all of you will condemn the basketball players, but would give up any of your seats at our table for one of the bitches in a skirt that they chase, if they popped their gum or batted an eyelash. You’d all be a bunch of drooling, little horndogs.” You can feel your heart racing with each pronunciation of a word, rising from your seat, knuckles white from gripping the edges of your yellow tray so hard.

You hear Dustin whisper a ‘whoa’, but your vocal vomit doesn’t stop.

“Frankly? I’m fucking sick of all this.” You pick the tray up and slam it down for good measure, unwrapping your messenger bag from around your seat, and you leave the table of gaping young men behind you, not even indulging yourself in Eddie’s bugged out, concerned stare.

You don’t even have time to throw your bag across your chest, when Jason Carver shouts out from behind you, “Damn, look at Munson’s slut go!”

It seems your group aren’t the only ones taking an interest in your outburst. Your breath is engorged in jagged pants of pitiful air, a fire coursing through you faster than you can handle, your skin singing, prickling with goosebumps. Your cheeks redden in humiliation, your feet swiveling and carrying you, fast and quick to their table, you throw your bag off, body like some damned slow motion track. Everyone notices Eddie’s antics, but you’ve never garnered any attention. It’s a surreal high.

Your combat boots click across the cement flooring, your hair like a dead weight across your back. Carver and his entire group are expectant, chairs scraping across to get out of your way. It’s all such a blur that you don’t even know your fist has collided with Jason’s face until you feel the pressure bite into your knuckles, a crunch beneath your force. He shrieks, his friends jumping to his aid, your stance shifting, ready to take anyone on. Your ears are bubbling with a murky static, applause in some direction, shouts in others.

Your name is being shouted from two different directions, the one you see stomping angrily towards you belonging to principal Higgins. He’s calling for help, shoving his finger in your face, motioning to your shirt. “This Hellfire Club does nothing but cause trouble!”

You snort, completely coming off your hinges, shaking the ends of your shirt, before stepping back and flinging it over your head, leaving you clad in your jeans and a leather bustier top no one could ever picture you owning. You’ve always kept your shit to a minimum to draw less attention, but you liked the support it provided your breasts with. You spin around, hands in the air, using the shirt as a lasso, tossing it at your old table. You begin to giggle, honestly wondering if you should visit the school nurse, but uncaring. Higgins is literally sputtering, making you snort, waving a hand. “I’m a slut, I’m trouble. Anyone have anything else to add? No? Yes?”

You bend back over to snatch your nap sack up, motioning to Higgins. “Lead the way to your office, Sir! Please fucking do.”

The pep in your step as your principal is angrily leading you from the masses is such a euphoric feeling, you’re sure you’ll never feel again in your life. You can taste the drama on your tongue’s tip. You don’t even spare your friends a glance, not wanting Eddie to have a morsel of satisfaction. This is your moment. Not as Eddie Munson’s best-friend, not as his groupie. As Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.

~*~

Eddie Munson has been clutching your discarded Hellfire shirt, doused in your perfume that is brimming his nostrils full, damn near trembling for the past twenty minutes that finish up lunch. He can’t move, that swelling between his legs keeping him glued to his seat, all the images of your fist soaring into Jason Carver’s face, ripping off your clothing in front of Higgins and the entire damned school. He went from concerned, angry at how you acted, to so fucking turned on that his stomach knotted up, sucking him to where he’s seated, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He’s never seen you like this.

The guys are silent, unsure what to say, how to even go about comprehending the you they just saw, that even Eddie himself has never heard of. He knows one thing for sure—okay—two. He has to find out if you’re okay and what’s going on.

~*~

You roll your eyes at the lovely note, signature of a three day suspension secured by Higgins at the bottom. Crumbling it up, you slide it into your back pocket, rifling through your pin tattered bag for a cigarette. You already know where you’re gonna go, and it sure as hell isn’t home. No one is there and no one is gonna care about your minor indecency. You can forge your mom’s signature, much like you do every good grade you bring home that she’s never around to see, or every comment from a teacher about how your folks are missing out.

It’s quiet at your house, your space. You parents more or less sleep there when they’re not gone on business. Pinching the filter, you cup Eddie’s stolen Zippo, that ashy hiss helping beckon that sweet bitter taste in past your lips. You don’t desire that home front solace right now, craving different scenery.

Maybe I’ll get lost…

You feel like Hawkins is your oyster, and you’re eager to explore on your own terms, by yourself. You’ve got your smokes, your pocket knife, and a pen and paper. That’s enough for you to make a decision.

Skull Rock it is.

~*~

One thing about Indiana is the ever predictable bite of hot weather that March brings. Spring is automatically Summer in the Midwest, and this is no different. Your leather top had stuck to your skin in an uncomfortable crunching press, making you eventually discard it, leaving you topless, your only accessories a chain with your birthstone pendant and a thicker silver chain, with a cheesy little guitar charm (a present from Eddie) nestled between your breasts. Your form is shaped against the rock behind your bare shoulder blades, a cool sensation that has you tilting your head back, stretching your neck, treetops breezing above you—tall and luscious. You smile softly, undoing the flap on your bag and seeking out your Walkman and sunglasses.

In moments your eyelids are fluttering closed, shielded from sun rays, your Walkman clicking in place, readying Heart’s Barracuda to nick your ears, coasting in welcomed caresses. It’s not thick heavy metal, but it’s you. And in the serenity of these woods, another cigarette you allow yourself—you begin to drift off in a galactic solitude that is solely your own. You’d learnt how to count beats, read sheet music, even sing a few notes from Eddie, so getting into your song’s groove isn’t hard for you, your fingers wrapping around your chain, tapping underneath the swell of your breast along with the chorus. You’re off the precipice and gone, demolished to the point you don’t hear the familiar footsteps, the sound of your name, or leaves and dirt crunching beneath white Reeboks, nor do you hear a throat-deep groan at his discovery.

~*~

Eddie and you always share this in synch kinda shit, which creeps a lot of people in your circle out. Eddie, however, welcomes it today. When he couldn’t find you after abandoning his lunch, spent what was left of the day attempting, only for Henderson to tell him he’d heard you’d been suspended for a few days—he made it his personal goal to find you. Your parents are gone so he knows the times you do and don’t like to be at home by yourself. And with the way you lashed out at everyone, you won’t go anywhere he has easy access to.

That leaves one place. Skull Rock.

~*~

The drive feels shorter to Eddie this time, but the walk longer. He has to shed himself of his denim and leather, tossing it over his shoulder and clambering up the path towards finding you, keeping your club tee in his back pocket. The more he walks, the more he wishes he brought a drink or his smokes, which remain on his dash. If he’s wrong and you’re not here, he isn’t sure if this is reality anymore. This day has been one big mindfuck.

Thankfully, as he hears a loud tone droning over the clearing, a soft hum, his heart patters in his chest, nostrils inhaling sharply. He rounds the corner’s pathway, already calling your name, his eyes widening, jaw unhinged, fists clenching at his sides. You’re reclining against the boulder’s curve, black shades perched over your eyes, hair draped across your neck, your boot clad ankle crossed over the other, a cigarette perched into your puckering pair of lips, your layered chains swaying, slumbering against your skin, and fuck—your tits, Eddie winces, gripping himself to adjust—frozen.

He can’t not notice how your nipples are reacting to the air. He can’t not detail your shape, how your waist is formed, zeroing in on the baby bat you’d gotten to match his larger ones, inked into your ribcage, and he certainly isn’t forgetting your jeans that are settled over your hips. His eyes glaze over, heat prodding his flesh, shrouding him a veil of desire and raw ache. You don’t notice him, calls of your name falling on mainstream rock’s ears. He doesn’t think approaching you is smart, like a cat and mouse, your behavior for once—unpredictable.

Has Eddie just not been paying attention to you that much lately?

Suddenly, when he’s debating a cowardly retreat, baiting his internal monologue for an excuse, your audible gasp is heard, his name crushed between your gritted teeth.

Fuck.

~*~

In all of his glory—stands your best-friend. He’s balling and un-balling his fists, eyes darting rapidly, tongue sucking against his teeth, feet ready to carry him far away. And the more he avoids your stare, the angrier you get. So what, you’re not good enough to look at because your breasts are out? Modesty to a back burner, you take your crossed arms off your chest, scraping your smoke out on the rock, pushing your glasses into a perch upon your head, body facing Eddie as you stand.

I dare you.

Your eyes complicate a challenge—craving him in your proximity, and hating his grunge blanketed sight. Eddie’s neck is a really pretty thing when he tenses, his jugular agitated against a harsh gulp of air. He answers you by meeting you in the clearing, palms sweaty, scrubbing over his back pockets. It’s a cool damned drink of water, as if you’ve been without, making thee Eddie Munson squirm. But he’s still your best-friend, and you are half naked.

Covering yourself back up so he will look you in the eye, you tuck your arms into a push beneath your sternum, forearms shielding your nipples. It’ll have to do.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here?” You snap before he can voice a concern or a question.

Tethered to deep breathing techniques, Eddie is insulted, and is biting back in his acidic response. “After your own personal talent show antics at school, I was worried about you. Excuse-the-fuck-outta-me, Y/N.”

A bitter laugh comes from you. “Oh, you’re focused enough on my shit to actually be worried about me? How kind of you, Edward Munson.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be worried about you?” Eddie is raising his voice, sizzling in a cautious rage. He’s usually happy-go-lucky with you, but you’re pushing these fucking buttons he isn’t aware he’s been hiding.

“You really need a list of reasons? Wait,” you say, moving to circle him, pinching your thumb between your teeth, “you’re probably, completely oblivious, because I’m just Y/N. I’m not your club, not your band, not one of your groupies that flounce around for an ounce from you, then leave your ass for their jock boyfriends.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie raises a hand, rings clattering together. “When the fuck did all this start, Y/N?”

Your arms fall back at your sides with a loud ‘thump’. The heating has settled, your high wearing off, truth remaining as to why you’ve been upset in the first place. A caverning hurt carves its place into your chest, igniting an anguish that drowns you. You’re defeated. “It started when my best-friend forgot that I’m my own person and not his servant. Or maybe it began when my person was so stoned that he barely acknowledged a test I fucking flunked to stay up and make his campaign posters—which, may I add—he also gave zero fucks about-“

“So all this is because I didn’t kiss the very ground you walk on for some posters that you practically begged me to make, and wow—your A+ average went to an A. Curse me into the deepest depths of hell, please.” His bracelet slides down his wrist as he palms his heart.

Maybe you’re not the only one who is changing. Eddie hasn’t ever disregarded you in such a crude manner. Your tongue is practically salivating in need to layer on biting and cruel words, things you won’t be able to come back from. You remain silent, mulling over what to say, glaring, docked, stinging prickles of tears. It’s an elating elevation when the words do come. “I’m your best-friend, Eddie. Not your little groupie. I’m tired of you preaching about conformity, when all I do is conform to you. You don’t ever let me pick music, you always take for granted I’ll give you and the guys rides when your van isn’t working, despite if I might have something to do that doesn’t involve an all male ensemble. I spend my money to buy you cigarettes and snacks for the meetings. I manage gigs, I clean your band’s equipment.”

Eddie sniffs, looking pointedly at you, doe eyes dark and growing increasingly fed up. “Didn’t know you were keeping a tally, Y/N.”

“That’s… That’s all you’re taking from everything I just said to you, Eddie?” You can’t keep that hurt out of your tone this time.

Eddie shrugs, crossing his arms, coldly spitting out, “Seems to me like you’re sick of me. And that’s not my problem, that’s yours.”

Your head is swimming in turmoil, all your acting out and emotions swirling into a mindfuck. He doesn’t care. You’re standing here finally pouring your entire soul out in heaps and your person is pouring gasoline on the pieces, dangling a match.

“I’ve never kept a tally, Eddie. I do these things because they make you happy, and that makes me happy, but it fucking sucks when you don’t appreciate them or care about anything in my life, either.”

“That’s what you really think, Y/N?” There’s a flatline in how he’s speaking to you.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s what I know.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He kicks at the ground with the toe of his shoe, brows raising. “Breaking Jason Carver’s nose and my cold, dead heart.” He splays a hand across his chest. Those rings, which are always a comfort to you, reflecting off the sunlight, dripping in judgement.

Your trembling wavers, crackling sentence structure falling apart. “Eddie. Don’t.”

“No. Fuck you, Y/N. Seriously, fuck you!” He shouts, snapping a finger in your direction.

Your hands rub up and down your goosebump soaked skin, finalizing what you need to do. Heaving in a deep breath, a sentence escapes your lips. And you pray, pray Eddie will heed this warning and value what you have enough to understand, to work it out. “Maybe it’s time to fess up to the fact that 86’ needs to be a bigger year for us both.”

Mind reader. A power you’ve never wanted more than in this moment as you claw at the cusp of your best-friend’s reaction. Outwardly, Eddie shifts, Adam’s apple bobbing, thumb swiping underneath his nose. Your mouth waters, throat reflexes threatening a fountain of vomit. And Eddie takes your warning, slaying through it, every bit of ground beneath your boots threatening to cave in.

“You’re right. Hell, Carver is right. You do act like my slut. And you have every right to change it, because it’s only holding us both back. And it probably has been for a long time.”

Kicking you would’ve hurt less. You’re unable to see Eddie’s form longer, muddled to a watery silhouette, your brave bravado dissipating. You won’t beg him. You’re nothing to him anymore, he’s just confirmed. You try not to think about the first time he taught you how to dance before your first snowball, or how you both snuck Jim Hopper’s cigarettes when you’d get in trouble at school and be sent to see him for minor misdemeanors, or Eddie’s pride when he managed to get you on stage to sing one song with the band, rubbing circles on your back the whole time you both sang to a trio of drunks, or splitting beers on his van’s roof and nearly breaking limbs when it started raining and you had to climb down, how he taught you to drive in the fancy neighborhood and you knocked over the mayor’s mailbox, when you watched him buy his ‘sweetheart’, tears in his eyes at a possession so gorgeous and all his own, his hands gentle as they held you the nights you cried from one stupid thing that felt massive to you, when he was your person and you were his.

Your wet, quivering breaths are what you hear. Birds chirping, wind rustling, even Eddie’s heavy breathing drowned out. It takes what feels like eternity, before Eddie is slashing the quiet, guarded and stoic. “You need to put a fucking shirt on.”

Your jeans are covered in tear drops from a bowed head, fingers shaking hard enough that your knuckles roll into a crack at the motions. You wipe your tears in time to see Eddie hold out your Hellfire shirt—second edition—his being the first. His reverie breaks briefly, and you think… maybe. It’s gone in those brown eyes that you can no longer read or recognize. Filled with loathing and disgust at you, his last words imprinting on your psyche, a physical recoil.

“On second thought. You won’t be needing this anymore.” Eddie makes his way around you and finds his lighter atop your bag, flicking a flame to life and nudging it at the end of your shirt. It catches quick, burns fast, like every fiber of friendship with Eddie Munson.

Eddie tosses the tattered, charred remains to the forrest floor, pocketing his lighter, walking away from you and out of your life.

~*~

He can’t stay any longer and watch you fall apart, not when he’s running away from his cowardice. And he does, run. He moves and clambers, stumbles until he’s from you and the cries that he hears pour off your lips. His chest is thumping sporadically, pulse in his blurry vision. His five fingers catch a tree, slamming, splintering, a sob breaking free of his tear soaked lips.

Eddie Munson forces himself to remember how unsure you looked in your dress when he held you around your waist, never feeling more himself in his entire life than he did with you— at thirteen—during some cheesy school dance, how you entertained his tunes so he could teach you the counting method he uses for his music to move your feet to the beat, all your encouragement every time he hit a new note, or your midnight phone calls to ask what he’d like on his posters, your body trusting him to keep you safe on those nights when everything became too much for you in your life, but you had tried to hide it, or when you both snuck in to see Carrie when you were pre-teens and you couldn’t sleep without him, so he made a makeshift mattress next to your bed for a month, about that time you were so tired from an all nighter that he had walked into his room and found you curled up in his bed, using his vest as a makeshift pillow, your nagging him to study more, because he’s always capable of anything he sets his mind to, and those cookies—the only thing you can bake without having to call for Hawkins fire department—a container you’d brought for him and his Uncle, still sitting on his kitchen counter.

He was your person and you were his. And now? You’re gone. Eddie runs away. He keeps running, leaving you to your own miserable anguish, drowning in his own, getting himself in his rust bucket and going back to his trailer to get completely fucked outta his not-so-right mind.

~*~

By the time your suspension is over and you can no longer barricade yourself into your room and finish off another bottle from your dad’s liquor cabinet—it’s sheer dread. You’re not only the freak who broke Hawkins Highschool’s Prom King’s nose, but you’re the freak without anyone by your side—a true and thorough outsider. As you stand outside your school, nails pinching into already weakened threads dedicated to your bag’s strap, you’re really regretting those couple of drinks this morning and how you’d poured more vodka into a flask to take your Tylenol with. Hell, it’s not like you can get a fix from the school dealer anymore, is it?

Those damned double doors are louder, a jolt to your already throbbing headache, fluorescent lights sparkling in your retinas through your shades that cover a nursing hangover and distraught, red and puffy eyes from a three day sob fest. Each step your boots make sounds like you’re walking to your death, your outfit—sans any Hellfire related attire—is all yours. Your two chains limited to one, Eddie’s gift waiting in a cardboard box you’d half-assed assembled, and tossed in random shit he’d given you. The deeper you get into every hallway, making simple turns you know like the back of your hand, your nausea grows as to what might be awaiting around each corner. Or who. It’s a short lived relief upon arrival at your locker.

You pinch your shades off, raw eyes protesting the moment fresh tears staple your skin in brushes. In red letters, diagonally capitalized across your door contains what you haven’t wanted to face since it happened.

The freak got dumped

You choke on your salvia, throat wet and enduring a suffocation strong enough to have you gagging on the piece of toast and water you’d forced your famished form to consume this morning. You barely make it into the toilets before double over and expelling everything, diaphragm on fire, bones vibrating through tosses. Hair dangling in your face, plastered to your mouth, you sniffle and tremble, vision blurring. You ponder getting yourself fucking expelled, but you made this whole ordeal about it being your year. If you retreat now, what will that do? Mustering all your strength, your courage, you flush your bile, clean off your mouth and face, pop a mint, take a swig out of your flask, and make your way to your first class.

~*~

By the ever popular lunch time, you have managed to clean your locker and pinpoint the culprit (an ashamed that a girl broke his nose, Jason Carver), but neither of you speak on it. You keep your head down, you focus on your school work, you take your Tylenol, and you sip on your vodka. Enough to keep an edge off, but not enough to send you down a despairing hole filled with regret and torment. You know you’re being stared at as soon as you hit the line to get your tray. It’s fake smiles and refusal to acknowledge it that gets you in search of an aisle, and hopefully out of sight. You aren’t so lucky…

“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You hear an all too cheery voice belonging to Dustin Henderson. It halts you in your tracks, a wince causing a physical recoil.

It’s not his fault you and Eddie no longer have anything resembling a relationship, and he apparently has not told them, and they’ve not seen Jason Carver’s masterpiece.

Good.

What isn’t good is that Eddie is very much at your old table and you know it’s unavoidable. You wished you had borrowed some concealer for your under eyes, but it’s too late. There’s a grand staircase cloaked in invisibility beneath your feet, your stomach knotting in crushing vices, your cheeks stained with red. You walk to your former friend group, trying like hell not to side eye Eddie Munson. Keeping a steady focal point without blinking against your scratchy lower lids is damn near impossible. And guys are going to be guys—much to your chagrin. Gareth is drawing further attention where nothing needs to be, popping off with a, “Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

“A week long bender,” Jeff chimes in.

Biting the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you shrug a shoulder. Better them having knowledge of your binge drinking celebration than knowing about how messed up you are.

Don’t look at Eddie. Is your mantra for today.

He, on the other two hands, is not prioritizing that same aspect.

“So what if I did? I know of about ten girls who can drink your asses under the table, myself included.” You smirk, gripping your tray’s edge.

“Been holding back on us?” Gareth is grinning from ear to ear. It eases your shouldered weight tremendously, breaking tension in your table’s ranks.

“You gonna have a seat or what?” Mike Wheeler interrupts, his hands flipping towards a desired target, one that you wish you could keep pretending you never knew.

Fuck it.

You really crave for some divine intervention to help you, because meeting those chocolate brown eyes that are distraught, angry, and rimmed red—your heart constricts to painful blows, windpipes crushed beyond speaking capabilities. Eddie’s been somewhere off planet earth with that kinda high, you remember seeing his demeanor that way only a handful of times, including this one. Maybe he does care? No, doesn’t matter, don’t go there. It’s over and done.

Still, that idiotic, massively moronic part that Eddie owns of you—it’s billowing hope. Eddie Munson dashes it in seconds flat.

“No.”

You glance away, jaw twitching to control an automatic quiver. Dustin is laughing it off as a joke, someone else asking why. Eddie reclines his legs in your empty chair, loud enough to get your attention back. He wants me to see.

“No traitors.” It’s a simplistic answer, aggressive, no room to argue.

Ever-the-curious-freshmen, Dustin and Mike peg their leader for questions. You halt it, tone breaking apart, fingers tucking into your shirtsleeve as you balance your lunch on one hand and wipe across raw flesh to clean fresh tears from your eyeline. That’s when Eddie does look away.

Coward.

“It’s okay, guys.” Is what you say.

“What’s going on?” Gareth asks.

“I won’t be around meetings or practices anymore, but I’m still here if anyone needs anything, okay? You know where my locker is, and where I live.” You pat yourself on the back for that robotic but truthful statement.

“Unless you’re sick of everyone else too…” His deep voice rumbles.

Like a deer in headlights— you’re frozen, a blinding rage of hurt and red hot anger pouring over you in a storm. You explode. Picking up the first thing in your sight, which happens to be on your plate—a glob of some chocolate goop (possibly a brownie)—it’s slung directly at your former best-friend’s crisp white Hellfire shirt. Your second cafeteria incident that, yet again, everyone notices. Eddie yelps, shouting out your name in brisk spits.

You further it, abandoning your food in a repeat of days ago, floating to his side and shoving him back two steps. Eddie stops his rapid shirt swipes and immediately presses his form into yours, chests smashed, food squishing through your top. His hair is frazzled from the humidity, his toffee colored irises slowly polishing into a thick black gloss of dilated pupils. He sucks his tongue against his teeth, swaying into you, not touching you with those hands, an air about him that is beginning to swarm your initial reaction and bend it over, fucking it into the next decade. He’s taller than you remember, but you latch onto your own, tasting that cigarette soaked breath, lips hovering over his, hot tears matting your lashes.

Whether it’s regarding his inability to respond to your reasoning for this whole situation, his lack of expression, your self-disappointment for something roused inside you at his huffing proximity, you crown him with a title off a jagged voice box, damp in her sorrows, just as Dustin steps between you two, gently prying. “You’re a fucking coward, Eddie Munson.”

Teachers are starting to flock in, and you shake your head, hand over your eyes briefly, before sprinting in strides from the room in search of a place to collapse.

~*~

If you had told yourself at the beginning of the school year that you’d be in a camaraderie with the girl’s bathroom—you would have laughed. And if your mind had convinced you otherwise, you’d have expected Eddie to be right beside you, arm around your shoulders, sharing his lunch, making stupid jokes, coming up with lame ideas to make you feel better, but in that endearing Eddie Munson kinda way. You let out a soft cry, giving up on that stinging beneath your lids. You’re a hot mess and the whole building probably knows how alone you really are now. When the outcasts cast you out, where else can you go?

Clenching onto the sides of the ceramic sink, bag slipping off your shoulder and onto the floor, you keep your head bowed between your shoulder blades, not noticing someone come in and approach you, a gentle set of fingers laying upon your shoulder. Through foggy vision you can make out the green colors of her uniform and her perfectly straight ponytail, her face seemingly concerned. Your laugh is exhaustion on steroids, expression bombarded with emotion. “Okay, what the fuck is next? A girl craves some independence and the whole school turns against her. Let me guess, your boyfriend sent you to get even? Why don’t I make it easy for you and you can call your friends in here, and… and—“

Great.

Your lungs start to burn, your ribcage pounding with an erratic heartbeat, throat feeling like it’s been dusted with a thick blanket of ash. You’re panicking in front of Chrissy Cunningham. That alone has you feeling more pathetic than ever before in your life, and it worsens your heaving sobs—broken and unguarded. Chrissy’s eyes are drinking you in, irises glossing over with tears of her own. She grasps your other shoulder and squeezes, not releasing her hold on you, her soft voice strong when she speaks, but gentle enough between the expanse of your shared airspace.

“One, two, three, four. Okay, now deep breath in, and release it for me, Y/N.” She’s actually calming you, keeping you steady on your feet, which feel as if they’re sinking into the flooring below like led weights.

“Chrissy…” You aren’t sure how to articulate, still alarmed and attempting to breathe with her.

“I’m right here. Just keep breathing and counting with me.” And you do. And that’s when it hits you.

She has experience with this mind numbing panic too. That otherworldly anxiety. You feel a connective pull towards the cheerleader—seeing—not this persona you’d imagined, but her calming features, her easy going manner towards you, how she lets you find your lifeline, but also lends you her own in case you need it. When your breathing slows, she gives you a look, a silent communication of question. You may be able to breathe a little easier now, but it doesn’t stop the weight of your situation from crashing down and demolishing what’s left of you.

“Can I… I’m gonna hug you, is that okay?” At this point, if she’s going to put a sign on your back you don’t care. You need the human connection, the comfort. You agree and your schoolmate takes you into a light grip, but folds her arms around you and lets you bury your cheek against her perfumed sweater.

You both stand in the embrace, no trace of awkwardness, a sense of kinship and knowing. It’s when you pull back that hint of a questionable concern with her, wiping your sore eyes with a hiss. She notices.

“Are you here because of Jason? I just need to know.”

“Jason was a dick, Y/N.” Her language shocks you, having only heard her be proper before.

You laugh, your first genuine giggle in days. It’s contagious, as she joins in, hip jutting against the sink. “No, I’m here on my own terms. I promise. I saw what happened with your friends…”

“Yeah, I can imagine how everyone must be amused right now.” You bite your lip, facing away.

Chrissy gives you a saddened smile, but attempts to reassure. “I know this is gonna sound incredibly lame coming from me, but you’re stronger than all this, Y/N. The way you’ve stood up for yourself these past several days… I admire it.”

You frown deeply, wondering if this is a trick, because no way is Chrissy Cunningham admiring someone like you.

“You admire a loser that can’t even manage her own newfound independence?”

“No,” she says with a pause, looking down at her French tip manicure, before facing your curious gaze once more. “I admire your ability to stand up for yourself, despite what everyone is saying or doing to you. It’s a good quality to have, one that many of us are afraid of, you know?”

There’s this hollow pain in her eyes and your continued recognition has you pulling her in for another hug—this time for her benefit, rather than yours.

“Looks like we’ve fallen into the cliché trap, Cunningham.” You grin, pulling back.

Chrissy tilts her head, curious. “What do you mean?”

“A freak and a cheerleader thinking the same as what their peers think, and getting each other totally wrong.”

Her sweet eyes light up, her head nodding. “That’s exactly it.”

You share a knowing smile, a newfound bond forming. Chrissy situates her small shoulder bag, pulling out a compact and tugging you by your sleeve. “C’mhere. Let me fix that.”

She takes a gentle hand, not rushing as she speckles your sore under eyes with her own stash of makeup. After she blends it with soft fingertips, she snaps the lid closed and places it back in her bag, turning you to the bathroom mirror, brushing some of your hair through, giving your back a rub. “Is that any better, Y/N?”

Your circles are mostly covered, puffiness disguised enough where you won’t be embarrassed. You look and feel much better, and you’re overwhelmed with gratitude for the blonde at your side. You incline yourself into a swivel, leaning in her direction. “Chrissy Cunningham, I think you’re one of the sweetest people I now kinda, sort of know.”

Her giggle is infectious, and she gives you another squeeze. You drop down to swoop your messenger bag into your arms, grabbing out a your notebook and a pen, scribbling your home phone on it, hesitating, before handing it over. “If you ever need to talk to someone about all the bullshit, whatever it is, consider me your new confidant.”

She holds the simple sheet paper as if it’s another lifeline and you’ve just given her a treasure. Going back into her own bag, she has a cute little pink embroidered stationary paper that she jots her number on, and uses a smiley face to dot the i in Chrissy. Seconds later, her friends and a group of other girls burst into the bathroom, gossip on their lips. You and Chrissy flash each other a secret smile, and you make another hasty retreat.

~*~

Eddie had to hear a bunch of shit from the guys, overly bearing questions sounded off by Henderson and Wheeler. The eventual revealing by a passerby group of cheerleaders about your specially decorated locker, had surprised him too. As if there’s not already a weighted dagger wedged into his ribcage, one interlocking into his heart muscle—he lost control with his bitter mouth again, and it fueled your temper. But deep down, deeper into those subconscious recesses, you both felt that ignition start, a kind of coercing heat that is waging an internal war in Eddie’s head. His sole reason for blocking you out and refusing to talk about anything with you in the woods.

Eddie Munson is in love with you. Eddie Munson needs to fuck you.

It’s something he’s always done—built walls, got high, stayed drunk, coped with humor, hid behind his guitar or his campaigns. And without his right hand woman, he feels naked, too vulnerable to all the bullshit he’s tried to keep out. And your absence has become a set course for his weakening concentration on anything that isn’t you. His ultimate warrior princess is also his Achilles heel. Your feelings in wanting to branch out, they scare Eddie.

His brain is flipping logic into thinking you are seeing what everyone else sees in him: freak, failure, piece of shit, a nobody, a criminal. He pushed you out before he could pull you back in—easy, abrupt. And it’s not just changing him—no—he could smell your vodka soaked breath across the table, see your eyes swollen and glazed—absent. For the first time in years you weren’t wearing your limited edition shirt (thanks to him), and Eddie isn’t sure why he expected you to still have his chain around your neck. It fucking hurts.

As the room slowly falls back into their daily routine, Eddie loses his appetite and leaves his herd behind, urgent to get the fuck outta this building, out of Hawkins. Hell, maybe even the country. Like you, however, Eddie Munson’s retreat isn’t one that is unscathed. In his urgency, he smacks straight into you, stumbling over his own clumsy ass feet, gripping your forearms to keep you both steady. He’s processed your scent before he even takes in your beautiful features.

Fuck…

You look less like you’ve been partying all weekend, but Eddie knows better. Your pupils are dilated to the bright overhead lights of the hallways, making your sclera more visible. It’s bloodshot red, lower lids swollen and tinged a rough crimson beneath the fresh makeup that Eddie now sees. He swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let you go. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s simply what it’s always been with you two. Easy and sturdy, safe.

You’re the first to downcast your gaze, focusing more on your shoe wear than on Eddie. It kills him. Even through these notions, this fear, whatever anger you’re both harboring, it’s as if this whole damned school and everyone passing you two are mere bodies, Eddie Munson and Y/N Y/L/N floating, tethered. His stomach churns its lunch contents, teeth clenching tightly. You make a brisk dart off, but Eddie attempts to catch you, instead tugging too hard on your shoulder strap, causing your bag to dump and spread out its contents at his sneaker clad feet.

Eddie’s eyes are quick to see it before you realize. Shining underneath hallway lights, scattered amongst notebooks and pens, is a small flask. His brows perch, he crouches first, scooping it away from your jutting hands. Gareth’s words rewind and play on repeat in his head.

“Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

The way his heart rate spikes, hostilely spitting that acid all over his lungs, battering his throat muscles with a pummeling storm. He’s already sure what he’ll smell if he presses the lid to his nostrils, but Eddie has to feed his anxious curiosity, unscrewing the cap with nervous hands, sniffing, shrugging off your grabs. It burns his mouth from its strength, his distraction giving you enough leeway to wrap your hands over his fingers and pull. Eddie locks your digits within his own, second thoughts gone. Against everything inside him he is getting angrier by the second, the anger masking itself, easier than being petrified and scared in front of you.

And Eddie is scared. Is he really so fucking stupid to think you weren’t at all affected by any of this?

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Your fingers sliding through his own, flood him, prickling every vein running beneath his skin, cutting off his blood flow—scorching.

~*~

Having Eddie’s hands on you again, his body so close, despite your shame at his discovery, it’s a feeling that comes more natural than breathing. You avoid his question, feeble grasping docked.

“Why do you have a flask full of fucking vodka?”

“Will you keep your voice down!” You hiss the words, finally breaking off him and retrieving the rest of your items on the scuffed up floor, and securing them back into your bag, Eddie holding back your liquor.

“Did you drive to school drinking this crap? Tell me you didn’t, Y/N, cause’ I swear to god—“

You chortle, a humorless boom smacking across your chest.

“Eddie, this faux best-friend act is getting old. Your on and off switch is enough to drive anyone to drastic measures. But don’t flatter yourself into thinking I’d be an idiot and drive drunk. Not even for you.”

His irises that are glossy with concern, they cave to dilating pupils, an animalistic rage priming them. “Oh, you have got to be the most clueless bitch alive, Y/N.” He steps towards you, frame towering slightly. You’re not afraid, never fearing if he’ll do something, because that is not Eddie, no matter what. But, you are very much dripping with rage at his words.

He pockets your flask in his left back pocket, rings clinking against it as he pats it for good measure. You try to dive around him, beneath his arm, but he swoops in on his own, using that strength for his slender frame, literally scooping you into a half bring-away, only discarding you back onto your feet once you’re both outside. You try to shove at him, palms resting on his stained club shirt. The bell has rang to signal your free period, but you don’t give two fucks, giving up and being the one to leave.

“Who’s the coward now, huh? You’re gonna walk away from me when I call you on your shit, Y/N?”

You spin on your heel, dirt and gravel specks crunched beneath your step. “I thought I was a clueless bitch, Eddie? A traitor? Or, your slut.” You scoff, crossing your arms.

Guilt briefly flickers across his features, but he shuts it down tenfold. “Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean I want you to destroy your fucking liver or your life. Jesus Christ, you really think I’m that big of an asshole?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” You fling your hands into the air. “One minute we’re at each other’s throats, the next you’re up my ass. I don’t know what to do here, Eddie.”

“Thought you craved some individuality and independence.” Though there’s meant to be flare behind the words, Eddie’s tone has splintered across each word, voice breaking apart. Your guts sink into your ass, as does a particularly pointed swallow that stabs at your jugular.

“Didn’t say I wanted to be completely independent from my best-friend.” Your own response is gentle, voice soaked with impending emotion.

Fuck. Stupid fucking tears burning again. Not right now.

Eddie’s attention snaps back on you, proximity closing in. His jaw clenches, he moves it from side to side with a closed mouth, sniffing, whistling air through a wet breath. “Feels like you’re leavin’ me and I can’t do anything to stop it…”

It makes sense suddenly. A catapult of truth slamming right into your chest, spreading throughout your body.

He thinks I’m leaving him. That I want to leave him.

As if the last seventy two hours haven’t happened, better yet, as if they haven’t mattered in the grand scheme of things—you’re the one that meets Eddie, reaching to push that curly hair from his eyes, his head downcast and posture sullen. His brown eyes are brimmed with tears that spill over his lash line, a permanent frown creased between his brows, mouth red and spit slick. Those freckles on his nose are suddenly very prominent to you. You’ve never seen Eddie Munson this vulnerable. Your heart shatters, the ache so physically strong that you have to remain close to him to hold on and find that strength again.

How could you have gotten this so monumentally wrong? Maybe if you’d have expressed what you meant more instead of feeding off Eddie’s anger. His communication and yours both need nurturing, but your sudden shift in mood must’ve made him feel like you wanted to abandon him, not just do things for yourself. He may not realize that yet, but you do. And it fucking sucks.

“Eddie. I’m sorry.” It’s all you can say in the seconds that your heart heaves into your throat.

He shakes that shaggy mane. “Don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, especially you.” He backs away from you and you see his entire expression crumble, tears spilling onto his cheeks.

That pain drowns your throat, seeing him cry because of your lack of explanation and mutual avoidance. You chase after him, running around to block his view, unable to let him go, gripping onto his waist beneath his jacket to keep him planted. Another familiarity. He tenses beneath your touch before relaxing.

“Eddie, will you please listen to me? I think I know what’s going on now.”

“And look who is the one flipping her emotions this time.”

“Because, I… Eddie, I—“

“What lame ass line do you want me to buy, Y/N? You think I’m not used to worthless promises or idiotic reassurances? Yeah, good.” His sentence is fragmented, voice rough and breaking apart on each word. “You know I still care about you, but I don’t need you to lie to me, you don’t owe me a damn thing, I promise you—“

You press a finger to his quivering lips, halting him. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, a pause in the universe, your legs heavy, fingertip stroking along the plumpness of your best-friend’s full, lower lip. Eddie’s chest is moving up and down swiftly, tongue against his teeth, that warning look. You fail to heed it and Eddie’s hands tremble at his sides before he gives up and cups the sides of your face, bringing your foreheads together. His lips part to speak, your finger still on them. “Think we’re in trouble here.”

You can do nothing but nod as his declaring statement, inclining your head further, nose nudging his own. It doesn’t feel as if you’re standing any longer, every mean thing that Eddie has said, every disproportionate attempt of yours to communicate—obliterate, shrouding you both in the process. His breath is hot as his mouth opens and he sucks your finger inside, tongue licking its tip, biting the digit between those milky white teeth. It sends that throbbing nudge, snapping between your thighs, making you arch into your best-friend. You whisper his name and his fingers move along your jaw, across your ear, sliding through your hair and rubbing a pathway to your necks’ nape, sending an army of goosebumps across your flesh, the coolness of his rings stimulating your skin.

“Yeah, you feelin’ it too?” Your lids flutter closed, Eddie using his thumb pad to brush the corners of your lashes, signally for you to open them. “Didn’t say you could stop looking at me, did I, sweetheart?”

You grind against him, unable to stop. Your last several days, everything between you both is on hold, these buried urges able to finally win out. This dominant side of Eddie Munson has you an inward and outwardly quickening pile of mush and hormones, of fucking need. Eddie about loses his cool when you obey him, pupils blown, mouth looking parched and in need of his kisses. He leans, walls starting to slip, resolve crumbling, his pouting mood long gone.

Years of built up tension and confusion, being rightfully by one another’s sides, it all comes apart, the seams, begging to be repaired into what it has to be now.

You envelop his hold on you, hands sliding into slips beneath his jacket, around his waist, tracing over his back, before dipping under his armpits and grasping his shoulders, knuckles pushed down by his leather jacket. One more step and he’ll kiss you. He’s closing a gap, no more breaches, you tapping his shoulders right down to the blades in encouragement. It’s parted mouths hovering over one another, cigarettes and vodka, school lunch and weed, it’s—

“Hey, guys! Higgins is so pissed off right now… After that shit went down in the caf, he’s ready to expel you, Y/N! Pretty fuckin’ sure.” You hear Gareth approach, and just like, Eddie releases you.

You have to steady yourself, want simmering into a slumber in your belly, not yet gone, but still reminding you where it lives. Your glare is directed at your mutual friend. Eddie, feeling as if he’s been doused with ice cold water, and the moment is shattered, you see those walls rebuilding rapidly, and she shrugs off your hand, leaving you and Gareth, and that slickness that has collected in your panties.

~*~

You aren’t sure just exactly what Eddie is feeling, but you’re very aware of what you are. So driving to his place once you know Wayne has left for the night shift—it’s a no brainer. You’d debated bringing Eddie your box of treasures, even your necklace, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Maybe, maybe your best-friend doesn’t want you to…?

Want.

A dynamic shift in your relationship, or what it used to be. You can barely sit still as you wrack your brain through all the levels of hazy blurs. So much has happened in three days, but… today, with Eddie nearly kissing you on the mouth, and you nearly grinding against him in the Hawkins High parking lot—yeah, you two have to talk about all of this. As you squirm in your seat, hands tightening around the wheel, that approaching trailer park sign signals your arrival to his residence. You can’t stop the way your heartbeat feels as if it’s ping ponging around in your throat, or that anxious twitch of your mouth’s corner—forget even attempting to deny your cascading memories of the way his chocolate irises wore an expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen on Eddie Munson.

His trailer comes into your sights, that tickle swooping your guts and holding them hostage. You swallow a thick ball of anxiety, parking next to his van, cutting your engine. The lights are all on and you’ve got no excuse to chicken out. It’s your year too, right? Fucking fuck it.

With your keys clutched in your palm, you make your way to Eddie’s trailer, rasping on his door lightly. You don’t hear his music blaring, so he might be reading, planning a campaign, writing some music he’d mentioned wanting to practice with the guys soon, get a feel for its sound—just last week. You have given about three octaves of knocks and are about to give up, head pressed the door, thinking he was just lost in lust earlier, and maybe you’d fucked up on your end beyond repair. Exhausted by the stampeding pain that brings your insides, you flip the Munson’s spare key off your key ring and unlock the door. A bold move—albeit—a very stupid one.

That familiar scent of Eddie and Wayne’s shared carton of cigarettes hits your nose, along with the leftovers from dinner you see sitting out on the stove. Your cookies, which have been devoured, are missing their note. You panic, briefly thinking Eddie probably trashed it, only to come back from that brink seconds later. It’s not what you’re here for. You glance at the couch and it’s empty, not even Eddie’s usual indent on the cushion is there.

Swinging your keys from your pointer finger, you peek down the small hallway to Eddie’s closed door, light spilling out underneath. He could be sleeping, possibly ignoring you, or he snuck out the back door…

Your feet make an echoing squeak across the trailer’s flooring structure, your fingers twisting the knob and pushing, pausing, deciding to go ahead. If he wants you to leave then you’ll go, if he’s asleep, you’ll go, if he left… You can’t fathom that thought, another ignorance that you partake in. You aren’t sure exactly what you expected, but seeing your best-friend’s tallish frame, with his back facing you, lean leg propped atop his mattress, right arm bent at a very clear angle, his left propped on one of his many amps he’d apparently moved since you’d been here last—is sure as hell NOT it. Eddie’s curly hair ruffles and is jostled across his shoulders with each movement his arm makes, his delicious ass clenching as his body thrusts into his rhythm, the outline of his chain on his perspired neck and damp strands of dark hair—clear. You don’t have to hear the thick, slick and wet stroking to know what he’s doing to himself.

You cross an ankle over the other, squeezing your legs together tightly, trying to bounce on the balls of your heels to get relief. Your fingers white knuckle his banged up door handle, your mouth parting. Whether it’s that bond you two share, or your very visible labored breathing, Eddie’s shoulder blades pinch together, his motions abruptly cut. He turns as if caught doing something he shouldn’t be—definitely something you aren’t prepared to handle. It’s like your mouth is speaking for you, eyes in a trance, enslaved to your lustful abiding.

Fucked out, blown up pupils shave off the color of your irises, your tongue gliding across your teeth, that take a turn to sink into your bottom lip, your toes curling in your shoes. You feel hot, body battered in melting flames that won’t cease, won’t let you get in a normal burst of air flow. You know without having to fix your posture that you’ve made a mess between your legs, panties soaked to hell—completely ruined. You’re honest to fuck not sure if you can make it out of here in an upright position, that painfully strong ache tackling your cunt, breaking off your common sense, leaving you Eddie-drunk. Helping yourself to a swiping look between his legs, he’s still got a ring clad hand wrapped around a very generous girth—shiny—a length that leaves saliva pooling on your tongue’s tip.

His chest is slick with sweat, tattoos glossed beneath, nipples hard from the cool air let into his bedroom. Which, you note, is really fucking hot, and the window is steamed up. Your eyelids flutter in rapid blinks to help you reign yourself in, but all you see are glimpses of Eddie’s fist around himself, that creamy and swollen head, full balls on either side, trimmed curls at the base of his shaft. You want to die. And oh, what a sweet and sinful death that would be.

“Mhm… fuck.” You say through the gap between your panting mouth, words take the opportunity to bust free, joining a high pitched whimper.

Eddie’s chocolate eyes are completely black, leaving no room for anything else but purely raw desire. They widen, a sharp heave in his inhaling chest, abdomen flexing as he holds himself tightly. When you don’t move Eddie takes the initiative, slowly approaching, a softness there beneath the want and knowing. He reaches your space, still giving you enough, but you’re able to still feel that radiating body heat. Neither of you speak, because what is there to say right now?

You’d be a pleading mess of profanities, apologizes, and begging to be taken and used.

Thankfully, Eddie makes another move before you. His spare hand joins your own on the door knob, fingers brushing your knuckles, encouraging, giving you one more opportunity if you’re in distress or uncomfortable. You hook onto his offer and you surprise you both by finding something to say after all, throat parched, yet still damp with wanton rasp. “Start touching yourself again, Eddie. Please?” Fuck, well there’s a beg.

Eddie, assuming you want a show, nerves being dipped in lava and left to forever sizzle and smoke—gives in, both of you shutting his door and closing the two of you off from the outside world. He doesn’t wait for you to back away, pushing his hips to a rise, his cock gliding through his closed fist. You let him lean over you, frame against his door, watching his legs spread to widen his stance, obeying your plea. He almost asks, but assumes it would be too hopeful if you would want to touch yourself in front of him too. You’re out of your mind, common sense obliterated for all eternity, watching your bestfriend practically pin you to the door and fuck himself in front of you.

Those sounds you’ve imagined, pictured, they’re even more pronounced in person. Some low enough that it’s a stifling whimper, a needy sobbing. If you don’t do something about the gnawing throbbing between your thighs, it’ll be total combustion. There’s an empowerment that winds itself around a pulsating set of nerves in one’s decision to masturbate in front of their best-friend. That coolness works itself in your palms, your fingers tossing your keys over and onto Eddie’s dresser, toeing off your shoes, his eyes steamy in their grasp on your every move.

You’d wished you had brought your camera to photograph his expression when you walk over to where he stood in front of his bed, turning to face him, your fingers undoing your jeans and the zipper, a resounding echo in the room, Eddie’s tongue poking out on his upper lip, he holds himself around the base, the urgency to fuck his hand as you take your seat on his mattress and scoot with your back to the wall, hips lifting to help you pull off your jeans and panties. You struggle momentarily, but neither of you are saying a word, gazes steady and unwavering.

Discarding your clothing with a soft thump onto his floor, you’re heartbeat thumps in your throat, ribcage taking an unsteady hammering of its resounding drumming. You heed Eddie’s silent command to continue, agreeing to this turning point between you two. Your thighs fall open and that sticky want strings to your swollen folds, glistening in the creases of your thighs, your cunt sopping wet. You’re dripping, and Eddie isn’t missing it when your arousal finally does drizzle from your neglected pussy and onto his bedsheets. You shift to get comfortable, hand cupping yourself, immediately smothered in your own juices, legs falling into a drop, toes finally able to curl without the barrier of your shoes, bunching Eddie’s sheets.

Eddie watches you from where he can see, still eager to be closer, but unable to stop himself from stroking along his length, teasing that vein that runs alongside his cock. You do it again, rubbing your palm up and down your lips, a crude squelch causing Eddie to almost black out, and you shiver. He releases himself, heavy and hot between slim thighs, and he’s moving. He puffs out a gravelly hiss from pursed lips, stalking towards you and giving a cat like crawl across his own bed, planting himself shoulder to shoulder with you to your left. He must be feeling the overwhelming change that is occurring, as he reaches for your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

You gravitate towards your hand, fingers slipping through your slickness, your head bowing in embarrassment. Eddie grips your chin and tilts you his way, shaking his head, that same hand dropping to your thigh and lifting to pull up and to the side. And he looks. He fucking memorizes you between your legs with these little mewling coos of appreciation that cement themselves into your subconscious. You do the same, helping yourself to an up close and personal view of what he’s been hiding.

Eddie leans forward and cups the nap of your neck, his other hand taking your wrist and removing it from your self-touches, shushing your protesting whine. He brings it up to his mouth, which is hovering close to yours, your own fingers pressed against your lips, and he licks a straight stripe up your creamy covered palm, humming underneath his breath as he does so. You want to slap him and ride him on every available surface in this trailer. You’re the one to speak, having to.

“Eddie…” It’s a meek little trail-off.

Eddie lets go of your wrist and uses that hand to pull his cock off his stomach, a wet patch left behind in his happy trail. He still doesn’t let your neck go, his fingertips tapping an invisible beat, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He’s laughing, tufts of air settling across your mouth. You narrow your gaze, moving to shut your legs, Eddie’s hand quickly preventing the action, stroking the meat of your inner thigh. “Only fair if I’m exposed, sweetheart.”

“But… you’re laughing.” And it hits you then, why he’s really chuckling in that Eddie Munson way. It’s an incredulous and mind boggling turn of events. Best-friends that broke up when they were never together, now side by side and in a very compromising situation.

You grin and falter into his embrace, your hand working its way into a wind around his neck, taking sweaty strands in scoops between your fingers, his pick chain draped across your knuckles. Eddie licks across his bottom lip, tapping your hips as he moves, your hands falling, and sprawls his legs into a propped spread, cock neglected and flushed, much like the rest of his skin, that you’ll die if you don’t put your marks on. He’s motioning for you to turn in a slow facing position in front of him, and that’s how you end up—vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. He’s muttering words, huddled and unintelligible, reaching out and tugging you to him by your ankles, stopping, resting, eyes dark as they do a once over to gauge your mental stability. When you don’t protest, palms splaying out to keep yourself upright behind you, Eddie lets his legs flatten against his sheets, a smirk pattering his lips, indenting its knowing presses beside his mouth.

His exhale catches on a ragged breath, a passionate declaration signing off on what’s about to occur, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pulls you close, your ass resting on his hairy thighs, waiting, held, his arm wrapping around your lower back and lifting you completely into that ink splattered, silk-slick chest, his skin sticking to your long sleeved t-shirt, ruining it with sex-soaked perspiration. You think that there’s nothing—no—you know that in this entire world, no matter what, that whatever will happen to you is never going to compare to the moment when Eddie’s maneuvering hands glide your wet cunt over his cock, using your drenching heat as his own personal lubricant. Your ankles lock around his waist, no choice from the close band that your best-friend has re-tethered you to him with, leaving no room or space where you’re not touching or breathing in the other. Your arms curl around Eddie’s neck, hands draped down his back as you help yourself to pinching and clawing the flesh beneath, relishing every little grumble and groan off his pretty lips. Your face takes solace in his neck, nosing your way through his curly hair, nose bumping his chain to lift so that your mouth can claim him.

“Fuck.” His throat constricts around a swallow, your teeth sinking into a piece of Eddie’s flesh and biting, releasing, lips closing over that angry spot to soothe, tongue tasting salt, licking it off, indulging.

He lets your have your way with his neck, a particularly harsh slap landing on your ass in following of your mouth on his jugular, letting your tongue following that curvature into his jawline. You don’t stop his wandering hands, you don’t dare fight off his vice grip on the globes of your ass, his kneading, using as them leverage to place you right where he wants you. You let him take control, an unspoken agreement, a having to have. Your head falls back as Eddie rolls his hips beneath, rocking his lap, solid presses that drag his fat cock over your embarrassingly wet pussy, scattering your thick arousal and smearing it across his happy trail, getting caught in that patch of curls at the base of his shaft. You’re dripping all over him, quite literally. Caught on a trapped hum, hung in its hisses between your clenched teeth, you croon into Eddie’s neck, your stomach tightening, that velvety drag of his dick through your swollen folds making your lids flutter closed, colors dotting in their dances—translucent.

You aren’t sure where to move your hands, comfortable with having them shred Eddie’s back and empty out the past few days of frustration and desperation. Eddie encourages, palming handfuls of your ass, creating a cresting twist, a thigh trembling rub of sopping wet desire. He’s merely whimpering, appreciating, not overly vocal until his swollen head catches your neglected clit, and his head drops back, fingers pinching so tightly into your skin that it burns.

“Oh, shit. Dammit, baby.”

You’re simpering on a series of whimpers, agreeable and speechless. Eddie is feeding off it. “Yeah? You needing this too? Little clit feels so good rubbing on my dick, sweetheart. You want me to do it again?”

When you’re not immediately able to be vocal, Eddie pulls back a little, shoving his hand between your thighs and drags his rings directly through your arousal, coating them in a glittering shine. His first real touch where you need him the most. You both inhale sharply. It’s the pain from the cool metal of his jewelry that makes it feel so fucking good. He curses, telling you how messy you’re being, flinging his hand in your sights, dragging you in a pry off of his neck, holding your jaw and flashing his knuckles.

“See what you did, messy little angel. You gotta clean em’ now for me.”

His eyes are so fucking demolished, brown crushed beneath a midnight sea of black and insatiable attraction. You’re mewling, tongue lolling out, licking that metallic onto your tongue, sloppily sloping around his knuckles, lips suckling what your tongue can’t catch, your own taste fresh off your mouth. That’s when Eddie brushes a calloused thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down to expose your teeth, and he brings your lips to his, a feral groan stealing your breath, sharing your juices in your first kiss. It’s a shift in the energy you share, a no going back, no running away, a fate sealed. Eddie loses all control and flips you off his lap, pinning you beneath him, kissing you with such feverish vigor that your hand tangles into his messy curls, and you pull, hard.

His tongue licks your lips open, greedily removing what’s left of your taste that remains. It’s noisy and nasty in the expanse of his small bedroom—diabolically sinful. One hand caresses your throat’s expanse, the other dropping down with a snapped wrist between your thighs, palm smacking your cunt, a guttural groan vibrating from his mouth into your own. Saliva strings on the break away, Eddie’s gaze switching to watch the hand on your cunt, out of it.

“Your pussy always this wet, baby? Or is it just for your best-friend?”

“Only for you, Eddie. Always you.”

Fallen into the depths of satisfaction, Eddie permits a slender digit to drag down your slit, taking that thick honey with it, a squelch echoing in the room when his finger wiggles its way inside of you. You clamp around him, chest heaving with shaky breaths.

“Jesus Christ. You’re gonna drown my dick when you let me fuck you, aren’t you?”

You’re incoherently babbling, tapping the hand that’s on your throat, hungry for it. “Tighter.”

Eddie’s brow raise is comical, a surprise coating his features. “So miss Y/N likes it rough? Never woulda guessed.”

You gulp a pump of air that vibrates across his hold, trying to gain more depth from his finger. It’s moving in exploration of your softly wet walls, an excess of arousal being pressed out upon that squish. Eddie tightens his hold on your throat, before he taps his fingers to your jugular and releases, hand toppling down your side and caressing, bringing. “Fuck, my best-friend’s got such a perfect little pussy. S’ made to be destroyed and used.”

You’re nodding so hard that the motion causes a cracking pop in your neck, Eddie laughing that noise under a cute breath. He’s thick with it, wiggling in a second finger and causing you drop your hands back behind you and push into the sensation, chasing, hunting it.

“Desperate to get away from me all week, now look at you. What a whore.”

Eddie has a mouth on him, something you’d always wondered about in your daily daydreams and nightly fantasies. As vocal as when he’s singing with his band. He’s saying words to you, snapping your attention, you’re whining as his fingers leave your cunt, and he’s pulling you into him so hard your lips split apart, cushioning his cock, cradling him in that overwhelming slick. He must not have meant for that action to cause it, as he jumps when you do, this feral look flickering behind those heated orbs. You know… it’s time.

Eddie is barely able to stand, clumsily bringing you with him by a laced grip in your hands. He gets you upright and you’re dizzy, his hands taking purchase on your shirt (the only remaining piece of clothing on you), and rips it with gritting teeth and anger, as if he’s pissed it’s not the club shirt, or sickened with himself for destroying yours—you’re not sure. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth as you let him tear off your tattered tee and yank your bra down, impatiently yanking the clasp apart and discarding it, helping himself to your tits, closing those plush lips over a nipple. Your hand wraps around his throbbing cock, fingers barely touching around the width, squeezing him—tugging. His hips stutter and he whines against your breast, teeth biting the flesh with a harsh precision.

Your other hand works its way through his wet curls and massages his scalp, tenderly altering in beckoning strokes, ones that switch off into root tugging pulls. Eddie’s hands keep your breast cupped, switching off to the other, whilst you dip lower and fondle his balls, letting your pinky drop off and scratch into his inner thigh. He’s doing that humming thing underneath his fucked out tone again, and you’re focusing your attention on his cock, thumb pad stroking that weeping slit, spreading it around and over that vein, enchanted with how it causes a thin bright shine over him, your own cream matted into the curls at the base of him, pathed up his stomach. His mouth leaves your chest and those big hands grip your cheeks, both of you watching as you jack him with a sticky tug.

Fuck me.

“Who’s the whore for his bestfriend now, Eds? You gonna admit that half the shit I’ve done this week has gotten your dick so hard you can’t decide what you’ve hated me for more,” You say, pausing to twist your grip, making him fold into your holding hand, “my smart mouth or how much you need this.”

Your powering dominance is short lived, hand falling off his erection, with Eddie kneeing you into a shove until your back collides with his desk, his arm reaching around to push most of its contents off and onto the floor, not caring where any of it goes. He nudges your thighs apart and slots his lean frame between, thumb catching the corner of your mouth, his instruction clear, yet awaiting your consent to cross this no back-stepping boundary. “M’ gonna fuck you right here, and you’re goin’ to watch me take you, Y/N.”

You’re pretty sure you’re gonna pass out at any given moment.

“I’m gonna watch you, Eddie.” You agree, zoning out and sprinting after your pleasure.

“Good girl.” Eddie breaks briefly, mouth on your shoulder, hand winding your hair around his fist and tugging it back so hard that the ache inside of you becomes an inferno. He finds the underside of your chin, voice honey-hot. “Because you’re not leaving this room until there’s a puddle of me running back out of your cunt.”

You launch forward so fast that Eddie falls into you, chest smashing against your breasts, your lips crashing into his for a brutally intimate kiss. You sink your teeth into his bottom lip and tug, biting down so hard you taste copper—licking it up and making Eddie’s cock jump. His ring covered hand attaches itself to your throat and he drags you off your prop against the desk, spinning you around and securing you to it, those hairy thighs pressing into you, wet cock so close to where you need him the most. His hand wraps around your hair again and lifts your gaze to that small opening in the mirror where posters and his most prized possession hangs. You’re flushed and soaked with sweat, mouth swollen and streaked with red from biting into Eddie’s plump lip, your pussy dripping thick strings of your creamy essence, slowly slithering in dangles from your pussy and onto the floor.

“You’re so fucking messy, Y/N. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, baby?” Eddie is like the devil on your shoulder, and you, you’re his angel of eternal damnation.

You’re about to beg, but Eddie saves you the trouble, his fingers tapping in tips down your spine, caressing, stroking, before they spread your lips apart and dip inside, palm flat. “Should fuckin’ split you open, do it raw. Cum so deep inside that you end up pregnant with my baby and have no choice but to always think of me, be around me.”

Though there’s a tease behind his passionate words, there’s this primal exclamation that overtakes you and you clamp down on his fingers. A series of fast paced images are vivid in your mind. Your tummy swollen and breasts heavy, Eddie having you bent over like this—one hand on your belly, the other on your throat, feeling your pulse galavant beneath his touch.

“Y/N… Fuck, sweetheart.” He’s so fucked in his descending tone that the depth is gruff and tipping off his diaphragm, you imagine. He presses his cheek against your own, chin resting on your shoulder as you drink each other in, in the mirror’s expanse, Eddie’s tone weak. “You really willing to carry my kid?”

You meet his eyes in the cluttered mirror, nodding, a softness carving out permanent residence in your features. It’s a topic you’d never shared with anyone else, never banked too much on thinking about, but beyond the idea of how hot this all is, you can’t imagine a scenario like this that doesn’t involve Eddie Munson. Vulnerable and barely above a brisk whisper, you’re answering him with, “Yeah, Eds. Want a family with you.”

At your admission, he lets his hand go in languid thrusts. You groan and let your head shift, but Eddie is jerking you back to stare into the glass, both of you panting and on the cusp of an out of body experience. It causes you to grin, licking your lips as your best-friend pumps those experienced digits to cause a purposeful squelch, his rings clinking together. His hard cock is pressed between his own stomach and your back, that pre-cum pooling onto your lower back and smearing in streaks down your ass. You’ve had more than enough teasing and you’re well aware that Eddie has too.

His look briefly falters, turning to mouth at your chin, a silent question. It’s you who uses your words, or rather, trembles in your feeble attempt. “Eddie, just put your cock inside me, or I swear I’ll—“

He’s smirking wildly at your slack-jawed expression when his fingers slide out of you and stick together with your cum, to which he helps himself to and coats his cock, then lines himself up and presses the thick head into your opening, leaning down to bite at your shoulder and leave an exposed imprint. Your legs feel like jello and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. He’s going to ask you to beg, and you’re an all in willing participant. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t. He inhales sharply, you hold your breath, and both of you watch him sink into your slick and soft cunt, inch by inch, until his balls rest against the globes of your cheeks.

You’re still holding your breath, releasing it when you feel him sigh, grip on your hair loosening a little, too caught up in the fact that he’s where he belongs, after so much time doing without this. Your legs are about to buckle, jerking, toes curling against the carpeted floor, overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, and by your best-friend’s cock throbbing in your aching pussy. “E-Eds…?” It’s a pathetic cry of a question.

Eddie’s brows pinch together, sweat beaded between. He grips your jaw and his fingertips tap you back to meet his mouth, hovering over your lips. “S’ okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He briefly drops the playful gimmick, reassuring you that he’s right here with you.

It’s more than enough to have you arching back into him, a brash pummeling of his hips that sends you into the dresser, having to reach out and catch yourself. Eddie is quick witted, gripping your wrists with one hand and pinning them behind your back, stepping with you in toe, elongating his arm to snatch those handcuffs on his wall, that cold metal biting into your wrist, that dull noise presenting itself as the cuffs lock you into place, Eddie gripping onto the chains’ excess expanse, using it as a leverage. A sliver of a chalky moan trickles off your kiss-swollen lips, appreciative. The way Eddie is manhandling you has you so fucking euphoric that you’re sure you’ll be in a comatose state before either of you can cum. Your best-friend’s large hand finds purchase in your hair again, drawing his hips back, the other on the chain of the cuffs—steadying himself into a rhythm, riding you like all that matters is your destruction and his ultimate ownership.

Eddie Munson has owned you since the very moment that you two met.

The way he’s executing such precise and rough thrusts, making sure you’re high on the bring up, toes pressing into the carpet, that you’re stuffed full of his fat cock until it hurts, twitching in overstimulation, sore and fluttering walls eager to be soaked in everything he has to give you, that you are taking in every inch, catching every ridge, leaving you a shambled, panting mess, in pieces only being put back together again when Eddie will allow your release. His hair is tickling your shoulder blades, his fingers leaving the cuffs to press into your mouth and curl over your tongue, relishing in how you gag around the digits. You’re weak, so fucking weak for him, and he knows it.

“Can’t wait to hear you gag on my cock, Y/N. If you have trouble with these bad boys?” He puts an emphasis, wiggling his fingers against your tongue, giving them a secondary push to over extend your gag reflexes, his dick twitching inside you.

You bite down on his fingers, sucking them in, accepting his challenge, willing it to happen. His balls slap into your ass, heavy and hot, every movement causing the metal to rut into the skin of your wrists. He’s got a steady tempo going, alternating it by dipping his hips to bring you with him, letting you nearly collide with your chest flush to his desk. He reaches up and shoves that poster back by peeling tape, revealing more of your fucked out forms. Your eyes widen at your disheveled and unrecognizable appearance, Eddie using your cuffed hands as reigns. Riding you so hard that you can’t breathe anything but his hot air curling around the shell of your ear.

“Dammit, you are such a good girl for me, Y/N. Always pictured you takin’ my cock, but you’re not even crying yet, just taking what I give you.”

Yet… Fuck me running.

Your scalp is tingling with a prickling crowd of flames from his harsh grip, his other hand reaching to smack your ass, using some mechanism on the cuffs—albeit—struggling with his spit soaked fingers that were just in your mouth, to unlatch them and discard them at your feet, and he watches the flesh of your ass cheek redden and jiggle beneath his biting palm. You fist your fingers into a strewn pair of his blue denim jeans left on the desk top, dipping your forehead down and arching your back, trying to look between your own legs from this new angle to see Eddie’s cock cradled in your puffy lips. He tuts at your unsuccessful action, forcing you back into watching him doing his hard work—the hardest he’s worked at anything (sans his band or the campaigns, if he’s being honest with himself)—to make this unforgettable for you. He hits that spot located inside, the one you have to strain an arm to barely graze, and you lose all coherent capabilities.

“Eddie… that’s, oh my god, oh FUCK. Right there!”

Eddie’s throat crumbles under a weak pant, which ends up coming out as a whimper. He remains firm, however, still using your hair to keep you right where he wants you, his other hand reaching around to pet his own shaft as he slides out just enough to make you wetter.

“Yeah, baby? That spot gonna make somethin’ happen for you?”

You don’t answer, mumbles and babbling gibberish. He shakes that precious head of his, curls tickling your back and shoulders, a sigh breaking free. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t believe we’re doin’ this in front of you. Both my girls right here with me, one of them at my fuckin’ mercy.” Your attentions snap over your shoulder and you see Eddie looking at his fucking guitar, that is one of the only things remaining on the mirror. You gape, but aren’t surprised in the slightest.

He continues on, pretending he doesn’t see your partial seethe. “Makin’ a mess all over me, but I bet you like to see it too, don’t you?” He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, still talking to the inanimate object. “Both my sweethearts are such sluts for their owner.”

You can’t help that rattle that clamps around your bones and slices through your spinal cord, seizing your abdomen, right down into your cunt. Owner? You have zero time to warn him, ask if you can, alarms unprepared, skin slapping on skin, his taste on your mouth, his breath on your flesh, that slippery glide that has cum running down your thighs, and it’s a sudden wave crashing over your insides and drowning them in your painfully interstellar-esque orgasm. Your eyes burn with tears as you watch your best-friend feel what’s happening, realizing. He’s covered in your release, and instead of being mad, he is influencing you like the little devil that he can be, plump lip pressing to your ear lobe with one continuous command. “That’s it. C’mon, Y/N. Drench my dick.”

You wish you could bottle the feeling of your first orgasm with Eddie Munson, your best-friend—forever. Finding yourself growing into that vulnerability that comes with the high, you seek to find solace in Eddie’s arms, whimpering at the overstimulation of his thick cock. With that connection still in tact, Eddie is spinning you around, dick sliding out with a messy mixture of arousals covering you both—his member completely doused in your cream, painting the trimmed curls at the base of his shaft with even more of you, slicking back some more of that happy trail. You want to be embarrassed, but as he’s red faced and struggling to breathe, you know that there’s no need to be. He steers you back onto the bed, falling easily between your spread thighs, drawing them up and around his waist.

He presses his forehead into your own, kissing each corner of your mouth, rings circling in dusting sweeps on the apex of your thighs. His voice is a shivered whisper. “Fuck, baby. You okay?”

There’s words on your tongue, Eddie’s taste on your mouth, things you’ve known for years, but are unsure if Eddie has, or if this is something he needs because he’s afraid you’ll abandon him, but that he doesn’t feel what you do. Your head is spinning and Eddie brushes sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, taking his cock through your swollen folds, pressing that spongey head into your clit—both of you crying out. “Y/N, m’ right here. Care to join me?”

And god help you, the way that you look at him. Really allow yourself to see him this way—unabashed—it stirs all those feelings Eddie has bottled down since forever. You press your thumb into his mouth, your other hand sliding down to grip onto him, gliding your hand back and forth, relishing in how his abdomen tenses, muscles flexing, body gravitating towards whatever you’re willing to bestow. He doesn’t let you touch him much longer, taking what your hand isn’t around and guiding it back into your cunt, that scrumptious burn brimming you, making your thighs drop open, back arch, only to tighten your ankles around him, digging your heels into his ass. He suckles your fingertip into his mouth, licking the digit in until it’s down to the knuckle.

Your head presses sideways, cheek on his pillow, inhaling his shaving cream and that spicy scent. He pauses his movements, making you frown in displeasure. He lets go of your spit tainted finger, gripping your chin, a possessive fire overcoming him. His irises remain completely black, putting you deeper into that comatose trance of agonizing sin. “I want you to fucking say it, Y/N.”

You start a beginning questionnaire, Eddie shaking his head and pressing in harder on your chin, fingers splaying across your jaw, rings pinching your chin in the most delightfully painful of ways. “Say you want me, tell me you fucking need me. That you’re not tired of me, and that you’re proud to be the freak’s slut.”

Your hands wind around his back and you sink your nails in as hard as you can, bearing down on him, sucking him in deeper, both of you in a state of no return. His hand tickles down from your face and grips your neck. “Still sick of me, baby?” He situates your gaze, lifting his hips to a raise so that you can see where you’re connected. You’re inconsolable, that fire already blazing your gut, turning every sense into nothingness.

When Eddie starts back up again, he slams himself into you so hard that your vision goes dark and you shred your own bottom lip open, body moving closer to his wall due to the force. He’s licking beneath your jugular, words sensual and filthy, making your entire body spike in a sudden electricity. “Gonna cum in every hole you’ve got, so you remember that they’re mine.”

This time you’re more than ready to give him a warning, body beginning to shake beyond your control, breaths stuttering in your chest. Eddie reaches down between you, calloused thumb flicking your clit. Everything is so fucking wet and the way it sounds in the expanse of Eddie’s small room, it has you opening your mouth, out of control and greedily begging for more.

“Eds, harder. Please? Almost…”

He’s grinning in that special way that weakens you—heart and soul, body and mind. “So much more than a slut.” His thrusts become choppy, his own babbling tone turning into Eddie-speak. “You are way more than you know, Y/N.”

You fondle his pick chain and bring him into your immediate airspace, mouths hovering. He’s nearing his end, cock getting fuller inside you. “Need you to tell me how much you love me.”

You both completely go slack. Eddie stops himself all together, body trembling, head bowing. Your heart rate increases, feeling as if you’ve skipped a staircase thousands of feet in the air and you’re now free falling.

Love… You don’t have to think twice.

Your hands move to cup his face, holding on, your eyes shining with tears at all overloaded emotions and senses. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”

At your admission, those beautiful eyes—dark with remains of passion—they fill, and he gives you his all, driving his cock into you in calculated presses, trying like hell to get you to cum first. When he speaks, his voice cracks apart. “Let me know that you’re right here with me, Y/N.”

“I’ve always been here, Eddie.” Is what you manage, thumping your hand against his wrist and helping him bring his fingers back to your clit.

He doesn’t let you look away, noses smashed together, sticky foreheads pressing, hair curtaining the apples of pink, sex stained cheeks. Your eyes widen as that knot begins to tighten in your stomach, unraveling so violently that Eddie has to grip your quivering thigh in one hand, the other keeping steady on your clit. You dig into his back, other hand tugging on his hair, and Eddie is giving a throaty seduction. “That’s it, be my good girl and cum again for me.”

And you’re coming apart at your very core, every cell exploding and rebuilding, gluing yourself to Eddie to seize the ache that scrambles your insides and leaves you breathless. He’s cursing, keeping his finger on your clit to help you coast over the high, immediately following you with the lowest, sweetest, whimpering moan that you’ve ever heard. Both of your eyes still drinking in the other’s pleasure, tears spilling over your lash line as Eddie’s hips cease and he holds, his cock swelling and that soft, creamy warmth coating your sore walls in spurts. He collapses onto your chest and you hold him there in a vice hug, his hand still trapped between your exhausted bodies. He gently eases it out, groaning around the wetness that he’s all too eager to sample until the layer of shine is off his fingers.

Holy shit and fuck me…

Your legs fall to the side, unable to stay upright any longer, Eddie keeping a hovering hand to soothe your shaking. He kisses your neck with a plush mouth, his chain dangling between your breasts. You’re petting his hair—which is so soaked it’s as if he’s been in the rain or come from the shower—off his forehead, wincing as he slides out and keeps himself by your side. You gasp and he joins, fascinated by your cum and his own seed pouring from your cunt. He raises up a little. “Mhm. Let me see?”

He props your thigh, sliding his fingers back and forth, zoned in on his bedsheets being ruined from the literal puddle of your shared cum that runs from you. Seconds pass and he grins widely, plopping onto his back, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, down to your arm. It’s a comfortable quiet, even with the intense meaning of the words that were spoken, until Eddie starts with a, “So..?”

And you cut him off, trying to get your uncomfortably hot body closer. “So I love you. And I have never stopped needing you, or wanting you, Eddie. I just hope all this wasn’t because we were fighting and you got scared I would leave, and —“

He doesn’t let you finish this time, that chocolate-ly brown ring swinging back around his pupil in a brisk develop, showcasing the moisture in his eyes. “I was scared because I love you so damn much that I would charge headfirst into Mordor, or some alternate dimension without any weapon or any shield, just for you. You gotta know that, Y/N.”

His softness, that glittering fragility, it makes you seal your mouth to his, kissing him full of your feelings. He cups the nape of your neck, drawing in closer, thumb coaxing a shiver from you as it passes over a certain spot behind your ear. On a wet break away, you’re nodding your head. “Guess we spent all week fighting when we should’ve been fucking and talking about our feelings.”

Eddie smirks, then is serious. “Be that as it may, I’m sorry I’ve been shit at showing you I appreciate all that you do for the guys and me. And for forgetting that you are your own person too. S’ not like I meant to, I swear. I just get so fucking caught up and I shouldn’t take for granted anything that has to do with you or with us.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re my best-friend, Eddie Munson?”

While it’s still true, you’re wondering when the words leave your lips. Eddie just fucked you so hard you probably won’t be able to sit down for a week or walk upright for hours, so friendship isn’t exactly the most appropriate term anymore, is it?

Eddie taps his fingertips to your temple, drawing your dazed expression, clinging to the cosmic connection once more. “M’ yours, Y/N.”

“Oh yeah, Munson?” You’re so high that you could fly out of here right now and make rounds around the whole globe. Your chest is aching with a tempo that promises new hope and ease.

Eddie is giddy too, that wide set smile, cheesing. “Just gotta get you a new shirt.”

The memory of your old club attire being one with the forest floor seems like so long ago. Eddie knuckle grazes your cheek, apologetic. You shush him. “I ruined yours, so we’re even.”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and he’s tackling you beneath him, pinning your hands in a lace above your head. “Nah, we are just getting started on bein’ even, baby.”

~*~

Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @gothbitchshit @thisishellfire @ethereal27cereal @likedovesinthewnd

-I really need to form a bigger tag list! I’m sorry :/-

Lemme know if you want on my general tag list, please! :)

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borzoilover69 · 2 months

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I have this vivid post-game earth c vision of jake roxy dave and ecto-clone meenah going on clubbing hijinks. Because theyre the only people in the friendgroup interested in doing that extrovert shit and 1/2 of the party gets invited by jake.

Meenah gets into a fight w/ jake bcus he thinks shes actually meenah, but in the end they laugh off the misunderstanding and joke insult each other and exchange socials. She also controls what music they listen to as they drive, and has a rotating door of dancestors who chill w/ them. Wears a lot of black.

Roxy is a bit flakey but she makes the cut cus shes generally chill and gets along w/ people. Shes the one buying bottles of soju from bws and texting in the backseat with her painted nails while keeping up w/ the others banter. Shes chill w/ going w/ the flow. She also manages to find more obscure clubs thru her feed or other mad hacker skillz (lulz). Wears a lot of colourful stuff

Dave got invited by Jake once as a “fuck it why not (and a massive fuck you to dirk)” and ended up vibing w/ meenahs music tastes (they have similiar tastes so shes chill w/ him) so they kept inviting him back. Generally doesnt have anything going on for him post-game so is always down for it, plus is totally trying to hit on jake to some regards. This is mutually beneficial, as jake is full aware of this fact. They are both jackasses full aware of the taboo crossover waiting to happen. Gets along REALLY well with jake after a few drinks. Jake and him generally dont talk in normal circumstances but you bet the minute jake asks if daves free hes getting off the fucking couch to text a reply much to the chagrine of his roommate vantas. Dave is the most basic its either a hoodie and shorts or a tshirt with cargos. Solid colour, little to no decor.

Jake is the passenger princess (part two) drinking before they get to the party and laughing or engaging with a bitching session with meenah. They have a sort of thing going for them in the way that meenah will drag jake into a bathroom and give him a peptalk or grill him for being too hard on himself. Respects her for her shit. BPD solidarity because in return for all the times shes grilled him in a bathroom about how strong he is for putting up with bullshit he receives from other people he in return makes sure to check on her when she isnt doing too hot and takes her out to lunch or something. Also they both bitch about their crazy exes, jake bitches about dirk and meenah bitches about ecto-clone aranea (they met in a psychward). Jake and meenah have an on-going “ill end my toxic relationship if you end yours.”

Roxy and Dave are both well aware this shit is taboo af but also they genuinely do not have that much going for them so its like a nod of respect to the fact theyre the two other gods who enjoy clubbing. Just not being the ones who plan and arrange it. They do like being invited tho.

Dave and Meenah both vape, Jake and Roxy dont. Meenah and Dave occasionally beef but he always ends up back in the crew cus hes usually the loser stuck parking and hes the only one trusted with the music other than Meenah. Meenah is VERY particular about the vibe. No sad songs. No indie. No chill beats. Gotta be high energy. I think she would listen to something like heartbeat by childish gambino or lemonade (feat.nav).

I have more thoughts about it ill prolly elaborate if anyone interested. I have such thoughts abt their fashion and habits. Enough about introverts lets get some extrovert rep.

#yes dave and jake do hook up after a few nights #theyre both jackasses #homestuck #hom3stuck #jake english #meenah peixes #roxy lalonde #dave strider #borzoi art #borzoi talks

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azaarchiive · 2 months

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☆be mine?; gojo satoru

synopsis; satoru is never second, so why aren’t you with him right now?

notes: valetines treat that’s a day late, sorry guys i got so fucking plastered yesterday but here i am now!

tags: alcohol consumption, rich 18 y/o gojo, jealousy, tiny age gap (between you and random), gn reader, foul language, use of petname (baby), mentions of throwing up, 995 words ❤️ happy valentines guys

satoru was truthfully only here for you and suguru, he was not that fond of parties which was quite conflicting with his persona. it was just an excuse to get drunk and getting drunk weakens a person. plus alcohol tasted yucky to him.

nonetheless, when you wanted to throw a valentines party for all the singles, he just had to come. now, he was heavily regretting that choice as he could see your so called ‘valentines’ here with you.

you see, two days ago, your school was selling roses that you could give to anyone of your choosing for valentines. satoru with his marvellous brain decided he was to give you one, confess his undying love for you and finally make you two happen. you both would be the power couple, the dream team that everyone would envy while you two would snuggle and whisper sweet nothings into each others ears. sadly, that's not what happened.

a junior that had obviously had his eyes on you for a while had come to give you a rose and ask you out. while you had frequently reminded everyone that you were not into him as he had a reputation to be... popular with the girls, it still irked him how you talked to him and was still considering going out on a date with that loser when he was standing right here.

so, he didn't buy the rose. instead, he congratulated you and watched from afar how you two were getting it on in this stupid party with 2000s club music blaring in his ears and a cup of your strong concoction (it was 3/4s vodka and 1/4th sprite) in his hand.

"everyone can see you staring." a voice from behind him spoke, of course he already knew that person was there but was just too angry to face them.

"i'm way better than that loser, like i'm the strongest man alive, i've got money that will last a lifetime and a face that kills. i'm the ideal package!" satoru complained, huffing before finally turning around and taking a large gulp of your valentines special.

"then show her that, you have been here crying and complaining about how you're way better than the junior but she doesn't know that because you're yapping instead of doing." suguru sighed, having to hear the same 'in the strongest and richest' speech from satoru was a little tiring.

"why do i have to prove something that's a fact?" satoru asked frustratingly, taking another swing of the drink.

"ok, we all know you hate drinking so slow down and stop trying to look cool." suguru chuckled, trying to take away satorus drink from him only for him to snatch it back aggressively.

"i do drink! in fact.." satoru chugged down his drink, took sugurus drink and chugged it down also.

"what the fuc-"

"i'll show that little boy what a real man is!" satoru slightly slurred, given that satoru literally never drinks, you're heavy drinker mixer got him quite fucked up very quickly.

suguru watched satoru walk away, debating on whether he should try and salvage the situation.

"a party always needs some entertainment." suguru shrugged, getting a refill before making his way to watch the mess that was about to unfold in front of him.

satoru marched towards you, dragging you onto the couch as he flopped on top of you. you gasped from the sudden attack in shock.

"satoru- what the hell are you doing?!" you asked, trying to push him off of you.

"um, do you need any help?" the junior asked.

"hell no, back off!" satoru exclaimed, causing the junior to jump slightly and run away, he was not about to be purple hollowed on valentine's day.

"no, rui! ugh, satoru you scared him off!" you groaned, finally pushing him next to you as you laid there heaving.

"good, you don't need him." satoru shifted to face you, taking off his sunglasses.

you looked into his eyes, a whirlwind of emotions hit you as those deep

blue eyes stared into yours. you always found him attractive, he was charming and sweet whilst being an utter fool. satoru had a humorous personality and fuck, his million dollar face was worth everything in the world to kiss.

however, you couldn't tell if he thought the same about you. if he thought about the intricacies of your facial structure the way you did and if he thought about scenarios where you both went on dates or watched cheesy romcoms whilst snuggling together.

“leave that poor boy alone.” you muttered, your hand somehow finding its way to his hair. satoru leaned into you, his head on your chest while you played with his white strands.

“not when he’s trying to get with you like you’re not mine.” he muttered back, looking up at your face of shock.

“satoru, you’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying.” you said, trying more to convince yourself rather than satoru.

“get real, you know for a fact im in love with you. why wouldn’t i be? you’re fucking amazing.” satoru smiled.

“what- i- im-“ you stammered, this was not expected at all.

“it’s ok, i know you feel same way, im amazing as well. so please, don’t go on that date with him to try and substitute him for me.” satoru slurred, holding you tightly as he placed a small peck on your chest.

you felt flustered, heavily flustered. since when was satoru this perceptive? well, you guessed he always has been, you just hoped he wasn’t seeing right through you specifically.

“be my valentines? tomorrow i’ll treat you to a date.” satoru lifted his head, staring right into your eyes again.

“february 15th is such a side chick day.” you joked.

“my favourite day for my favourite side chick then.” satoru nuzzled back into your oddly warm chest as you jokingly slapped his head.

satoru was glad he turned infinity off for this, for you.

“so, you guys are finally together now?” suguru spoke softly, causing you both to jump up in surprise.

“oh my god, i didn’t see you there.” you jumped.

“you stalker.” satoru joked.

“whatever, i was scared that you were gonna embarrass yourself, which you did.” suguru smiled.

“either way, i now have a partner while you’re alone for valentine’s day, haha!” satoru replied.

“don’t be mean.” you scolded satoru.

“sorry baby.” satoru went back into your chest with a gleeful smile on his face.

“i feel sick.” suguru fake retched.

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plus-size-reader · 6 months

Text

Sweetheart

Horrorfest 2023

Charlie Walker x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2658 words

Warnings: none really. Just a little horror talk.

At the request of @armyangxls Hope you enjoy it love!

Summary: Inviting Charlie over when the murders start so you don't have to be alone.

—————————————————————————————————

You had always loved a night in.

Whether it was a cozy night spent snuggled up with a blanket and a good book, or a new release of a gory slasher you’d been anxiously waiting to get your hands on, it felt like there was nothing better in the world than being home.

…but you had to admit that there was one thing that topped even your favorite at-home activity.

Cinema Club.

Which, while admittedly only being adjacent to what you’d be doing anyway, did offer the occasional change of scenery that you grew to greatly appreciate. ‘

The Woodsboro High School Cinema Club was the one place in the world where the film geeks and creatives at your school could come together to co-exist, which had been more than enough to draw you in.

You had always loved movies as a means of expression and any opportunity to talk about them with people who enjoyed them just as much was too good to pass up.

That wasn’t what really sealed the deal for you though.

What kept you coming back to that mismatched group of nerds was the underbelly of Cinema Club, comprised of all the horror fanatics and true crime junkies of Woodsboro, who came to get together and discuss some of their favorite aspects of the genre.

In a town so famous for its own serial killer, there was little open discussion about any aspect, which had never sat right with you.

After all, everyone on planet Earth had seen at least one of the “Stab” films, and still, most of Woodsboro’s residents actively chose to live in a delusion.

That was what made Cinema Club so compelling, and its president along with it.

Charlie Walker, or the King of the Freaks as you’d taken to calling him in the comfort of your own mind, was a huge film buff and one of the only people whose love of horror seemed to rival your own.

He was clever and had a lot of interesting theories about a lot of different things, the Stab franchise and the events that inspired it chief among them. In fact, in the years you’d been attending his club, you’d

spent several evenings heatedly debating over which slasher was the best or which classic horror trope you’d choose given the option.

In a lot of ways, he was one of the only people you felt seen by in that way, and eventually, you formed quite an attachment to the man, even if you’d never acted on it.

Maybe that was why you’d called him.

It had really come out of left field, and you had never reached out to him before in your life outside of occasionally asking him about a point of contention within the horror community or to get his opinion on something.

You couldn’t even say that you were friends, but that didn’t change the fact that when you got the news that someone wearing a Ghostface mask was running around cutting people up, your first thought had been of Charlie.

It was only natural.

You were going to be home all night long by yourself, and while that was normally your idea of a fantastic night, it seemed foolish to be alone like a sitting duck all night, hoping you wouldn’t run into a killer.

After all, Ghostface was a legend around this town and you weren’t about to underestimate what someone could be capable of once they put on that mask.

It seemed right to be afraid, at first.

Though, now that you were sitting in the dark waiting for Charlie to show up, you were starting to doubt yourself. Would he think you were a huge loser for bothering him over something so arbitrary? Was he doing something when you called?

If he were, you figured he would have turned you down instead of telling you he’d be at your house in fifteen, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think you were lame.

God, you were lame, weren’t you?

You started to sigh, debating whether or not you should just call Charlie and tell him not to bother, but you didn’t get the chance before a loud banging on your front door nearly sent you flying out of your seat.

Your first instinct was to grab a kitchen knife and take it with you, sort of like how Casey’s character had in the opening scene of the first stab, but you quickly abandoned that idea.

It hadn’t helped her, and you were sure it wouldn’t prove any more useful for you now.

“Charlie? Is that you?” you called out, letting your careful footsteps carry you toward the door, without bothering to turn on a light. If it wasn’t him, you didn’t need whoever was out there knowing exactly where you were.

Briefly, you felt a flash of heat wash over you at how embarrassing this would be if it was Charlie at the door, only to once again have that ice prick at your spine at the even worse possibility that he hadn’t left his house yet.

What would you do if this was the killer at your door? If you opened it and found that haunting face staring back at you in the pitch dark?

You weren’t sure.

“You alive in there, sweetheart? I brought popcorn”

All at once, relief flooded you as you took in the voice through the door. It was muffled, sure, but even if you weren’t entirely sure it was Charlie waiting for you, you were confident Ghostface didn’t use pet names like that on his victims.

“Yeah, I’m good” you assured, pulling open the door to find none other than Charlie Walker standing there, that brown mop of hair falling in his face as he turned to meet your face.

You weren’t entirely sure what he’d been watching out by the street, but in all honesty, you didn’t even question it. You were so glad to not be alone, especially after that scare, you weren’t even sure you’d processed it, even if he told you.

Proven further when he grinned at you like you’d missed something important.

“I said, can I come in? I don’t think it’s safe to spend all night in the open doorway” Charlie hummed, making it clear that he was teasing you, which you nearly bristled at. Perhaps, if he’d been anyone else, you would have.

That was the thing about Charlie though, even when he was poking fun at you, it never felt mean-spirited or cruel, and you appreciated that.

You had always been a little hard to get to know, and even harder to get along with, but he didn’t even bat an eye at your slightly more reserved nature or casual obsession with grisly crimes and imagery.

He never made you feel bad, or less than you were.

“Sure. Come on in,” you suggested finally, taking a brief beat to collect yourself from the very hectic last 2 minutes.

“Sorry, I feel like this is super weird. I just didn’t want to be alone tonight” you tried, hoping that sounded less pathetic out loud than it did when it reached your ears.

It would be a lie to say that you’d never thought about having Charlie over, but never had it been under these circumstances, and never had it been this awkward.

He must have thought you were a freak.

“No worries. I was just going to spend it with Robbie and trust me, you’re much better company” he assured, watching casually as you closed and latched your front door and turned back to him, visibly relieved.

He was telling you the truth.

Given the choice, he would most certainly like to spend time with a pretty girl over the same guy he’d been attached to since grade school. After all, you’d made it clear when you called that you didn’t want to be alone.

,,,and that you needed someone to look after you.

Charlie was more than happy to be that someone, and he could protect you if he had to, especially from Ghostface.

“I don’t know about that. Robbie seems like a pretty good time” you countered, trying to joke back with him without it being weird, though he didn’t bother to respond to that. Instead, he followed you into your living room and helped himself to your couch.

When you’d invited him over, you hadn’t really considered what you’d do to pass the time, but given the pretense for how you knew one another, and the Jiffy pop Charlie had brought, it didn’t seem too far off to put in a movie.

“I was thinking about watching Stab 2 before I called you,” you prompted, assuming that Charlie would either agree or disagree rather quickly after the suggestion.

You knew the President of Cinema Club to be a lot of things, but soft-spoken had never been one of them.

“Sounds good to me”

This room was one you’d set foot in at least once every day for most of your life, but it wasn’t the warm, inviting space it normally was, at least not with Charlie present. Under his watchful eye, you almost felt as if the air itself was popping with energy.

However, when you once again peeked at him and took in his composure, you realized that nervous energy was actually just buzzing under your skin.

“The kill in the opening scene of this one is one of my favorite of the franchise. I think the practical effects are so well done,” you hummed, relaxing only slightly as the welcoming score to Stab 2 filled your ears.

The title screen flashed in black and green, a few choppy chase scenes from the middle of the movie playing on repeat while the music blared, and you ate it up just like you did every time.

It was probably one of your favorite movies of all time, and without even thinking, you sat down next to Charlie, though you kept distance both between your bodies and between you and the back of the couch.

“The gore in the first movie was more experimental, but I think by this one, they were more confident and knew just how far they could take all the body horror”

Charlie hummed again, listening to you as you talked with more enthusiasm than he’d ever seen from you during club meetings.

You participated in discussions, of course, but it was always more muted and careful. Like, you were constantly worried someone would think you took it too far or crossed some line you weren’t sure existed.

It was nice to watch you drop all the pretence for once and just enjoy something that clearly meant a lot to the both of you.

“But, did you know that guy actually burst an eardrum getting stabbed like that, even with a prop knife?” he spoke up, pointing out one of his own fun facts.

You didn’t, but you could believe it.

The force that had to go behind something like that, even when it wasn’t real, had to be super intense and you couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end of it, something you apparently said out loud, given Charlie’s face.

“I don’t know. It might not be that bad, it would take forever though” he allowed, further shocking you as you processed both what he’d said and the fact that you’d accidentally just been way weirder than you’d meant to.

You stopped, abandoning the movie fully now and turning to face where he’d been sitting, watching your reactions more than the movie itself.

“What would take forever? Getting stabbed?” you questioned, only partially aware of what you may have asked him in your adrenaline-fueled haze. You couldn’t imagine it took too long from start to finish if you were being honest.

Charlie scoffed, though it was more of a laugh than anything concrete or mocking, “No, bleeding out from a wound like that. It would take way longer than you’d think” he explained, with a casual shrug.

You believed him.

This wouldn’t be the first time he’d shared a strange or unexpected fact with you about something like that, and you certainly didn’t want to question him. Though, you did find yourself glancing toward the door and windows absently.

When you two had discussed this before, it was always in a well-lit room full of people, but this was much more intimate…and ominous.

After all, someone had just been stabbed to death yesterday in their home, and you didn’t like the idea of just how long it had taken them to bleed out.

“Sorry. That’s in bad taste, huh?” Charlie tried, finding the joy he’d gotten from watching you excited coldly replaced with your discomfort, or fear, more likely. “Don’t worry, I got you” he assured, his gaze shifting from the side of your face to your hand.

You were holding the couch cushion lightly in your fist, almost as if it would keep you safe, and that just wouldn’t do.

Not while he was right here, waiting to comfort you.

“Nobody’s gonna get you” His words were soft, near a whisper as he focused on gathering his courage and finally made his move, reaching out to take your hand in his own.

The action made you shift, and rather than falling off the edge of the couch onto the floor, you leaned back, closer to where Charlie was already situated.

“I just can’t imagine what that’s like” you allowed, steeling your own nerves and meeting his eyes, which subsequently sent a kaleidoscope of butterflies into your gut.

The topic was grim, and you both knew that, but for such a nasty conversation, you were feeling anything but disturbed. It would have been hard to be, with him looking at you like that, his thumb stroking your wrist gently.

“You are never going to find out. I can promise you that” Charlie spoke again, more earnest now than you ever could have predicted.

It wasn’t something he could promise, you knew that, but that didn’t make it any less reassuring.

“Charlie?”

He hummed, never breaking eye contact with you, not even shifting even as you blinked away, your gaze flicking momentarily to the third death scene playing out on screen.

“This seems like a pretty good time to mention that I have a little bit of a crush on you” you mentally cursed yourself for how small you sounded, but not for long before you had to confront the feeling of Charlie’s mouth against your own in a bruising kiss.

He had been waiting with bated breath to see which one of you would get the chance to confess first, and while he didn’t think it would be you, he couldn’t be happier regardless.

The kiss lasted for quite some time, with Charlie only pulling away just long enough to fully close the gap you’d been keeping between your bodies this entire time.

“I’m so glad you called me” he whispered, one of his hands coming to rest on your jaw to keep you close while the other played gently at your fingers.

You heard yourself let out a dreamy sort of sigh in reply, but you were far too caught up in what you were feeling to really process it. So, rather than dwell on it, you just nodded softly, “I’m so glad you came”

“I’ll always be here when you need me, sweetheart. Don’t worry about a thing” he cooed, saying each word with the depth and sincerity as a vow, and the intensity that only Charlie Walker could pooling in those blue eyes.

..and the thing was, you believed every word.

Even on this couch, in the dead of night, in the heart of Woodsboro, you felt completely at ease because who could really get to you when someone looked at you like that?

Nobody hiding behind a mask, that was for sure.

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billskeis · 4 months

Text

ᡣ𐭩 club encounters w bill

lights were flashing, music was blaring and bodies collided against one another. you were at the club with your friend in hopes to get anything and everything off your mind of how you found your ex-boyfriend cheating on you.

fuck this shit, downing another shot as the alcohol trickles down your throat.

gender is specified as male reader :)

“hey hey! that was like your fifth shot.. in a row!” your best friend elise said, as she rubs your back to ensure that you’re okay. scoffing, you let her know that you’re fine, “don’t worry about me you know about my high tolerance, plus.. we’re here to have fun!” nodding, “you’re right, fuck that guy and fuck that side hoe!”

clinking your shot glasses, you drink another type of liquor that tastes way better than the first one. mm, fruity..

“i’m gonna go dance, come with?” she asks, you shake your head, just simply not in the mood to. elise just kisses you a goodbye to reassure you she will be back after a moment. you nod at her, laughing at her silly antics, you love this girl to death.

from across the room, you look, look at the various activities the strangers within your vicinity are engaging in. drinking, dancing, grinding, making out. for those, it was a night maybe those want to remember, or maybe not.. for you? it was a night to get your mind off the stupid shit that completely wasted your time.

that was until you spotted someone who stuck out like a sore thumb.

he had black hair, that seemed to spike a bit out of his head. eyeshadow accompanied his eyes as he tries to blink the harsh lighting of the club. he wore all black, which seemed peculiar because it was a summer night and it was getting hot, especially hot in the building.

he shooed away another figure that was engulfed in large fabrics of clothing, he had brown matt locs with a straight cap to compliment, holding it all together. his manicured hand managed to irritate the latter until the shorter figure made eye contact with you.

in attempts to look away, anywhere else, you couldn’t help but try to sneak a look at the two once again.

for a short moment, you saw that the dread-head had pointed at you, making the taller one look in your direction. awkwardly, you swirl the liquid in your cup. looking once again, to see the pretty black-haired person still looking at you.

at this moment you’re panicking. shit, what if he thinks i’m weird? wait, who gives a fuck you’ll probably only see this person tonight and then never again. you turn on the island seat, facing the bar to scan the alcohols in seeing which one you haven’t tried yet.

you just got paid at work and decided that this night was gonna be a night to yourself and therefore you needed to spoil yourself.

with a tap on your shoulder, you’re met with not just anyone. but the person you had just made intense eye contact with more than once and had looked like a total loser to (he doesn’t think so).

“hey,” he spoke, his voice a tad nasal, but it was sexy. “hi..” “by yourself?” “nono, my friend’s dancing, see? she’s the one with the tight black dress who—seems to be dancing with that… dread-head..”

shaking your head, “elise.. this is the fifth guy tonight,” “don’t worry, that’s my brother, your friend is quite the dancer,” the boy laughs, leaning his head in a little closer to yours.

“that she is,” sighing, “well, i hope i can accompany you tonight, bill,” he holds a hand out for you to shake, “y/n,” you reciprocate the gesture a tight grip on his. his hands are soft.

“you know i already thought this but seeing you closer just confirms it,” bill leans his elbow on the counter of the bar, his eyes gleam even in the dark lighting that flashes once in a while, “confirms what?” you ask in curiosity.

“how cute you are,” “oh—! ahem, might i say the same for you,” really y/n? you’re blowing it tonight. while face palming yourself, all bill could do is laugh. he loves your awkwardness and all you could do was just stare at him in awe.

he really was fucking gorgeous.

from behind him, there you saw. your ex, and he was closing distance. closing distance between the two of you with the girl he had his fucking dick in while you entered the shared bedroom, bags in your hands to gift him in showing you how much you loved that man.

with such short time, you make your move. “you swing that way?” asking the boy in front of you who had seemingly been talking to you but couldn’t pay attention to whilst you noticed an abomination behind him.

“i do, why—?” bill’s words were cut off by your lips. although in shock, he didn’t push away, giving you the okay to continue the kiss. you swipe your tongue over his lips in asking for permission to enter.

opening his mouth, you glide your tongue within his, intertwining the muscle with one another not even leaving room to breathe. the kiss was messy, but shit was it hot. bill was whiny, as your tongue explored his mouth, he couldn’t help but wince at the sensation.

his tongue tasted that of alcohol, to which you had enough to drink but tasting it on bill left you wanting more.

he was especially sensitive whenever you ran your tongue on his. whimpering at the moments you pressed down on his tongue piercing, as the foreign material of metal is fondled with.

bill didn’t know what to do with his hands, so his arms swung over your neck as you pressed your bodies together. in a bold movement, you pressed your knees in between bill’s legs to hit his crotch. you felt a tent begin to form within his pants, not even noticing the growing bulge in yours.

doing this led bill to moan into the kiss. god were his sounds addicting even in such a room where your voices were barely heard by one another. you just needed to hear more.

bill ended up pulling apart from the kiss, saliva in between the two of your mouths. his breathing erratic, and eyelids were heavy, brown irises dark. his lips were now a little more plump than before, but that was inevitable with the way you were sucking on them.

“y-y/n..” “i’m sorry, was that too much?” you ask him, rubbing his back. he leans his head into your shoulder, shying away as he nuzzles himself into you, “mmm nnh.. just felt really good..”

as you look past his body that was now cuddled into yours, you see your ex boyfriend and his side whore looking at you in shock. sticking your middle finger up, all the two of them could do was cringe and walk away into the opposite direction.

seems as though their plans to mock you were ruined.

remembering, you totally forgot for a second that bill was basically on your lap, “bill?” “mhm?” “let me get your number yea..?” he looks up from your shoulder, as he smiles brightly. cute.

opening your phone, you hand it to him to once again see his manicured hands. seeing them up close you didn’t notice the colour but of course they were along his get-up. black.

finishing up, he closed your phone and handed it back to you. getting up from your legs, he propped himself upon the seat next to you. holding his hand out, you instinctively grabbed onto his intertwining your fingers.

“now, lemme get to know you after you basically fucked your mouth onto mine, hm?”

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel fluff #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x y/n #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz fluff #2000s #fyp

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talaok · 1 year

Note

Good afternoon honey, I was wondering if you could write dark! Joel x plus size reader where the reader is suffering with body image and that night you go out to a club and meet Joel but smut? love the blog🥰

Pairing:Joel Miller x plus size!reader

Warnings: body image problems, negative talk of reader's body and self, smut| dub-con, unprotected p in v sex, a bit of degrading, and dark! Joel

A/n: ok ok ok I've never written a plus-size reader so if this is bad just tell me, honestly, I'll delete it, it's fine (yes I'm really nervous about this, I'm scared it's disrespectful) thank you so much for the ask tho babe💗

The dress looked absolutely horrendous on you. It was too tight and too loose in all the wrong places.

Your curves looked like they were stretching the fabric so much it was gonna tear the moment you took a step, and the makeup on your face now just looked like a pathetic attempt at driving people's attention away from it.

This was a mistake, you sighed, looking at the loser staring back at you from the other side of the mirror.

I should have never agreed to this, It's so fucking stupid.

You mumbled to yourself as you unsuccessfully tried fixing the dress in any way that wouldn't make it look so incredibly ridiculous.

Maybe I can pretend I'm sick or something,

Maybe I got a really bad headache all the sudden,

Maybe I got fucking infected, I don't know, that would be believable. I can just start making some weird ass noises and I doubt she'd still want to go out with me.

"Hey, you ready?" Kora opened the door, causing all your plans to fall apart with one single action.

"yep" you forced a smile "all ready"

"Great, let's go!"

fuck my life man.

__ __ __

"Are you serious?" you asked, actually kind of mad

"I know, I know, I'm sorry"

"you've just met him" you pointed out, frustration and annoyance lacing your tone.

"I know" she repeated "but-" she sighed, glancing back at the man "he's so hot y/n, I mean-"

you rolled your eyes "Whatever, go have fun, I'm just gonna go home"

"no don't go home, you can have fun without me," she said "Maybe with someone else..." she raised her brows suggestively and you felt one breath away from punching her.

You shot her a look.

Yeah, like anyone would want to "have fun" with me

"what?" she asked, clueless

you stared at her, the same expression in your eyes.

"you know what"

"oh my god," she moaned "again with this thing? Y/n you're hot as fuck, anyone with half a brain cell can see that"

You remained silent.

You hated the pity party of having everyone constantly lie to you about how you looked.

Just tell me the truth. I look like shit.

It's fine, I know it, you know it, the whole world fucking knows it so stop talking to me like I'm a fucking baby and tell me the truth.

I can take it. Trust me, I've been telling it to myself since I was born.

"in fact..." A small smirk tugged at her lips as her eyes focused somewhere behind you " I think somebody definitely noticed" she grinned like an idiot as she stared at someone behind you.

"shut up" you stopped her "You know he's not," you said "He's probably looking at you"

"Oh no" she shook her head, that stupid smile still tugging at her lips "No he's definitely looking at you" She waved at him and you immediately grabbed her hand, forcing it down

"stop! what are you doing!?"

"I'm helping you out" she smirked "You'll thank me later," she said with a wink, turning to walk away but not before chuckling a taunting"Have fun"

Goddamnit

You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you sneakily tried to catch a glimpse of whatever Kora was talking about.

She was probably bluffing, you thought as you slowly turned, but just then, you had to think again.

A man was looking at you, no, not looking, staring.

His eyes were pointed at you like a viewfinder in a gun.

He was sat at a table alone, an empty beer bottle clutched in one hand, and the other one relaxed on his leg.

He looked focused, like a tiger watching a gazelle.

His salt and pepper beard suggested he was older, and so did the lines across his forehead.

But most of all... his eyes were the tell.

His deep brown eyes staring back at yo-

shit

You turned away.

Fuck

I was staring at him,

You clutched your purse to leave, but a voice stopped you in your tracks.

"hi sweetheart"

He sounded exactly how you'd imagined.

You turned to him, your eyes glimmering with shame

"hi" you breathed "Sorry if I bothered you"

He chuckled "A pretty thing like you could never bother me"

he sat down "Besides," he said "I was staring at you first"

You forced a chuckle as an awkward silence fell between you.

"I saw your friend left," he said, sitting down on the stool next to you,

"yeah" You nodded "She does that a lot"

"that's too bad" he cooed "well maybe not entirely" he considered, something switching in his tone.

"What's your name sweetheart?"

"I-I'm y/n"

"y/n" he let your name roll out his mouth with ease "pretty name for a pretty lady" he commented, "I'm Joel"

"nice to meet you" you mumbled, stumbling over your own words.

Was he coming onto you?

"the pleasure's all mine darling"

He definitely was

But, like... why?

"I'm sorry-do you- do you know my friend?"

He grinned, his white teeth showing "no,"

"she didn't like, tell you to come here or anything?"

A small laugh fled his throat "no sweetheart"

"oh" you breathed "so you came here 'cause..." you trailed off,

" 'cause you caught my eye from the moment you entered, and when I saw your friend leave you here all alone, I couldn't not offer a bit of company"

You felt a shy smile spill from your lips

" 'got a pretty smile angel" he smirked

"t-thank you"

He chuckled again "Why are you so nervous sweetheart?" he asked, his hand traveling to your thigh and stopping all oxygen from getting to your lungs "Is it me? Am I so scary?" his voice got lower as he inched closer "I don't bite y'know?" he joked "not unless you want me to"

A small gasp fled your throat, making him chuckle.

"what is it, angel?"

"I-I'm sorry I'm just not- used to this"

"Now I don't believe that" he murmured "A sweet thing like you?"

"I just-"

"What?"

"nevermind"

"If you want we could go back to my place, and you can tell me all about it with a little more privacy" he suggested, "what do you say?"

Your cheeks were as red as the fire burning in his eyes.

"I-" you stuttered

"I can show you a good time angel"

"I'm sorry" you breathed, leaning away "I'm-I'm sorry I have to go to the bathroom" You stumbled over your own words, clutching your purse and rushing off the stool and through the groups of people in the club.

You didn't even realize you were bumping and hitting every person in your trajectory as all you were focused on was that damn door right in the corner.

Oh my god, what felt like the first actual breath you'd taken in ten full minutes, finally left your mouth as you entered the bathroom.

"oh my god," you mumbled to yourself, walking to the sink to look at your reflection in the mirror.

"what the fuck was that?" you sighed

Am I dreaming? Is that it?

If that's it this is not funny brain.

I'm so confused,

This is... I mean this is just-

What the fuck is this?

He's hot. Like hot hot and I'm... You looked at yourself, and I'm me.

You took a deep breath, looking around you.

The green stalls were empty, and the music was still blaring from the other side of the door.

You could still picture him, feel him. He was so close to you, and you could feel every molecule of your being dancing as his hand remained on your leg.

God, what the fuck

I don't even know how old he is.

And just then, the door opened.

You turned the faucet on to pretend to be washing your hands, but a voice startled you.

"there you are"

Your eyes snapped open

"T-This is the women's bathroom"

Joel smirked, "you thought you could get away from me that easily?" he asked, taking a step towards you.

"I-" you took a step back, but he followed.

"I was being nice there," he said "complimented you and shit"

Your back was to a stall and he was right before you.

"and what did you do?" he asked "you ran"

"I didn't mean to, I was j-"

"what, angel?" he mocked "You got shy?"

"well don't you worry" His hand went to your chin, tilting it up "I'll fix that right up" He took another step, imprisoning you "I'll help you out sweetheart, mh?"

Your mouth gaped open to say something, but before you could, his lips were on yours, and his hands on your back were forcing you flush against him.

His tongue moved into your mouth as he quite literally shoved you into the stall behind you, pressing you against the closed door.

"thought you could get away from me?" he growled, kissing your neck as his hands roamed on your body, one of them roughly grabbing your ass "Thought I was just gonna let you go?" he asked, now looking at you.

"oh no angel" he kissed your mouth "I have to have you" he murmured "And I will" He kissed you again, and this time, you found yourself reciprocating.

This was wrong and scary and weird, and still... countless butterflies filled your belly.

"there you go" he praised you "That's a good girl" He moved some hair out of your face " 'knew you wanted this too," he said "knew you'd be good, angel" He smirked before you felt his hands go to your waist.

"turn around for me"

With a little push from him, you did, finding your cheek flush against the door.

"god baby" his hands took in every inch of you, adoration clear in his tone "Wanted to fuck this body of yours since I first saw you" he explained, as he slowly rolled your dress up to your waist until only your panties were left to cover you.

"it's what you wanted too, isn't it," he asked, suddenly grabbing your arms to force them together behind your back "You wanted to be fucked like a little slut didn't you?" he continued as his hand pulled your panties down, the cold hitting your core "didn't you angel?" he urged, his grip tightening as he kissed your neck again.

"I-" You didn't know what to say. you were feeling too many things at once.

"Tell me you want this" he breathed, and you heard his zipper being undone.

"tell me you want this angel," he asked again, his hot breath on the skin of your neck "C'mon, I know you do"

" I do" you admitted, and you felt him smirk.

"that's right" He nodded, positioning himself at your entrance "and you're gonna get it" he promised, pushing himself into you hard.

"fuck" Your moan resembled more of a scream as you tightened your fists on your back

"What angel, can't take it?" he taunted, speeding up " 's too big for you little slut?"

"y-yes" you begged, making him chuckle "I can't take it"

"yes you can" he groaned "You're gonna take it all in this little tight pussy and you're not gonna complain about it, understand?"

"understand?" he asked again, his threatening voice spilling in your ear.

"y-yes I'm sorry"

"good girl" he praised, resuming his violent pace, as a cry fled your mouth and tears filled your eyes.

He smacked your ass and you gasped, but before you could let out a moan, his hand covered your mouth.

The door had opened, and two women had walked in.

"we gotta be quiet, angel" he whispered to your ear

"can you be quiet for me?"

"can you be a good little girl and keep that pretty mouth shut for me?

"mh-mh" you nodded, your breathing made difficult by his hand on your mouth

"atta girl," he said, still fucking you, but much slower, and to your dismay, much deeper.

He was hitting undiscovered spots inside of you, and the mix of the pain from his cock stretching you with the pleasure of each thrust was making it really hard not to moan.

"fuck" he groaned softly in your ear "You've got the tightest little pussy angel," he said "Squeezing me so good" he breathed " like it's made for me"

You whined

"Like you were made to be my little slut" he whispered "and have this little cunt abused by my cock"

Your eyes were wide shut, your orgasm approaching as he kept hitting you so fucking well.

"you coming angel?" he asked and you nodded "We're gonna come together" he purred "I'm gonna fill you up real good" his breathing was ragged "and then you're gonna get out there and dance with my come leaking down your thighs"

"you understand?"

You nodded

"no cleaning up," he said "I want everyone to know how much of a slut you are"

The women's voices resumed. Or maybe they never stopped. You had no idea of what was happening beside your impending orgasm.

"fuck" he groaned "Such a good fucking slut" he whispered, his head falling in the crook of your neck, as the door opened again and the women finally got out.

His hand left your mouth

"you coming angel?"

"y-yes"

"then let it all out baby"

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eldesperadont · 8 months

Text

@ AEW GIRLIES (gn) who are interested in NJPW lore

with All In coming up, I need fans that only know Kota as Kennys insane boyfriend and Jay as the silly Bullet Club bastard to know about their history with each other (and Kenny/Hangman) which spans 5 years at this point, even more if you count in Jays time as a trainee in njpw (2015/16), so he like.. watched and learned from them all – anyways lets go with the rambling recap

Starting with Jays first title win and how it came to that: early 2018, Kenny was in the midst of a power struggle in Bullet Club, his relationship with Cody was getting more strenuous by the day and the non Elite BC members were getting tired of their BS.

Kenny, trying to legitimise his position as a leader, thought recruiting new promising talent to his side would help, so he offered a young Switchblade Jay White “the opportunity of a lifetime”.

Jay accepted, only to attack him right after, and with that nothing could stop the threads holding Kennys BC together from rapidly unravelling.

Kenny would lose his US Heavyweight Championship to White soon after, and in the aftermath of the match even more. Hangman, finally taking a step out of his friend's shadow, got all up in Jays space, snatched the belt and obviously implied a challenge, but Kenny wouldnt have any of that. He pushed Adam aside and gave Jay his price back. (to the surprise of the crowd who expected Kenny to be more bitter apparently lol)

Enter Cody. Opportunistic and sinister as he was at the time he immediately stoked the flames, snapping at Kenny why he wouldnt let Hangman have that moment.

They seem to talk it out but whoops, Cody attacks Kenny after all, Adam helping him.

They are about to lay him out as Ibushi runs to Kennys aid, finally giving us the reunion people have been waiting for years.

In the following months a lot happens, Adam gets his match with Jay (and is read to filth by him - it’s essential to watch that promo, here) but doesnt succeed, the Golden Lovers and Young Bucks have an emotional feud, Cody continues being a menace with Hangman at his side, Kenny finally wins the IWGP Heavyweight belt, the Golden Elite was formed, Cody is a sad lil bitch now, they were all kinda friends again, oh and Bullet Club split fr*.

[*On one side you had Kenny and his friends, on the other BC originals Bad Luck Fale, Tama Tonga plus his younger brothers and technically their dad? Things were kinda messy but thats technically the BC that stayed in Japan and made Jay White their leader. The last real appearance of the Elite as BC was at the inaugural All In, their indie PPV.]

Alright end of 2018/beginning of 2019 - Kenny loses his IWGP belt at Wrestle Kingdom (njpws wrestlemania) and quietly leaves NJPW with the Bucks, Cody and Hangman, starting AEW (things behind the scenes didnt work out as expected and nooj didn’t wanna cooperate with them at first)

So yeah. Ibushi. He was all alone again, but in the summer of 2019 finally manages what he was so close to in the previous year: winning the G1 tournament.

He faced Jay White in the finals, who at that point firmly held Kennys position as Bullet Club leader and is the top gaijin of the company.

Both him and Ibushi were together with Kazuchika Okada and Tetsuya Naito the top of NJPW. And all four would be involved in the main events of the following Wrestle Kingdom. Jay and Okada as titleholders, Naito and Ibushi as challengers.

Well neither Jay or Kota came out victorious on the first WK night, but the following day, in a match for third place, Jay defeated Ibushi, making the latter the biggest loser of the event,,

Covid caused quite a mess in the following months - their next singles meeting wouldn't be till late 2020, during that years G1, where Jay gets another win over the Golden Star

but is unable to reach the finals, in contrast to Ibushi, who wins the whole tournament for a second time.

Jay doesn't wait and immediately brings up Kotas loss to him, demanding a match for the WK contract he's just won.

Alright bada bing bada boom Ibushi-

LOSES??

Yeah to the shock of everyone Jay actually managed to put himself in the main event for the following WK, thinking he'll face double champ Naito to dethrone him .. but Naito still wanted to face the G1 winner so Kota got his title shot regardless lol

so yeah we got Ibushi vs Naito on night one, and whoever wins that on day two against Jay

In complete contrast to the previous WK Ibushi would not only be victorious on the first night, but also finally beat Jay for good, becoming the undisputed double champ, and God. (their words not mine)

Which absolutely broke White, giving us a glimpse at whats really going on in the "Switchblade". He's so obsessed with success, finally wanting HIS moment, his era, and despite everything he's sacrificed it doesn't seem to happen..

(pls watch the whole promo, its an insane performance)

He'd show up for one last "contractually obligated" match, battered and bruised, taking the pin in a multiman tag match between Bullet Club and Chaos, before leaving everyone in the dark for month about whats next for him.

He'd stick with NJPW for two more years, returning even more unhinged than he already was.

Kota would go on with his reign as double champ, till NJPW unified the titles to create the IWGP World Championship (a highly unpopular move with the fans), which he's the inaugural champion for.

Jay would try his best in the New Japan Cup in hopes of getting another shot at Ibushi, but fall short in the quarterfinals - new focus new goal, he goes for the NEVER Openweight title, and becomes the first ever NJPW "Quadruple Crown" champ, having already held the IWGP US, Heavyweight and Intercontinental Championship at that point.

Ibushi, now with the IWGP World Championship, has his first proper defense with the new singles belt .. and loses to 2021 NJ Cup winner Will Ospreay, cutting his reign shorter than anyone expected.

His bad luck doesnt end there tho, despite making it to the G1 finals for the fourth time in a row, he breaks his arm in said match and is unable to continue. He'll not appear in a NJPW ring again. Mistreatment by staff which caused serious trouble in his private life has him decide against re-signing with the company.

Jay in the meantime would shake things up overseas, defending his NEVER title, debut in IMPACT, be on weird terms with the Elite, lose the NEVER title, debut in AEW, oh and not return to Japan. For a full year, missing out on key events, which had even his BC mates start asking questions.

After some rearranging within the club (kicking out old and recruiting new members) he’d finally return to Japan in the summer of 2022, swiftly dethroning IWGP World champ Okada, Jays last title reign in NJPW (youve might seen his first defence, at Forbidden door against Hangman, Cole and Okada).

He’d hold the title till early 2023 and in good old switchblade fashion be this 👌 close to realising his errors, only to blame everyone else and lose his mind over it, getting involved in a “loser leaves Japan” match against Hikuleo (who had turned his back on Jay) and afterwards, cause that somehow wasnt enough, a “loser leaves NJPW” match against Eddie Kingston. And thats how we got Jay White in AEW, mf is in exile and acts like nothing ever happened lmao

Ibushi, whos last match had been in October 2021, would finally return to the ring in March 2023, at Josh Barnetts 9th Bloodsport event, and make his AEW debut at Blood and Guts, reuniting with Kenny, the Bucks and Hangman as the Golden Elite :)

So yeah both Kota and Jay had quite different paths (that crossed a lot) towards AEW, and as someone who's been watching them for so long now I'm absolutely giddy to see them face one another again - if youd have told me a year ago that I'd get to see Kota and Jay in the same ring again, cause of KENNY of all things, I'd have imploded on the spot (positive)

📷 picture credit: NJPW World, one pic from Jays Instagram, one impact thumbnail and one aew thumbnail

‼️ feel free to ask about anything / correct me on info or spelling mistakes, english is not my mother tongue and im disabled so sometimes i mess things up

#hi i have a lot of feelings about seeing them at all in #jay white #kota ibushi #kenny omega #adam page #aew all in #aew #njpw #bullet club #wrestling thoughts tm

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hazelsmirrorball · 7 months

Text

Undercover Spider-Woman | Hazel Callahan

Spider-woman! Hazel Callahan x fem! Reader, loser! Hazel x Fem! Reader Summary: PJ decides to do a Fight Club Halloween Party and Hazel has no choice but to wear her superhero costume. Warnings: english isn’t my main language, not proof-read,fighting, spicy? a/n: first bottoms imagine! Hope you guys like it, I’ll probably do more parts and I might do more Hazel one shots! I really hope I’m not shadow banned! Thank you

part two

October 31s, Halloween. A perfect excuse for teenagers to get drunk out of their minds while dressing up without being judged. Couples would go in matching costumes or go to haunted houses. Little kids would go trick or treating and the fight club, well they were making this halloween one to remember. Usually people would hang out, go to parties but since this year October 31st came around a week day, those plans were out of the picture. Plus adding to the fact that none of them were that popular to be invited to a party , excluding Brittney, Isabel and Y/n. The fight club, specifically PJ, made it their mission to make this halloween one for the books.

Hazel could hear the faint music playing from inside the gym as she paced back and forth debating if it even was a good idea to stumble in these conditions. She could risk everything she had been hiding so well since sophomore year for a party. Hazel took a deep breath taking her mask off and pushing it inside her bag as she felt her bangs covering her face. She anxiously licked her lips feeling the metallic flavor overpowering her tongue as she hesitated to push open the big gym doors. Her glove covered hands hovered against the door as she thought if it was a good idea to go inside in the first place.

What was PJ’s wonderful idea of making Halloween one for the books, you may ask? Fight Club with costumes. She made it her mission to sell the idea really well, but who wouldn’t like to have girls fighting in slutty costumes, heaven on earth,or at least that’s what PJ said.

Hazel didn’t have anything against the party, she loved the idea of hanging out with her friends on halloween. She finally clicked with a group of friends good enough to celebrate a holiday together. Hazel was ecstatic, she had made it her mission to make the perfect Anakin Skywaker costume, which she had succeeded perfectly. She had slept the night before with her costume freshly dry cleaned next to her. But her plans got destroyed when Green Goblin decided to show up and ruin her day by turning the city into his playground. Who would’ve known that Halloween was going to be a crime filled day. Hazel had managed to leave everything in perfect conditions with ease leaving just in time for the party. But just not in time for her to change out of her suit into her Anakin costume.

So that’s how she found herself waiting outside of the gym doors in her spider woman suit. Her face was covered in bruises from the fight before and her hair was sweaty and messy due to it being stuck in her suit for a long time. It wasn’t that she looked bad in her suit, it gave her power, made her unrecognizable. She wasn’t that nerdy little girl that people would stomp over. She was a badass that saved the world. She was a good superhero and she looked good doing her job. The red and blue suit would drive people crazy. She had even caught PJ and Josie gushing over her on a daily basis, but what if it slipped?

The suit wasn’t one of those cheap costumes you could find in a store for under 30 dollars. It was a high tech suit that could kill someone in an instant and wearing that suit for a fight club meeting drove her insane. She worried on a daily basis that she could easily murder a girl with a blink of an eye, but now, with her suit on, it just made things even more difficult. Wall crawling, superhuman strength, speed, reflexes, spider senses, spiderwebs and healing factors, all open for everyone to see.

Hazel took one last breath while pushing the doors open. She let out a cough as smoke filled her nostrils, taking her by surprise. As she looked around, she noticed the usual bright lights of the gym were now red while smoke came from a smoke machine not far away from the door. Hazel chuckled, feeling the nerves quickly ease off, as she looked at her friends standing near a makeshift snack table. PJ did outdid herself.

“Well look who decided to finally show up... Wait, is that the costume you made? Dude I actually thought you were going to do a crappy Anakin costume like last year. You have improved so much, this shit is so fucking cool, way better than the store one’s” PJ said as she pushed down her sunglasses to take a better look. Hazel let out a nervous chuckle thinking of what words to say, but nothing came out. She looked at PJ taking in her costume, noticing the familiar men and black, lanyard hanging from her black suit pocket.

“It makes you look super hot, Hazel! You even have an ass!” Sylvie exclaimed, taking off her scream mask while biting onto her fake knife. Hazel blushed, hiding her face behind her hands. If she had one more comment directed her way she was going to lose it.

“No, but like PJ is right. This looks really good. How did you even make this look so good? It looks like the real thing.” Josie added as she circled Hazel around taking in her costume. Hazel's eyes wandered as she shook her head, scoffing.

“Please, how would you even know what it looks like, if you haven’t seen the real one.” Hazel said as she took a cup of punch gulping it down to ease her nerves. She wasn’t going to outlive this night.

“Because Y/n bought a Spider-Woman costume and it looks like shit compared to yours. No offense, Y/n. Your ass still looks good though. ” PJ yelled, pointing at Y/n, who was standing a few feet away from her.

Her body was adorned with a tight low quality version of the suit Hazel was wearing. But Hazel found herself staring in awe, not being able to move one bit. Hazel scanned every inch of Y/n Osborn's body taking a mental picture of her to remember in the future.

Y/n Osborn had been Hazel’s crush ever since she understood what liking someone more than friends meant. She was Hazel’s everything, yet she wasn’t aware of that. They shared countless classes together but Hazel couldn’t even address her without turning into a nervous wreck. Fight Club had changed Hazel’s opportunities, when she had seen Y/n walk through those gym doors, she knew that at least a friendship would come out and she wasn’t completely wrong. Y/n did talk to Hazel, but Hazel didn’t talk back. She managed to mumble responses but that was about it. When it came to Y/n, Hazel felt like she was never bitten by a radioactive spider and that she was the same loser she had been all her life.

But now seeing her in that outfit, wearing her iconic colors. Her hair moved softly because of the wind that came from the smoke machine. The red light outlining her body made Hazel go insane, she really was not surviving October 31st but if she didn’t she was going to leave with that image of Y/n engraved in the back of her head.

“Shut up, PJ! It’s not my fault that this was the only thing that they were selling.I didn’t know that Hazel was going to show up in a better quality looking costume. I thought it looked good in the costume” Y/n muttered as she placed down a bag full of candy on the table. Brittany tapped her back for support as the rest of the girls looked back and forth between the two Spider-woman costumes.

“You know what! Since we are all here, let’s get to business” Josie said as she walked towards the makeshift fighting mat that was in the middle of the gym. The girls followed close behind leaving Y/n and Hazel near the table. Y/n leaned down as searched for something in her bag which didn’t go unnoticed by Hazel. She took a deep breath quickly biting her lip before she could say something that could worsen the situation. As she looked for a notebook and a pen for notes, her eyes never left Y/n’s body. She took all the strength in her body to walk towards her and place her hand on Y/n’s lower back leaning with her. Hazel lips lightly grazed on her ear as she felt Y/n’s body tensed as she gripped harder on the thing she was searching for in her tote bag.

“I think you look fucking hot in that costume.” Hazel responded by tapping her back and moving away towards the group of girls like nothing. Y/n gulped, taken aback by Hazel’s actions not used to this side of her. She cleared her throat jogging towards the girls sitting in between Josie and Sylvie, avoiding the hungry look Hazel was giving her. If Hazel knew that wearing the suit with Y/n was going to change the way she acted with her, she would’ve worn it to school years ago.

“Well, let’s make this fun. Spider-Woman vs. Cheap Spider-girl” PJ exclaimed pushing Hazel out of her thoughts as she noticed Y/n groan and get up glaring at her. Hazel followed standing in front of her, but different from the other times she fought with her, she didn’t break eye contact with her sending her a cocky smile.

"Could you please drop it already, PJ? I get it, it's a shitty costume" Y/n muttered, as she sent a glare towards PJ, trying to avoid Hazel's haunting gaze.

PJ shook her off, wiggling her eyebrows while pointing towards Hazel. Y/n quickly adverted her eyes towards her noticing how Hazel slipped her mask on up to her nose making it possible for her to see her pearly whites. Y/n raised an eyebrow, confused by the sudden change in Hazel’s actions, used to the girl being deadly afraid of looking her in the eye. The girl that was used to being a blushing mes with her stood tall smirking down at her. Before Y/n could even process what was going let alone swing a punch, she felt her body smash against the floor, her body being pinned down by Hazel.

Hazel's thighs pinched her into place making it impossible for her to move. Hazel hands pushed Y/n's hands on top of her head as she leaned towards her. Hazel’s chain slowly moved up and down Y/n’s face as she struggled to get Hazel's body off hers, she had done it before, why was it so hard now? Seeing Hazel in this new angle made her nervous. Her once sweet eyes were full of something Y/n couldn’t describe, Hazel’s agitated breaths made her loose concentration as her masked eyes scanned her face with a proud grin on her face. She wanted to punch that cocky grin out of her face.

“Oh, see, the cheap costume is losing. Punch her already, Hazel! End her.” PJ exclaimed, clapping, making Hazel chuckle. The other girls yelled at Hazel encouraging her to finish the job. Maybe it was the sudden glory she felt, the suit, the hollers and Y/n being under her in her suit, made Hazel feel like one of her dreams was finally coming through. The things she kept hidden in her bedroom was finally happening.

Y/n noticed how Hazel was far gone taking advantage off this already pissed out of her mind. Y/n wrapped her leg around Hazel’s waist taking her by surprise. She quickly took over turning them around making Hazel face the floor while Y/n straddled her. She leaned towards her, her lips grazing softly over her cheek.

“I think I like this position better.” She said softly into Hazel's ear, making her warm inside. Hazel wasn’t going to lie and say that she didn’t like this position, but she felt powerful with the suit. She was going to be on top. Hazel with ease pushed Y/n off her straddling her once again, smiling at her.

“I guess a little change doesn’t hurt once in a while.” She responded by making Y/n roll her eyes.

“Hey! Stop with the porno and hit each other already” Sylvie yelled making Hazel punch Y/n straight in the nose.

“Fuck!” Y/n yelled, holding onto her nose as blood started trailing out like a water stream. Hazel quickly got off her, her once confident persona slipping away. As she slipped the mask off she could see how Y/n stood up coughing the blood out of her lips.

“Shit, Hazel! We didn’t tell you to kill her” Josie exclaimed, helping Y/n up. She shakes her shrugging it off.

“It’s okay! I’m usually the one that beats Hazel. I guess tonight was her comeback” Y/n said laughing softly as she stopped the blood flowing with a piece of Isabel shirt she had managed to rip off. Hazel knew it wasn’t fine and that she could’ve killed Y/n if she hit her just a little bit harder.

“I’ll take her to the bathroom. Help her clean up while you guys continue. Keep the party going” Hazel managed to get out as she took Y/n away from Josie’s grasp leading her to the bathroom.

Y/n stayed quiet as she sat on the sink whilst Hazel nervously cleaned her probably broken nose. A smile adorned her lips when she noticed that Hazel wouldn’t dare to look at her, her Hazel was back.

“Why are you smiling?” Hazel asked, dropping the tissues of the trash can watching the bloody mouth smiling towards her.

“I was worried that my nervous little Hazel was gone, but I guess she’s back. Got worried for a second. ” She replied as she inspected Hazel. Hazel turned away blushing as she leaned against the door behind her, nearly falling back.

“I’m really sorry about your nose. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard” Hazel replied quickly while gaining her balance. Y/n shook her off while getting down from the sink.

“It’s no problem, finally you stopped being soft with me. I was starting to believe you didn’t want to hit my pretty little face” She replied sarcastically as she headed towards Hazel. Her hand pushed off the bangs from her face making her see Hazel’s features better. Y/n slowly moved closer to her but stopped dead in her tracks when both her and Hazel's phone vibrated. She quickly moved away looking at her phone while Hazel cleared her throat looking at hers, seeing the notification that Green Goblin was on the loose.

“I really need to go! But please text me if you are feeling better! I really am sorry” She said quickly as she noticed Y/n also running towards the door.

“Yeah, it’s no problem! I also have to go, my dad wants me to help him with work” Y/n said as she followed Hazel outside. Both of the girls looked at each other parting ways not knowing that in a few minutes they were going to face each other once again but this time to battle against death.

part two

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sprainedwriting · 23 days

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I'm absolutely EATING UP your collegeAU!Adam, he would treat me so wrong but whatever. But I was wondering, what kind of social status does Adam have in university? Is he the kind of really popular frat boy who every girl wants to sleep with and who's always surrounded by friends? Or is he the type of popular who thinks he's the shit but everybody dislikes (and they even say it to him lmao). Or maybe just kind of a loser but the confident type? Sorry if this question is specific, I kinda wanna know more about your Adam I love him 😭

I headcanon a possible collegeAU!Adam as a sort of Stifler from AP, he is popular-ish, some girls really do wanna sleep with him, but he's really unlikable and in the end he doesn't have that many friends 😳

Love your work btw! <3

omg thank you so much!! i have lots of thoughts about college au adam so i love getting questions!!

i thought about addressing this in the fic actually so like spoiler i guess?? but also who knows when i will continue writing it 🥲

i think he’s popular with the ladies and i mean that. i genuinely think adam can be very charismatic if he wants to be. on the other hand he DOES NOT get along with other men. at all. he straight up doesn’t acknowledge them and if he does it’s to down talk them badly

hes still best friends with lute ofc <3

adam can easily be the life of every party and gathering, he’s very much able to bring good vibes where ever he goes

so i think lots of guys also just hate him simply out of jealousy??

with his band mates it can be a very tense atmosphere, he founded the band and he’s main guitarist and singer. he’s always the main focus point. since he also founded it he gets very pissed when they don’t do what he wants to do. it’s very clearly not a democracy there 😭😭 they’re very popular tho!!!!

another plus point with adam, which girls love, is actually the fact he doesn’t kiss and tell. sure he gets with a lot of girls but *he* actually never name drops anyone. he has crude af nicknames for them but that’s about it. the only exception is lute she knows every detail and she does judge the girls hard

i kept like trying to incorporate the exorcists into the world AND I FINALLY GOT IT. adam and lute run a female self defence club. some sort of marital art idk which one yet. they even go to tournaments and stuff sometimes!! adam actually doesn’t sleep with any of these girls once they join because both lute and sera (the chancellor of the uni) forbid him from it. the fact that he’s a decent trainer also makes him lowkey hot….

#ask #hazbin hotel adam x reader #adam ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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s1nk1ngst4rg1irl · 2 months

Text

PROLOGUE◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻

╰┈➤how you became nekomas manager, or how kuroo bullied you into taking the position.

╰┈➤NOTES: hehe

╰┈➤WARNINGS: boobi talk and surgery, also swearing!!

╰┈➤masterlist

Kai introduced you to him, or rather he shoved him into you. You were just walking though what you presumed to be a safe hallway trying to get by till graduation without dying, not a booby trapped danger zone where people got jumpscared by some lanky dude with a serious case of bed hair, but there you were under him. He wormed off of you and offered a hand, which you begrudgingly took in yours, pulling yourself up and adjusting your shirt.

“Have you ever thought about breast surgery?” Kuroo deadpanned, looking down at you.

“Dude, what the everloving fuck.”

“Maybe you were too busy looking down at them to see where you were walking, i get it-their very distracti-” your fist connected with his face before you understood what was happening.

That's how you met Kuroo, with a breast reduction and a black eye. The counselor made sure you guided Kuroo around school during this ‘tough time’ for his vision. Dragging him around school and unknowingly allowing him to trip down small flights of stairs turned into study sessions which turned into meet ups for non school reasons. You'd even go as far to say, you and him were friends.

So when he asked for you to be manager of the Nekoma volleyball club on a warm sunny day while snarfing down more than his share a bag of chips what else could you say but

“hell no. Sweaty stinky guys asking me to carry around their shit and bandage their booboos? No thanks dude”

Kuroo buried himself deeper into the pile of plushies he was laying on- and getting crumbs all over, groaning.

“Come onnnnn, Y/NNNN, it'll be fun, plus we haven't had a female manager in forever, the upperclassmen will totally love me-and you!.”

“That's exactly what I'm afraid of, plus I don't feel like doing you any favors after what you did to my maths notes” you sniffled.

“I didn't mean to drop them, it just happened ok?? Plus I bought you that keychain you wanted so we’re even.”

“Kuroo, you could bring me Yaku’s diary and that still wouldn't make up for you dropping my notebook into a shit filled toilet.”

“Accidentally dropping your notebook into a shit filled toilet.”

“Who even studies in a fucking toilet??”

“Well first of all you could benefit from some toilet study sessions and second of all it was a shit, people do weirder things all the time when they shit.”

“Have I ever told you you're a huge nerd?”

“Yeah, like every day so will you be the manager already??” you mull it over for a few seconds, weighing out pros and cons, hard work, running, but also there might be a few cute guys, and you needed some boosts for a college resume.. what could be the harm, you needed something other than binge watching shameless to do after school anyway.

“.... fine. One condition though.” he perked up, sending potato chip pieces flying all over your carpet.

“Anythin’”

“Clean your crumbs off my shit, and get me a new notebook- a new set of notebooks.”

“That's two conditions, babe.” maybe this was a bad idea

“You want a manager or not dawg.”

“Ok! Calm your overly large tits, maybe its the back pain making you angry-” he dodges the empty cookie tin you chuck at him. stupid athlete reflexes.

“Shut the fuck up loser.”

“-there you go again! Ok- ok- i can always massage them iif they hurt that ba-ok!!!! Point taken! Wheres you dustpan?” yeah. This was a bad idea.

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mcyt-trios · 7 months

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PROPAGANDA:

Team Zit:

Separate, they are insane. Together, they are even more insane and egg each other on plus bonus funny noises, jokes, and redstone.

Umm my little redstone science freaks teehee <3

Everyone looks at them and assumes that Impulse is the one in control, that he’s the one who’s got his shit together and has to reel the other two in but he isn’t. He really isn’t lmfao. Two redstone geniuses and a mad scientist but when they’re in the same room together all of their collective braincells go fleeing in terror.

Champions of the first season of Hardcore Hermits, even though they were the only team playing without natural regeneration! They're a platonic trio but sometimes joke about each other in a way that's on the edge of what is appropriate for Hermitcraft.

Broken Hearts Club:

martyn and ren take every chance to be dramatic and pearl takes every chance to be chaotic. they work well together they all got minecraft cheated on

they're just sad little guys. One of them is absolutely deranged, another has voices in his head and the last one has no filter in his speech /aff Also, BURN THE LOG! CROACK THE FROG! PET THE DOG!

These people are just.. losers.. (or 'loose cannons' as Pearl and Martyn call themselves). They're sopping wet cats who were ABANDONED by their soul mates. Saddest, wettest cat trio.

#mcyt-trios #mcytblr trio bracket #polls #round 2

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daintylovers · 2 years

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thinkin bout mike with the popular girl and the relationship is so perfect bc they’re on such different parts of the social ladder 😵‍💫😵‍💫 she’s his perfect girl and he is head over heels for bee

YES YES YES IMMEDIATELY YES

i am 100,000% in support of this trope.

cause mike is a loser alright. like the lowest of the low on the totem pole. and you being the sweetheart of hawkins high really does it for him. at first you’re just a fantasy, someone he has wet dreams over. and then when you guys get partnered in anatomy (wink wink nudge fucking nudge) his tiny little wimpy heart gives out. he tries to display that careless attitude, but one afternoon with you has him melting. he has it bad for you. what he doesn’t know is that little miss perfect, also had been eyeing him for quite some time.

you guys become an item about a month into having the class together. you can actually thank the teacher for you guys being sat near each other every time. (it’s me, im the teacher) you guys are seen holding hands while walking down the hall, and kissing behind the school.

originally mike wanted to use the forest as your little rendezvous spot, but eddie quickly squashed that idea. stating “absolutely not. i will not have my place of work tarnished by your penis mike wheeler.” (love him fr)

you get him out of his comfort zone. while he teaches you all about dnd. most of the time you don’t really pay attention but he doesn’t care because every time you waltz into hellfire club all the boys drool and when you sit on his lap, you can feel the jealousy in the room. he has what everyone else wants. and you actually want to spend time with him?? it’s like someone read his diary and produced his dream girl.

don’t even get me started on when you asked to wear his hellfire shirt to school. he was trying to persuade you NOT to, not because he didn’t want you too, but because he was worried you’re reputation would be screwed. but you always get what you want. nobody said much about it (to your face), only eddie who told you that you didn’t look half bad in it but to never wear it again because he can’t have a cheerleader wearing his clubs attire. you didn’t listen to him, who can blame you? especially when that shirt smells like mike and is all soft and shit.

plus it’s not like you have anything to worry about. this mf gets no bitches, absolutely zero play. he’s the one who gets to be jealous. you have half the basketball team trying to shoot their shot (pun intended) and yet you still choose mike?? people still talk about it, like celebrity gossip in the halls.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #mike wheeler #mike wheeler x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader

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