#alt girl reader

[formulafanfics13]

can you do a lando x reader where they’re just starting to go out? Like normally she’s very sweet and quiet, doesn’t wear much makeup, and dresses more conservatively and all his friends are like dude are you sure you want to date her she’s like the opposite of you? He starts to doubt it, but they all go out to a popular club (that’s not in monaco) and he doesn’t remember it, but she had told him before that she was going to be there with some of her friends. they see her all baddie like and living her damn life. she’s made friends with everyone in there and everyone thinks she’s hot. she doesn’t even notice them until she’s somehow made her way up to the dj booth. meanwhile, lando and friends are like what the hell is going on. if you’re feeling like doing a bonus moment: they all end up at a popular edm festival and she’s like local icon and everyone is obsessed with her alt insta account where she posts her adventures.

she said she’d be there… - LN4 🔥

Masterlist

summary: you’ve been seeing lando for a few weeks. it’s sweet. soft. he texts first, he opens doors, he calls you “babe” without even thinking about it. but all his friends are confused. you’re quiet, lowkey, you dress like you own cardigans in six colours and listen to phoebe bridgers on purpose. lando starts wondering if they’re right — until one night, he walks into a packed nightclub and sees you holding court like a goddamn goddess.

warnings: light angst, clubbing, language, judgemental friends, reader glow-up, jealousy, implied smut, edm chaos, second person pov, fluff with a bit of edge, alt instagram baddie behaviour

It’s not that Lando doubts you. It’s just that everyone else seems to. And after a while, even the softest thoughts start to fray at the edges.

You’re… not what they expected. You’re polite. Shy. You wear light makeup, floral tops, and shoes that don’t try to grab attention. You say thank you to waiters. You don’t interrupt people. You tell Lando he’s clever when he opens a bottle of wine.

It’s all… very sweet. Too sweet, apparently.

“You’re sure you like her?” Max says one night over padel. “She’s kind of the opposite of what you usually go for.”

Oscar winces. “Yeah, she’s cute and all, but like- she doesn’t party.”

“She literally said she doesn’t drink that much,” Alex adds.

Even George fucking Russell has an opinion. “You’re kind of a… spotlight person. And she’s more… candlelight.”

Lando rolls his eyes. But later, alone, he thinks about it. Stares at his phone, your contact saved with a little purple heart. Thinks about how you’d blushed when he kissed your cheek in public. How you’d left his apartment in baggy sweatpants and a charity shop crewneck.

He doesn’t doubt you. He just… doesn’t know everything yet.

Maybe you’re not what he needs.

Then comes the club. It’s a popular spot just outside Barcelona. A driver-heavy afterparty, packed with too many flashing lights and overpriced drinks. Max has a table. Oscar has a headache. Lando has the beginnings of a bad mood and an even worse hangover waiting.

And then, “Wait,” Alex says. “Didn’t your girl say she’d be here?”

Lando blinks. “What?”

Alex grins. “I swear she mentioned it at dinner, right? Some of her uni friends booked this same club?”

Lando stiffens. He remembers. You’d said it, half-laughing, three nights ago over sushi. “I think we’re going to the same place on Saturday! Don’t worry- I won’t crash your boys' night.”

He’d laughed. And forgotten. Until now.

He sees you before anyone else does. Up on the platform near the DJ booth, arms in the air, black mini dress hugging every curve. Hair styled, makeup glowing, heels dangerous. You’re dancing like you own the place.

Correction: you do own the place.

Max gapes. “Wait. That’s her?”

Oscar chokes on his drink. “That’s not her.”

Alex stares. “Who is she with?”

The bouncer knows your name. The DJ fist-bumps you. Some girl from a reggaeton video is handing you a tequila shot.

Lando can’t breathe. You haven’t even seen him yet. Too busy laughing, hugging friends, chatting to strangers like you’ve known them for years. You move like you belong there, like the room was built for you. Not a single trace of shyness.

Not even a fucking cardigan in sight.

George mutters, “Holy shit.”

Lando’s mouth is dry. And then, you look up.

You spot him near the bar, surrounded by half the grid, jaw slack, expression stunned. He’s staring like he’s never seen you before. Like you’re some unreleased remix of a girl he thought he knew.

You smirk. Tilt your head. Hold his gaze. Then turn back to the crowd.

Lando nearly collapses.

Later that night, when you’re finally pressed against him in the back of the VIP section, your thigh draped over his lap and your lipstick smeared from all the kissing, he grips your hips and mutters, “You did that on purpose.”

You just grin. “I told you I was going out.”

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna look like that.”

“You didn’t ask.”

He groans into your neck, fingers curling around your thigh. “I was about to break up with you, you know.”

You hum. “Why didn’t you?”

He kisses your collarbone. “Because I’m an idiot. But not that much of one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “No? Even when George compared us to a candle and a spotlight?”

Lando pulls you closer.

Whispers, “You’re the fucking sun.”

Two weeks later, everyone ends up at an EDM festival in Lisbon. It’s chaos. The music’s loud. The outfits are wild. Max is somehow already drunk. And the crowd is buzzing about you, the alt insta girl with the 3am polaroids, the neon bucket hats, the thigh tattoos, the vintage rave looks.

You’ve got 200k followers and a highlight reel called “church 😈”

Every girl wants to be you. Every guy wants to talk to you. Lando just wants to fuck you in a tent.

Max watches in disbelief as three separate strangers ask to take pictures with you. “Bro. She’s like… a local legend.”

Oscar frowns. “Do I follow her account?”

George scrolls furiously. “How did I not know this?!”

Lando just shrugs, tugging you onto his lap. “I did.”

You grin. Then post a photo of him licking salt off your stomach with the caption “my soft launch 🧡”

[goodvampykitten]

when brittany broksi said “im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure”..yeah me everytime i see pedro pascal.

[rainstormies]

Bruised Knuckles | Eddie Munson

pairing: eddie x r!popular girl

fandom: stranger things

word count: 1,1k (oneshot)

synopsis: the metalhead and popular girl were never meant to make sense, so of course they did

song aesthetic: do i wanna know? by arctic monkeys

You’ve always hated Eddie Munson.

Or, more accurately, you’ve always pretended to. Because that’s what you were supposed to do. Because he was weird and loud and messy, and you were none of those things.

Because you wore cheer uniforms and lip gloss, and he wore leather and rings and looked like a wolf someone had barely bothered to house-train.

Because the first time you crossed paths freshman year, you bumped into him in the hallway, he made a dramatic show of checking if all his rings were still on his fingers, and then grinned and said, “Careful, princess. You might get glitter on my flannel.”

He’d held a grudge ever since, or maybe it was just a game to him. Every time you passed him, he’d whisper “Don’t trip over your perfection,” or tip an imaginary crown on his head and call you “Your Highness.” One time he’d called you a Stepford Wife. Loudly.

You told everyone you hated him.

But tonight… tonight is different.

Tonight you’re stuck in a group project for English with him — and you swear to god, fate is either cruel or bored. Everyone else paired up fast, and by the time you looked around, the only person left standing was Eddie.

You’d groaned. He’d clutched his chest like he’d been shot.

And now here you are. In his trailer. On his couch. Trying not to kill him.

“So,” he says, drumming his fingers against a notebook he hasn't opened. “Do you wanna actually work on this, or should we just stare at each other and try to psychically communicate how much we loathe one another?”

You glare. “Do you always have to talk like that?”

“Do you always have to talk like that?” he says, mimicking your voice with obnoxious precision.

You toss your pencil at him. It bounces off his chest, and he gasps. “Assaulted! In my own home!”

“God,” you mutter. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“You’re such a dictator.” He grins, flipping his notebook open finally. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. You read the book. I’ll pretend to care.”

“I’m not doing the whole thing myself.”

“I never said you had to,” he shrugs. “I just said I’d pretend. That’s called compromise.”

You grit your teeth. You knew this would be a nightmare. You’re not even sure what made you agree to come here — maybe the fact that your house is currently packed with your mom’s book club and their chain-smoking habits. Or maybe it’s because, as much as you hate to admit it, you were… curious. About Eddie.

Not in the way your friends accuse you of, when they say, “You like him, don’t you?” and you scoff and say, “Please.” But maybe in the way you’d wonder what he listened to when no one was around, or what it’d feel like to be the girl he was actually nice to.

He leans forward suddenly, his brown eyes surprisingly sharp. “Why do you hate me?”

You blink. “Why do I—? What kind of question—?”

“It’s just,” he interrupts, “you don’t seem to hate anyone else. Just me. And I’m curious.” His voice isn’t mocking now. Just low. Thoughtful. “Did I do something worse than I remember?”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

And for the first time ever, you answer honestly.

“I don’t hate you.”

His brows lift, and something like a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“Then why—?”

“Because if I didn’t,” you say quietly, “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

He doesn’t speak. Not for a full beat. Just looks at you.

Then: “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You laugh under your breath. “That’s sad.”

“I know.” He shifts forward slightly on the couch, the space between you shrinking just a fraction. “So… are we enemies, or what?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “Are you gonna help me write this essay?”

“No,” he says immediately.

You groan.

But then he grins. “But I’ll let you do it while I make you tea.”

You’re too startled to argue as he gets up and disappears into the kitchen.

He makes good on his promise, though. Ten minutes later, he’s back with two mugs — his has a chipped skull on it, yours is plain — and he sinks back onto the couch beside you like this is just what you do.

You sip the tea. It’s sweet. Cinnamon and honey. Too nice to admit you like it.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he says, eyes flickering toward yours. “I have a reputation.”

You smirk. “Of what?”

He leans closer. “Being unlovable.”

It’s a joke. You know it is.

But your heart thuds.

You look at him — really look at him. The long lashes, the curve of his mouth, the tiredness behind the charm. And something about being here, in his space, with nothing to perform for — it makes your chest ache a little.

“I don’t think that’s true,” you say quietly.

He freezes.

You bite your lip. “Maybe you just haven’t been loved right.”

He looks at you like you’ve said something dangerous.

And you suppose, maybe, you have.

The silence is thick.

You shift your legs, trying to get comfortable, and they bump into his. You don’t move them away.

He looks down. Then back at you.

“Are you flirting with me, princess?”

You smirk. “You wish.”

“Oh, I do,” he says easily. “More than I should.”

That throws you.

You stare at him, the blood in your veins humming. He notices.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, voice rough.

“Like what?”

“Like you might actually kiss me.”

You smile. “Why not?”

“Because I won’t stop you.”

Your heart trips.

You lean in first.

And he meets you halfway.

The kiss is softer than you expected. Less reckless, more real. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck like you might vanish if he’s not careful.

You melt into him. One arm around his shoulder, one hand still holding your tea mug, tilting awkwardly as he pulls you closer.

He kisses like he means it. Like he’s waited a long time to prove he can be gentle.

By the time you pull back, your face is warm and your brain feels fuzzy.

“See?” he says, his voice husky. “You don’t hate me.”

You rest your forehead against his. “Still not helping with the essay?”

“Absolutely not.”

You laugh, and he kisses you again, your smile pressed between both of your mouths.

So maybe he’s not unlovable. Maybe you just had to stop pretending he was.

And maybe you weren’t pretending to hate him, maybe you were just scared of how much you didn’t.

for anon who wanted an enemies to lovers<3

[s0ulja-g1rl]

Late-Night Drives & Mixtapes

Rodrick Heffley x Fem!Reader | Fluff | 1.2K words

The low rumble of Rodrick’s van was the only sound in the stillness of the night. The neon glow from passing streetlights cast fleeting shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel. You sat beside him, your legs tucked under you, basking in the comfortable silence that only came with being around him.

It was past midnight, and the world felt softer, slower, as Rodrick drove with no real destination in mind. The cool night air seeped through the cracked windows, carrying the scent of asphalt and pine. Your town always felt different at night—quieter, almost like it belonged to just the two of you.

Rodrick exhaled through his nose, tapping the dashboard with his palm. “Alright, Y/N, serious question,” he said, his voice scratchy from a mix of exhaustion and whatever energy drink he’d chugged before picking you up. “If you had to listen to only one band for the rest of your life—like, no skips, no variety—who would it be?”

You hummed, pretending to give it deep thought. “Löded Diper, obviously.”

Rodrick groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That doesn’t count. You’re just saying that ‘cause you feel bad for us.”

“Maybe.” You grinned. “But also, I like your music, okay? So sue me.”

He side-eyed you, lips twitching like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Instead, he flicked on the stereo, and the van filled with the opening chords of a song you didn’t recognize.

“What’s this?” you asked, shifting in your seat as the steady drumbeat kicked in.

Rodrick shrugged, gripping the wheel tighter. “Just a mix. You’ll like it.”

You didn’t miss the way his knuckles flexed, how his knee bounced as if he was waiting for you to say something. His usual cocky attitude was nowhere to be found—just nerves, poorly hidden under the dim glow of the dashboard.

You leaned closer, letting the song wash over you. It was a mix of classic rock and some heavier alternative stuff, but then, a song that was unmistakably different played through the speakers—something softer, melodic, almost sweet.

You turned your head slowly. “Rodrick… did you make this?”

He snorted. “What? A playlist? Yeah, Y/N, that’s not exactly rocket science.”

“No, I mean… for me?”

Rodrick drummed his fingers against the wheel, gaze fixed on the road ahead. “I dunno,” he muttered. “Maybe.”

A warmth spread through your chest, something soft and fluttery. You had known Rodrick for years, and despite his general ‘I don’t care’ attitude, there were always these moments where he’d surprise you—where he’d let that tough exterior slip just enough to show the messy, endearing boy underneath.

“Rodrick,” you pressed, smiling despite yourself. “Did you just make me a mixtape?”

“I didn’t put it on a tape, did I?” He groaned, but you saw the tips of his ears go pink. “Just—ugh, don’t make it weird, okay?”

You let out a small laugh, watching as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was so bad at this—at being soft, at admitting when he did something thoughtful—but that just made it all the more endearing.

“I love it,” you said simply, because you did.

Rodrick peeked at you, and the tension in his shoulders eased, just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of the engine and the music filling the space between you. The city lights faded as Rodrick turned onto an empty backroad, the kind lined with trees where the only illumination came from the headlights slicing through the dark.

He ran a hand through his already-messy hair. “Alright, your turn. One band for life—not Löded Diper.”

You tapped your chin dramatically. “Hmm… Nickelback.”

Rodrick gasped, swerving the van slightly. “Take that back.”

You cackled, throwing your head back. “Make me.”

Rodrick shot you a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky I don’t pull over and leave your ass on the side of the road.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you challenged, poking his arm. “You’d miss me too much.”

Rodrick rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” But his grip on the wheel tightened, and there was something softer in the way he glanced at you, in the way his lips parted like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t quite figure out how.

The mixtape—his mixtape for you—kept playing, the tracks bleeding into each other, each one carefully picked by him. It was so painfully obvious now, what this was. He hadn’t just thrown together a bunch of songs he liked.

He’d picked songs with meaning. Songs that told you things he didn’t know how to say.

The van rolled to a stop at the edge of a hill that overlooked the town. It was a spot the two of you had come to before, but tonight, it felt different. The lights below twinkled like tiny stars, and for the first time in a while, everything felt… easy.

Rodrick leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms before resting one over the back of yours. He was pretending to be casual about it, but you could feel the warmth of his fingers, just barely brushing your shoulder.

“You wanna know something?” he asked suddenly.

You turned to him, resting your cheek against the seat. “Always.”

Rodrick licked his lips, drumming his fingers absentmindedly against the dashboard. “I, uh… I don’t really do this. Like, the whole, y’know…” He waved a hand vaguely. “Feelings thing.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” you teased.

He shot you a look. “I’m being serious.”

“I know,” you said, a little softer this time. “Go on.”

Rodrick exhaled sharply, like he was bracing himself. “I just—look, I like having you around, okay?” He squirmed, like the words physically pained him. “And not in, like, a ‘you’re cool to hang out with’ way, but in a ‘shit, I think about you all the time and it’s annoying’ way.”

Your heart stuttered, heat creeping up your neck. “Rodrick—”

“Wait, I’m not done,” he interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before forcing himself to look at you. “I made the dumb mixtape because every time I hear a song I like, I wonder if you’d like it. And I wanna know what you think about it, and—ugh, this is so lame.”

You laughed, but it wasn’t mocking—it was light, breathless, because God, he was a mess, and it was adorable.

“Rodrick.” You reached over, slipping your fingers through his. His breath hitched, and he tensed, but he didn’t pull away.

“…Yeah?”

You squeezed his hand. “I think about you all the time, too.”

Rodrick blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

You grinned. “Yeah, idiot.”

For a second, all he did was stare at you like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, with a sudden burst of confidence, he leaned in.

The kiss was quick—just a hesitant brush of lips, warm and a little clumsy—but it made your stomach flip all the same. When he pulled back, his cheeks were red, and he was trying so hard to act cool about it.

“Well,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t terrible.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back in.

This time, he kissed you properly.

And if the mixtape continued playing softly in the background, with lyrics about love and late-night drives and stupid teenage feelings—well, neither of you were complaining.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Through time and space; you're mine- part 2.

Summary/requested; part 2 to the alt ending of 'the girl who shattered time'. (y/n) is sort've, lost, in this timeline where Tom never became the dark lord-but still made horcruxes, which were then 'born' to logically be with her in her era. and now; core Tom, or as he's now known, Voldemort, and his 'son' Thomas, want to see her.

she doesnt get a choice.

warnings; major age gap(like, 50ish years give or take for (y/n) and voldy/core Tom), unprotected sex, PinV sex, intentional baby trapping from all 3 Tom's, intense obsessive Tom's, read at own risk.

The girl who shattered time

Through time and space; you're mine.

=

Soon after ‘reuniting’ with Tom. She learns that ‘she’ and Tom had been dating for a long while. This timelines version of her had so many pictures of them together, hanging out every summer, him with her parents, her family, on dates.

It was cute, but also horrifying.

He’d planned it. He planned it all. Dating ‘her’ until she returned from the old timeline, just so it wasn’t strange when he suddenly began fixating on her, because to everyone-they’d already been dating for-what seemed like-four years at this point.

She swallowed harshly, closing the photo/scrapbook of ‘her’ and Tom’s relationship from this era. She jolted as a pair of arms wrapped around her, pulling her back into a warm chest. “they want to see you,” Tom murmured into her shoulder, his lashes pressed against her neck, breath ghosting on her skin.

“They?” (y/n) asks, her heart in her throat. She knew exactly who, they, were. Him. Voldemort, core Tom-the one she knew-and the other born horcrux, Tom’s “father”.

Tom hums in acknowledgment, nodding against her shoulder, he tugs her into his lap as he sits on the bed beside her-how’d he even get in her room? she thinks for a moment before she’s completely in his grip, closing her eyes as he kisses at her neck and jaw.

“Do I have a choice?” she asks, and he bites her earlobe.

“No.”

-July 1998-

(y/n) walked up to the grand manor that belonged to the minister of magic, hand in hand with Tom Riddle, or well-the version of him born from a diary just to be with her. She stopped up the stone pathway towards the manor, shaking. Tom moved to stand in front of her, cupping her cheek with his free hand, speaking softly.

“There's nothing to be afraid of darling, it’s just me, just us.” He murmured, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip, dipping down to kiss her for a moment and then he tugs her hand once-twice-then she moves, feeling like she was walking into an open bear trap.

Her breath feels caught in her lungs as Tom opens the grand door, pulling her inside. Its-nice-not as oppressive as one would envision but still, (y/n)’s scared, unconsciously moving closer to Tom as he guides her through the manor, the manor he and his ‘family’ lived in.

He guides her up the stairs in the main foyer, down one of the many corridors, and into a large sitting room-where the two older men were sitting. Voldemort, as he was called once more-the core Tom, the Tom she’d known-and his ‘son’, a horcrux, born to only give reason for the Tom holding her hand to be with her without anyone looking oddly at them.

The two older men look up and the oldest, Voldemort, the one she knew, is up on his feet in seconds, his gleaming scarlet-brown eyes locked onto her. He’s older, late 60’s, black wavy hair streaked with silver and far from the pale bald snake man she’d been terrified of in the original timeline.

He’s handsome, face lined with age and many other things she can't say or name right now.

She feels nailed to the spot as Voldemort, Tom, comes close to her. The one who had come with her to the manor steps away-allowing the core version of the three of them to stand before her. Voldemort stares down at her-he’s taller than she last saw him, probably the same height as the dark lord version of him. She looks up at him, shaking, her hands clutched at her side.

“No, do not be afraid,” Voldemort, Tom, coos, his hands cupping her face and brushing his thumbs over the curve of her cheeks. The fear in her eyes is familiar-the same fear he saw when he discovered she knew of his plans-who he planned to be. He hates it. “I may share the name of the dark lord from your time, but I only share the name-there are no death eaters, there is no war, no dark lord. Just, us.” Voldemort said with a slow smirk, and his ‘son’, also Tom, stands, making his way over to (y/n) and Voldemort.

“There's nothing to be afraid of anymore darling,” Tom, in his late 30s it seems, maybe early 40s, hums as he draws close, his hand fitting in the small of (y/n)’s back, drawing her close. Voldemort glares for only a moment, his hands still on (y/n)’s face. “the memories of what you experienced, everything that happened to you, will eventually fade.”

(y/n) knows he means to say that as a comfort, but it’s horrifying, she was eventually going to forget it all; forget the dark lords horrifying acts, forget what happened in her original time-even forget how and why she was standing before the three Tom’s at this very moment. Eventually her fear would fade because-why would she fear the minister for magic? Why would she fear his son, or grandson-why would she fear her boyfriend’s family?

She swallows harshly and Voldemort leans down to kiss her forehead, an achingly familiar gesture from the time she spent with him in the 40s. “come, let us make you comfortable my dear,” Voldemort murmurs, he and Tom, the older one, take her hands and pull her to sit on the couch-Voldemort sits in the love seat as the youngest Tom, the one her age-made from the diary-sits next to her-while older Tom sits on the other love seat beside the couch.

“You’re not…mad at me?” she finally asks, having also feared his-their reaction, when she left, he had been angry, heartbroken really. Voldemort only smirks as Tom, the older one, chuckles.

“I was, at first,” he says, stirring milk into his tea. “but age allows for one to look back and review, eventually; i understood why you left, why you were scared.” At this, older Tom stood up, sitting on (y/n)’s other side, cupping her face again, bringing her so close she could feel his breath on her face-smell his cologne and the tea he’d been drinking.

“But now you don’t have to be, there is no war, no dark lord. Just, us.” He murmurs, moving closer to her and before he can get way too close she flinches back, falling towards Tom-the one that’s her age. He wraps his arms around her, cooing softly as she shakes.

“It’s all right my love,” Tom chuckles, kissing her temple as he pulls her into his lap, his arm completely wrapping around her waist to keep her close-jealously clear in Voldemort’s and older Tom’s eyes. Older Tom’s hand wraps around her ankle, her feet in his lap now.

(y/n) doesn’t know what to think, or do. She’s trapped, trapped in a manor with three versions of Tom, one her age-that has her in his grip, the second old enough to be her father, who holds her legs in his lap, and the third staring at her, his gleaming scarlet brown eyes staring at her from the love seat, his fingers steepled under his chin.

She stills as older Tom’s thumb traces her fading scar from her uncle, her eyes snapping shut as his thumb goes over her eye. “It’s fading, good.” He murmurs and Tom-the one holding her-squeezes her tighter, burying his face in her neck and breathing deep.

“Wh-why?” (y/n) asks, swallowing harshly as she hears Voldemort speak. “Why stop your uncle from ever touching you? Why not? Why allow such a disgusting excuse of a pureblood to harm such precious life? Why allow him to even think about taking your mother for his own, or think about you in such a disgusting way.” Voldemort sneers, disgust clear in his voice. (y/n) feels chills down her spine and up to her heart. She never knew her uncle…thought about such things.

She had been told by a family friend, who really shouldn’t have told her at 12, that her uncle had attempted to blackmail her mother to marry him to make her pureblood again. Gross, but incest was quite…normal in pureblood families. At least back then.

To think her uncle possibly…when she was so young…it was horrifying and she shook, hands covering her mouth as she stared off at nothing. Voldemort stands and joins his younger horcrux selves on the couch, cupping her face in his hands. “it is all right dear,” he coos, kissing her head. “he’s gone now. He never hurt you, and soon this conversation will fade too.”

(y/n) jolts at the very thought-how much was she going to forget? Would everything she was experiencing now fade? Turn her into something, someone, she was not? “I don’t want to forget-I don’t want to-“ she babbled and Voldemort shushed her again, wiping her tears with his thumb.

“shhh shh my love, it’ll be okay, some day this will all be a forgotten dream, you’re core self will not change, only memories will.” He said in a soft tone, then he scoops her up from Tom’s lap. She lets out a choked yelp her arms automatically wrapping around Voldemort’s neck as he carries her through the halls of the manor, the younger Tom’s following very close behind.

Voldemort enters a well-lit room, the curtains open to let sunlight in, it’s aesthetically different from the rest of the manor, lighter blues and whites, golds and bronzes with a large rug spanning the floor and a very large bed with a white-grey canopy and a chaise lounge at the end with a throw blanket tossed over it.

Voldemort lays her on the bed, older Tom takes off her shoes and the youngest-the Tom her age, kneels on the lounge at the end of the large bed, resting his elbows on the end of the bed, staring at her. “Rest for now, allow yourself to come to terms with your new reality,” Voldemort hummed, brushing her hair back-her fading scar visible.

He kisses her forehead, older Tom kisses her cheek, and Tom crawls up to kiss her fully, kissing her quickly once more before all three leave the room.

She waits for a few minutes, breathing quickly before she throws off the heavy, comfortable, quilt and rushing to the large window-but it’s charmed shut and she’s still underage-and if she tried to uncharm it-it would no doubt alert Voldemort. The door is locked as well-the bathroom window as well-but that was too small for her to fit in.

She feels lost-trapped-she sobs and crawls back onto the bed-the room was clearly meant for her. It’s not his style, it’s blue like her Hogwarts house and full of comfortable items that only she would’ve picked out.

And what sucks no one knows she’s trapped.

According to everyone else, which was once true, she was here willingly. Happily. Because this timelines version of her had spent the last four summers in this manor, which is this room has her clothes, her favorite shampoos, her preferred toothpaste.

She curls up on the bed, feeling lost.

-

She leaves the room later-the door unlocks for her, it must’ve been charmed to not let her escape-but allows her to leave when she doesn’t plan to escape. She goes down the hall, shoes left in “her” room. She explores. Theres a massive library, the garden is huge too, she finds several lounges and the other bedrooms, all three rooms open a tad-as if inviting her inside but she doesn’t.

She roams more, finding a sunroom, where a large snake was resting in the summer sun-she does not bother this snake.

She also finds a dining room, an actual ballroom,  a music room, there's an astronomy tower, of course; a kitchen, and then a very fancy bathroom meant for guests.

Finally, she comes upon a study that’s near the astronomy tower. Voldemort’s there-the door opened just enough for her to see him and she attempts to go by but the door opens completely, his eyes on her. “do not be afraid love,” he coos, gesturing her inside.

She glances down the hallway, and steps into the study, standing in the doorway for a long minute. Voldemort smiles softly, setting down a ministry-stamped stack of papers, turning his chair-summoning her towards him. Her feet feel like they move on her own and then she’s in front of him.

She stares at him as he takes her hands, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. Her vision flickers in her mind, Tom-the one she knew in the 40’s, appears before her for a split second-that stupid handsome smile on his face. Voldemort flickers back into her vision and she pulls her hands out of his, holding them to her chest.

His brows furrow, he looks hurt.

He makes himself seem, smaller, curling his shoulders in as he leans towards her, looking up at her. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispers, his hands now on her hips-one drawing down to her thigh. Her brows furrow. “the day you left, I scared you; again. That wasn’t my…goal.” He swallows, drawing his eyes down, then closing them-leaning forward to press his forehead against her stomach. “I, did, mean what I said. You’re mine.” He whispers, (y/n) tenses, and then she’s pulled into Voldemort’s lap and his lips smash into hers-her eyes snap shut.

Disgust should be what she feels. It isn’t.

She hesitates yes, but she doesn’t feel like she should smack him and run-no, she…lets him tug her closer, his lips move against hers, tongue on her bottom lip-its reminiscent of their first kiss, in the restricted section-Voldemort-Tom-tastes cold and feels warm, she smells sharp cologne-a scent that hadn’t changed in the 50 years it had been since he’d last seen her.

Her hands shake as she lifts them up-and then rests them on Voldemort’s shoulders, he hums-pleased, and tugs her closer to him, his arms wrapping around her completely; pulling her even closer, her body completely snug against his as their lips move together.

“My love,” he purrs as he pulls away, lips already red-peppering kisses down her jaw-she lets out a soft sound, tilting her head back-it’s an automatic thing, something she now did out of reflex when he kissed her like this. “never be afraid of me again, please, I, none of us, would ever hurt you.” he whispered against the hollow of her throat.

She knows he isn’t lying.

She swallows harshly, clinging tight to his shoulders, creasing the fabric of his ironed button-up. “Swear it?” she whispers, looking down at him and he smiles, resting his chin on her chest, looking up at her.

“I’d make the unbreakable vow,” he whispers and she bites her lip, she’s unsure still-she’s still nervous and scared. He leans up and kisses her gently, his hands moving up-pressing against the small of her back-the other between her shoulders.

She kisses back.

It feels, very odd, deep down. Yes, this is the Tom she knew when she time-traveled into the 40s, the one she dated, the one she discovered was the young Voldemort. But now he’s in his 60’s, still handsome, but old enough to be her grandfather.

He deepens the kiss and all thoughts go out the window, especially with the way his hips roll up against her, the fabric of his trousers catching against the fabric of her underwear-she’d worn a skirt for once. She gasps into the kiss and his tongue invades her mouth-somehow he’s even better at kissing then he was “50” years ago.

She’s lifted up and put on the desk, a flick of his hand make papers and other desk objects fly off and go into their proper places when not being used. She gasps again as he leans over her, pressing her down against the desk, standing between her legs, rolling his hips against her again.

She shudders, gasping for breath as he kisses and nips at her jaw and neck, his hands drawing up to the top button of her shirt-starting to undo it but stops, breathing deep. “Not yet.” He murmurs, looking down at her with dark lustful eyes, taking in her disheveled state. “not yet.” He murmurs again, kissing her forehead and sitting her up, helping her off the desk.

She furrows her brows, panting and then shuddering as he kisses her gently, easing her down from her ruffled state. “What?” she asks, confused. He chuckles lowly, smirking. “you’re underage darling, and while I’m confident no one but, well, me, would catch me fucking you,” she shudders at the way he says it, his smirk widens. “I want you to be fully ready for it, I want you to be completely sure of it, and legal.” He adds, almost as an afterthought. He kisses her cheek and sends her off with a gentle pat on her butt. “Go, the one your age should be in his room.”

(y/n)’s face flushes and she leaves the study, going back down the hall towards the bedrooms, looking through the open doors till she finds Tom, sitting on his bed with his back towards the door, a book in his lap. He’s dressed casually, wearing plain green sweater with the sleeves rolled up, a white button up beneath it, and black trousers; his hair free of gel or any sort of hair products, so it’s loose and wavy, his bangs falling into his eyes so he keeps brushing them out of his face, huffing each time.

(y/n) stepped into his room, the door creaking. He perked up and turned, smirking at her, patting his bed to invite her closer. “Good evening love,” Tom purred, his smirk widening as she comes closer, willingly. “How are you feeling?” he asks, genuinely, but he needed to know if she had calmed down, accepted her new reality.

(y/n) bit her lip, her brows furrowing a bit before sitting next to him. Tom wraps his arm around her, book discarded as he pulls her closer, resting his chin on her shoulder. “i…” she swallowed harshly, biting her inner lip before sighing, rubbing her face. “I don’t know, it’s all so confusing.” She admits and Tom hums, pulling her into his lap and she lets him, turning to hide away in his arms.

She lets herself believe for a moment, that she’s back in the 40s with him, before she found out about who he truly was, that they’re alone in the common room, wrapped up in each others arms, enjoying the fire.

For a moment, she lets go of her fear and anxiety.

-

(y/n) thinks quite a lot through the next two weeks she stays at the manor, about her morals, her beliefs, the past, the present, how things changed, what didn’t change.

Finally, she comes to terms with it all.

There was no Voldemort. Not the dark lord anyway, yes he still killed people to create his horcruxes, but with the…strange promise that he hadn’t killed any…innocents to create the Diary and Ring that made up the two Tom’s.

There was no war, no death eaters, no insane blood purity politics. There was no boy who lived-only Harry Potter, a normal boy with no lightning scar with loving parents.

Things were okay, changed yes, but okay. She…did not need to feel guilty about it all, she didn’t need to fear him, them, at all. She had told him that she could not love ‘him’, Voldemort the dark lord. So he wasn’t one, he was Voldemort the minister for magic, with two “son’s”, Thomas, and Tom.

She could…relax, accept it, he’d changed, for her. He was intense, possessive of her, obsessive even, all three of them were but…they loved her.

She walked into the sitting room where all three of them were, Tom looks up at her right away, attention instantly off the book he’d been reading, Thomas and Voldemort look at her next, wondering what she needed.

She walks further into the room, sits right next to Tom, and curls into him. He smiles and wraps his arms around her, holding her close-Voldemort and Thomas watch, jealous but curious-she’d yet to do something like this-to purposefully seek them out.

“I’m okay with this,” she admits quietly and she feels Tom smile against her cheek, the others lean closer-hoping she meant what they thought she meant. “with…all this, you three, me, us.” (y/n) says, stumbling through her words slightly and Thomas takes her from Tom’s side-Tom complains audibly but Thomas already has (y/n) in his lap, kissing her cheek.

“Are you sure love?” Voldemort asks, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands gently. (y/n) nods, her cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t for a while, but…I am now. Theres no war, no dark lord, and…you stopped my uncle from hurting me, stopped him from hurting my parents i…I suppose I can't argue that it’s all wrong, when-even if its selfish-you guys did the…right thing,” she admits and Voldemort leans up to kiss her gently, she kisses back, Thomas making a sound from behind her-he hadn’t gotten to kiss her at all yet.

That night, she goes to bed with Tom holding her, his arms tight around her as his face presses against the back of her neck, breathing softly against her skin. For the first night since getting back to the present, she sleeps soundly.

-

Her birthday comes up right before summer break ends, her parents are there at the manor for her birthday party hosted by the Riddle family-she learns this is an annual thing, ever since ‘she’ and Tom had started dating and gotten serious.

Deep down she does find it a bit odd her parents are so, okay with her just-spending a whole summer at this manor filled with men-one of which being her official boyfriend, but she figures Voldemort probably did some manipulation and while she feels uncomfortable with the idea, she knows she cant do anything about it.

She gets presents, like a well-tailored suit just for her-since she wasn’t much of a dress girl- from her parents, a necklace from Tom, a book from Thomas, and earrings from Voldemort. Her parents are non-the wiser to anything going on beyond what is shown to them, so when they leave the manor-without (y/n), she’s drawn into Voldemort’s bedroom by all three Tom’s.

“Come here darling, I think its time we show you just how much you’re adored.” Voldemort purred, sitting on the bed on his knees, and she swallows harshly, climbing onto the bed as Thomas and Tom climb on with her-watching her with sharp eyes filled with desire, all for her. “just thinking of it as a birthday present, from all three of us,” Thomas purrs from her left.

She’s sure she’s blushing heavily, closing her eyes as Voldemort’s hands cradle her face gently, lips beginning to trail from up her neck to her jaw, and then to her lips. His lips press against hers and she kisses back-letting out a small yelp as she’s tugged to lay down on the bed, all three hovering over her-Tom’s hands are on her legs, Thomas holds her waist, and Voldemort’s hands are still on her face-still kissing her.

Tom takes her shoes off while Thomas undid her pants and shirt, Voldemort’s hands thread through her hair and then he takes off her bra, smirking against her cheek as Thomas begins to fondle her breasts-making her gasp-and then he softly kisses her breast, then her nipple-taking the hardening bud into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, his other hand fondling her breast.

Her hips lift as Tom slots himself between her legs, leaving soft kisses on her thighs, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric of her panties, slowly pulling them down to reveal her cunt. “beautiful,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering as he leaned in, kissing her clit and then circling his tongue around it-smirking at the way her hips jumped in response.

Tom spreads her thighs wider, burying his face in her cunt and lapping at her while Voldemort nipped at her jaw, leaving marks all along her neck and jaw before kissing her again, his hands in her hair.

(y/n) could hardly handle it all, gasping and moaning as the three lavished her with sensual attention, her breath catching as Tom sucked at her clit, his fingers pushing inside her to prepare her and bring her closer to orgasm. “shit-“ she gasped aloud when Voldemort sucked on her pulse point. “that’s it love-give it to us,” Voldemort purred in her ear and she let out a long whining cry, feeling it crash over her in an electric wave-her hips bucking down against Tom’s mouth as he helps her through it.

Soon she was twisted around, legs hooked around Voldemort’s-the other two complain-they wanted to be her first but Voldemort quiets them. “silence. I’ve waited much longer for this than either of you,” he hisses, in parseltongue so (y/n) didn’t understand anything but watched as Tom and Thomas sink back, huffing as they crowd around her upper body, Tom holds her hand as Thomas caresses her collarbone with his fingers, trailing up to her face to gently trace her fingers.

She looks up-Voldemort leans close, kissing her softly as his cock presses to her virgin entrance, and then he’s pushing inside-she can feel every inch-making her gasp into his mouth as he slowly rocks inside her till he’s completely inside.

It’s not painful, just new and vaguely uncomfortable, but he stills when completely inside, kissing her cheeks to ease her tension as Tom kisses her knuckles, Thomas rubs her thigh, moving his hand to rub her clit slowly to ease her further. “any pain?” Voldemort asks her, massaging her hips as she shifts, letting out a small quick breath as she shakes her head.

“You-you can move,” she murmured, gasping as Voldemort pulled out slowly, and then slowly pushed back inside, doing that slow rhythm over and over again-watching as she gasped and moaned softly, clutching Tom’s hand as he kissed her forehead, his other hand holding her waist as Thomas watched, one hand on her thigh as his other hand strokes himself, the three watching her enjoy the pleasure-a vision they’d waited years to see. Especially Voldemort, who couldn’t believe he was finally feeling her tight warmth after so long, he wanted to pound her into the bed, to make her go dumb and cry out in pleasure-to hear his name on her lips, but he didn’t want to scare her, so he went slow.

“F-f-aster-please.” (y/n) moaned softly and Voldemort groaned lowly, he’d been waiting to hear that-leaning over her to fuck into her a bit faster, the sound of his hips smacking her inner thighs getting louder as gets a bit rougher-smirking when (y/n)’s moans got louder, a low whine escaping her as Thomas rubs her clit while Tom kisses her cheek, so many sensations at once that she can’t focus.

Voldemort pushes her knees towards her chest, a perfect position he thinks, watching her body bounce and his cock disappear inside her-no protection-biting his lip as she whines and moans, the wet sound of her pussy accepting his cock such an intoxicating sound that he never wants to stop fucking her.

“You like it darling? Do you like my cock inside you?” Voldemort purred, leaning over her, pinning her down with his hands and hips, pressing fully into her, grinding his hips against her-hitting that sensitive part inside her that made her gasp and writhe. “you don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this my love, of being deep inside you, so close to you-with no barriers between us. I could get you pregnant right now-bound you to us for eternity.” Voldemort murmured, the other two groaning at the very thought while (y/n) tried to catch her breath, not even paying attention to his words, her brain too fuzzy to focus on anything but the tip of his cock against her inner sweet spot.

Voldemort smirked at her face, leaning down to kiss her as he rocked his hips again, fucking her deep and fast, making her moan and whine as he kept hitting that inner sweet spot again and again. Her breath got faster, her body writhing as she felt her orgasm approach again-this time harder, quicker. “i-i-im gonna-ah!” (y/n) moaned, Voldemort consuming her voice as he kissed her, swirling her tongue with his as he angled his cock right into her sweet spot, smirking as she clenched tightly around him-cumming hard.

He let out a low groan, shuddering as he came, spurts of cum filling her as he thrust a few more times, biting his lip as he pulled out, watching as it dripped out of her. “my turn,” Thomas murmured, grabbing her waist and twisting her around, laying her down on her stomach and kissing her shoulders down to her waist, putting her hips beneath a pillow as he kicked off his trousers. “you ready darling?” Thomas purred against her shoulder and (y/n) let out a small whine, Tom moving to lay her head in his lap, she looked up at him-closing her eyes as he leaned down to kiss her.

She gasped as Thomas pushed into her, sliding in easily with a groan. “fucking-perfect cunt.” Thomas moaned, his head falling between his shoulders as he gripped (y/n)’s hips, moving one hand to her lower back as his hips began to fuck into her, smirking at the sound of his hips meeting her plush ass. “that feel good darling?”

(y/n) twitched and moaned, panting hard as she already felt her 3rd orgasm rising-still on the high from her last one, her hips bucking back into Thomas as he pulled her hips higher to get deeper inside her, letting out low grunts and moans as he watched his cock disappear into her cum slicked pussy.

He leaned down, wrapping his arms around her waist and putting a hand on her neck-tugging her up against him, making her bounce as he fucked up into her, grinning against her neck as her moans reached a new pitch-her eyes clenched shut as she felt him roll into her just right and she shuddered, clenching tight around his cock as he bucked his hips up-hitting that spot inside her again and again till she came hard, letting out a hoarse moan as he bit her shoulder, thrusting into her twice more before cumming deep inside her.

(y/n) let out a weak groan, shivering as Tom took her in his arms-pulling her off of Thomas-she shuddered as he slid out of her, his cum running down her thigh. “You okay love?” Tom murmured against her cheek as she slumped against him, she breathed heavily and then nodded after a few moments, letting out a harsh breath as his cock pressed against her, sliding up and down the length of her pussy before pushing inside, sitting her down on his hips, her body arching back as his arms wrapped around her, his lips pressing to her neck. “Just let me do the work darling,” Tom purred against her throat, thrusting up into her-the sound of his cock pushing into her cum filled pussy making a loud noise that echoed in her ears-making her whine as he began; slow and easy.

He watched her face as he rolled his hips up, his mouth opening at the feeling of her tight warm cunt around him-the feeling of cum only making her wetter for him, making it so easy to slide in and out. “You feel heavenly love,” Tom groaned, kissing her neck as Thomas and Voldemort got closer, Voldemort kissing her upper waist as Thomas rubbed her shoulders, pressing his lips to her nape. “So good, made just for us, for me.”

(y/n) let out a sharp pant, her head falling forward as Tom’s hips began to move faster, his hands finding her hips to help her bounce on his cock, her belly tightened and she clenched around his cock, making both of them moan as his hips bucked-hitting that spot inside her again, making her squirm. “Too much darling? Cumming so many times-with all three of us fucking you?” Voldemort cooed against her ear, massaging her breasts, Thomas’ hand moving to cup her lower belly.

“So much of our seed inside you, it’s bound to take, you’ll be ours-forever, giving the Riddle family a proper heir.” Thomas said in a low groan, (y/n) too far gone to listen. Tom brought her closer, nosing her head to turn it so he could kiss her properly, swallowing her moans as he rolled his hips just right, smirking against her lips as she shuddered and let out a harsh breath-her brows furrowed as her 4th orgasm came rushing up and she bucked away from Tom.

“T-too much-s’too much-“ she moaned, putting her hands on Tom’s shoulders as that coil in her gut tightened again, this one more intense and she tried to escape it-Tom wouldn’t let her, kissing her jaw as Thomas reached around to rub her clit, smirking as she let out a small shriek. “-ahh-hahh!!”

“Let go love-cum on my cock-let me fill you up again,” Tom groaned against her neck, smirking as she writhed and bucked against the feeling-before her body tensed and she came hard-moaning weakly as he pinned her to the bed, thrusting inside her quickly until he came inside her.

“Good girl,” Voldemort purred, leaning down to kiss her forehead as her vision faded in and out, before it all went blissfully quiet.

-end-

[littlewiseeyes]

Black women.

Black men.

Black people.

🖤🤎

[saintk3nn]

maybe i do need an older woman to fix me.. preferably someone who resembles sevika

[xplicitviewz]

(#fae's lore) fae // 22 // not a first time writer/poster but it’s been a cool minute since I published // started on Wattpad, fairly new to posting on tumblr BUT I love it and you!!!! // open to muties, and request <3 // 18+ mdni

my official masterlist :))))) will update as I post <3

001. SUCKA 4 LUV 💋

a social media book if you squint....

Bunnie and Mico meet a group of friends, and the chaos begins...

(aot college au)

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

mdni 18+ only

Status: ongoing (no schedule)

002. Rewrite The Stars ✨

"We're bound to break, and my hands are tied."

Synopsis: Y/n and Eren are assigned a duo project for the upcoming talent show, which is also part of their final grade. It seems as if the universe itself is working overtime to keep them from passing. From first encounters & mutual feelings towards each other all the way to finding time to get together and practice.

mdni 18+ only

Chapters: Zero, One, Two, Three

Status: on hold (my brain froze up for a second but will be back)

Glimpse of my mind

Husband!Nanami

Pussywhipped!Choso | part 2

Married!Eren x Maid!Reader

Ex-husband!Eren

My Beloved Sylus

nerd!armin x reader x boyfriend!eren

Best friend! Jean x reader

Dad!Sukuna

Boss!Hiromi

(me every time you guys read/like/reblog/comment my post)

[lowrisemiller]

a smutty fic idea has been in my head forever and i can’t seem to get it out right. i imagine a bratty maybe slightly alternative reader and old man Joel taming them but that’s IT. idk how they know each other or any other details so there’s a lot of room for creativity. i’ve just never read a joel fic like that and i love your writing 🖤

- and maybe tights/fishnets are involved

fishnets

masterlist | 1k words | old man joel! x fem!reader | age-gap not specified but legal, making out, somewhat public sex, bathroom sex, unprotected piv, praise and a lil degrading, & spanking like one time | p!std mention (sue me)

hopefully you don’t find this cringe and hate it bc i LOVE alternative music and the people in the community (didn’t know what else to call it) and i love everything abt it so enjoy I hope you like it! ty for requesting

-sweetgirl out

Tommy’s already vanished into the crowd, probably halfway through a bad cover of I Write Sins Not Tragedies by now. Joel stays planted at the bar, jaw clenched, sipping his whiskey like it’s the only real thing in the room. Emo night, Tommy said. Something different, he said. Joel should’ve known better.

He’s about to head for the door when you slide into view—more like slink. All legs and attitude, fishnets ripped, skirt too short, eyeliner winged like a weapon. You hop up on the stool beside him, clearly enjoying how much space you take up in his peripheral vision.

“You don’t fit in here,” you chirp, like you’re pointing out the sky’s blue.

Joel side-eyes you. “Don’t care.”

“That flannel’s screaming ‘divorced dad energy.’” You tilt your head. “And I mean that in the hottest way possible.”

His brow twitches.

You lean in, smiling like a cat who found something sharp to play with. “You’re not like the others here. You’re too… serious. All frown and no fun.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he mutters.

“Then tell me,” you challenge, eyes sparkling. “Or are you just gonna keep pretending you haven’t been looking at my legs for the past ten minutes?”

His nostrils flare. One heartbeat. Two.

Then Joel sets his glass down and turns his body to face you completely, gaze raking down your form like he’s finally done pretending. He talks low, slow. Controlled.

“You talk too much.”

“And you wanna shut me up?” you purr.

“You got a filthy mouth for someone so damn eager to be put in her place.”

You blink, inhale—like that struck something deep. “Try me.”

Joel huffs once, more exasperated than amused, then grabs your wrist. You gasp at the firmness of it, the quiet dominance he exudes without even raising his voice.

He tugs you off the stool, guiding you past sticky floors and flickering neon signs. You follow, breath quickening. No hesitation. Just anticipation.

The bathroom door slams behind you both. Fluorescent lighting buzzes overhead. Joel backs you into the counter like he’s done this before, like he owns every room he walks into.

“You really want this?” he asks, voice dark and low.

You nod, biting your lip. “What gave it away?”

Joel hooks a finger through the waistband of your fishnets, tugging until the elastic bites into your skin. “These.” He yanks them slightly lower, watching the stretch and snap. “You wore these hopin’ someone’d ruin you.”

You make a small, breathy sound—something between a laugh and a moan. “I wore them hoping someone wouldn’t be scared to.”

Joel’s had enough.

He spins you to face the mirror, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades, arching your back. The other trails down your thigh, rough fingers dragging along the shredded mesh until he finds bare skin.

“Such a fuckin’ brat,” he growls. “Bet you’re soaked already.”

You whimper—because you are.

Joel catches your gaze in the mirror, his eyes all heat and restraint. “Look at you. So desperate for someone to take control.”

“I want you to,” you whisper.

He inhales like he’s been holding back for years. “Then you better be good. Or I’ll keep you on edge all night and leave you wanting.”

You smirk, pushing back against him, deliberately grinding. “You say that like I wouldn’t love it.”

Joel groans low, unbuckling his belt with one hand, the sound sharp in the echoing bathroom. “Jesus Christ. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

But he doesn’t stop.

And neither do you.

Joel fists your hair and tilts your head, forcing your gaze back to the mirror. “Keep lookin’,” he mutters, voice gravel and grit. “Wanna see what you look like when you finally shut up.”

You whimper, but obey—eyes locking with his in the glass. He’s already unzipped his jeans, hand wrapped around himself, thick and hard, teasing your ass as he presses in close.

You’re soaked, and he knows it. Fingers slide between your thighs to test you, and he groans.

“Fuck. Drippin’ already. You that needy, huh?”

You smirk, breath hitching. “Told you. Didn’t come here for drinks.”

He gives your ass a hard slap—just enough to sting.

“Smart mouth again,” he growls. “Guess I didn’t slap it out of you yet.”

You gasp, legs trembling in those half-down fishnets, the rough scrape of the mesh on your skin making it worse—better. He leans over you, crowding your body with his, the heat of him burning through your spine.

Then—he sinks in.

One slow, deliberate thrust. Stretching you, filling you, splitting you open in the best fucking way. You bite your lip hard to keep from moaning too loud.

Joel hisses through his teeth. “So goddamn tight. Brat like you, dressed like a tease—never expected you to feel this good.”

Your hands grip the sink, knuckles white. “Maybe I’m just picky,” you pant.

He thrusts again, harder this time. You cry out.

“Still runnin’ that mouth?”

He pulls out nearly all the way, then slams back in. Your body jolts against the counter, breath knocked from your lungs. His hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just possessive, grounding—and your walls flutter around him at the sheer command of it.

“You’re gonna behave,” Joel growls, voice hot in your ear, “or I’ll edge you right here and leave you crying.”

You’re whining now, hips rocking back to meet him. “Then stop talkin’ and fuck me like you mean it.”

That does it.

Joel growls something primal and snaps his hips hard, dragging a raw, desperate moan from you. His rhythm turns punishing—deep, relentless, and perfect. The bathroom’s small, the walls echoing with skin-on-skin and the broken sounds falling from your lips.

“Yeah,” he pants, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “That what you wanted? Huh? Big bad Joel to come in and fuck the brat outta you?”

You can’t speak—just nod, eyes rolling back. You’ve never been handled like this. Like he’s not afraid to take what he wants. Like he knows you need it rough, need someone who can put you in your place and still worship your body in every brutal thrust.

His fingers sneak between your thighs, finding your clit with practiced ease, rubbing tight little circles as he pounds into you. Your legs nearly give out.

“Gonna come for me?” he rasps, staring into the mirror. “Look at yourself. Such a mess already.”

You cry out, “Joel—fuck, I’m—”

“Good girl. That’s it. Come on my cock like you’re supposed to.”

You shatter with a scream, gripping the sink like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Joel groans as your walls clamp down, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it.

He pulls out fast, hand stroking himself once—twice—and spills across the curve of your ass, hot and thick and filthy.

You both breathe hard for a moment. You’re trembling, used, absolutely wrecked in the best way.

Joel leans down, voice lower now. “Still got that attitude?”

You smirk at him in the mirror, smeared lipstick and all. “Maybe.”

He zips up, eyes still devouring you. “Good. I ain’t done with you yet.”

tags: @heavymetalhater @zevrra @xodilfluvr

[formulafanfics13]

Ahhh! I'd kill for some smut with either of these guys—you pick! oscar/franco/lando/charles with a thicker reader who's like a fan but she's super different and is like alternative as fuck. Face piercings, Tattoos, Dyed hair, looks scary. I fear Oscar or Franco fits this sooo welll aaahhhh 💬

not so scary now, huh? - OP81 🔥

Masterlist

summary: You’ve always been the kind of girl people cross the street to avoid. Pierced lip, half-shaved head, thighs for days and a resting bitch face that could start wars. So when you finally meet Oscar Piastri — the golden boy of F1 — you expect him to smile politely and move on. What you don’t expect is for him to stare like he’s already imagining your lipstick smudged on his cock.

warnings: NSFW (18+), Oscar x thicker/curvier reader, reader is alternative/alt-girl coded (tattoos, dyed hair, piercings, dark eyeliner, intimidating aura), reader is a fan, Oscar is obsessed, public-to-private setting (meets in paddock/party and ends up in hotel), oral (f receiving), pussy worship, praise kink, slight sub!Oscar energy, size kink undertones (he loves your thighs), begging, finger sucking, marking (neck/inner thighs), intense eye contact, rough make-out, reader is confident but not used to being adored, Oscar is soft but filthy, aftercare implied

It starts with the look. One stupid glance across a paddock event, and suddenly Oscar Piastri, media-trained, painfully polite, golden retriever in driver form, is locked onto you like you’re the most interesting sin in the building.

Which is hilarious. Because you’re not like the girls he’s normally seen with. You’re thick. You’ve got thighs. You’ve got tattoos spiralling up your arms and a half-sleeve of a skeleton hand holding a bouquet. Your hair’s split-dyed, your septum ring glints in the sun, and your eyeliner could kill a man if aimed right. Your shirt’s too tight. Your boots are too high. You do not belong in the glossy PR bubble of Formula 1.

But Oscar keeps looking.

So you raise your pierced brow. Challenge him. And he smiles like he wants to ruin something.

He finds you after the event. Slips past a crowd. Stands in front of you with his hands in his pockets and a flushed kind of panic in his eyes. “You’re really hot.”

You blink. “You’re really fucking brave.”

He grins. “I have my moments.”

“You know I’m a fan, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “But not like the others.”

That’s what does it. That quiet little line. Said like he’s been waiting for you. You kiss him in the hotel elevator. Tongue first. Teeth second. He moans when you press him against the wall, your thigh between his, your hands dragging up under his McLaren hoodie like you’ve earned it.

“You still think I’m hot?” you murmur against his neck.

“So hot,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

You take him back to your room.

He strips you slow. Like he’s reverent. Like the stretch marks and the softness and the ink across your chest are his new religion. You push him onto the bed. Straddle him. Let your tits spill over your bra as you tug at his waistband and laugh when he chokes on a breath.

“You gonna cry, golden boy?”

“Maybe.”

You ride his face first. Because you want to see how badly he wants it. And fuck, does he want it.

He moans into you like he’s starving. Grips your hips with shaking hands. Licks like he’s memorising every fold. Whispers “so pretty” and “so soft” and “fuck, you taste good” between gasps for air.

You come on his tongue with your fingers in his curls and your thighs trembling on either side of his head. And he smiles. “Not so scary now, huh?” he whispers, dazed, lips shiny.

You smirk. “Shut up and fuck me, Piastri.”

He obeys. Immediately. And when he comes, it’s with your name in his mouth and your teeth in his neck.

[redroses07]

[rainstormies]

Me, You, and the Moon | Eddie Munson

pairing: eddie x reader

fandom: stranger things

word count: 5,2k (oneshot)

synopsis: what's more high school than parties, fights, and kissing in the rain?

song aesthetic: head over heels by tears for fears

The lunch table felt louder than usual.

Jake was going on about the party this weekend — some senior’s parents were out of town, and the plan was to “absolutely wreck the place.” His voice carried, animated and bright, and everyone around him laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

You tried to laugh too.

Tried to nod when his arm slid around your shoulders. Tried to smile when he leaned in and whispered something that was supposed to be flirty. But the words bounced right off you, like you weren’t really in your body today. Just hovering a little outside of it. Detached. Watching the scene like a movie you didn’t remember auditioning for.

Jake’s hand rested low on your waist, thumb tapping lightly against the side seam of your skirt. You shifted slightly, subtle, not enough for anyone to notice — but you did. And lately, that was happening a lot.

He kept talking, oblivious. “So I told Coach, right? Like, I was the one who called the play, not Drew. That’s why it worked.”

Someone tossed a chip across the table. Jake caught it in his mouth. The guys howled, and someone clapped him on the back like he’d just performed a miracle.

You looked down at your tray. You hadn’t touched your food.

“Hey,” Jake said, nudging you with his shoulder. “You okay, babe? You’re all quiet.”

You blinked. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He grinned, kissed your cheek, and went back to talking to Drew about something to do with basketball.

Just tired.

It was easier than saying you were bored. Or confused. Or starting to feel like maybe you didn’t fit here as well as you used to.

The cafeteria buzzed around you — voices echoing, sneakers squeaking on tile, lunch trays clattering — and that’s when the air shifted. Just slightly. Like something tugged at the edge of your attention.

You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

Eddie Munson strolled past your table, same as he did every day. Worn leather jacket, denim vest, combat boots thudding against the tile like a rhythm only he could hear. His walk was unbothered. Confident in a way that wasn’t about who liked him or who didn’t — it was the kind of confidence that said, I already know who I am. You figure the rest out.

You noticed the same things you always did. The way his curls spilled into his eyes. The scattered rings on his fingers. The binder under his arm covered in Sharpie scribbles — band logos, D&D symbols, little doodles of dragons and skulls. He was chaos in a school full of rules. And you… well, you were a rule-follower. At least, you always had been.

“Jesus,” Jake muttered under his breath. “Does that guy ever wash his hair?”

A few people at the table laughed.

“Bet he sleeps in that same damn jacket,” Drew added.

You didn’t laugh. You were too busy watching Eddie out of the corner of your eye.

He didn’t flinch at the comments. Didn’t pause. Just gave a half-glance back, eyebrows raised, mouth twitching like he could say something, but didn’t care enough to waste the breath. His gaze skimmed over the table.

Then landed on you.

Just for a second.

It wasn’t a long look. It didn’t linger. But it held. Long enough for your stomach to twist in a way that felt inconvenient. Long enough for your heart to thump louder than the cafeteria noise. Long enough that you looked away too fast, hoping no one noticed the heat rising in your cheeks.

But Eddie kept walking. Smooth, unrushed, like he had somewhere better to be — and probably did.

“You hear me?” Jake asked suddenly, pulling your attention back.

You blinked. “What?”

He frowned a little. “I said you should stop by before the party. Derek’s bringing tequila.”

“Right. Cool.”

Jake smiled again like nothing was weird, like you hadn’t just been caught staring at another guy mid-conversation.

And maybe nothing was weird. You were still here. Sitting beside your golden-boy boyfriend, surrounded by friends, wearing the same uniform you’d always worn.

But for the first time in a long time, it felt like a costume.

Like maybe it never really fit the way you thought it did.

Your fingers picked at the edge of your lunch tray. Across the room, you could just make out Eddie at his usual table — feet propped up on a chair, deep in some conversation with the younger kids from his club. His hands moved when he talked, expressive and wild. The others laughed, clearly entertained. And even from this far away, you could see it — that look in his eyes.

Like he wasn’t pretending to be anyone.

Like he didn’t have to.

“Babe?” Jake said again, touching your leg under the table.

You smiled too quickly, swallowing the rest of your thoughts. “Sorry. Just zoned out.”

“Better not be thinking about anyone else,” he said, joking, but not really. His hand slid up a little higher.

You pushed it gently back down, still smiling. “Just tired.”

And again, he let it go.

You took another peek across the cafeteria.

Eddie wasn’t looking at you anymore.

But somehow, it didn’t matter.

Because you were still thinking about the way he did.

Jake leaned against your locker like he always did — casual, cocky, with that half-smirk he wore like a varsity jacket. The hallway buzzed around you, students flooding out from seventh period, chatter bouncing off the tile like static. You tucked your books into your arms, fingers tight on the spine of your notebook.

“So,” he said, drawing the word out, “party tonight. You’re still coming, right?”

You nodded automatically, out of habit more than desire. “Yeah, I guess.”

He leaned in a little closer, his cologne too strong, too sharp for the stuffy hallway air. “Not just any party, though. Derek’s parents are out of town. All night. No rules.”

His voice dropped low like it was supposed to mean something. Your stomach twisted.

“Right,” you said, and your tone was probably too flat, too careful.

Jake didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care.

“I mean, c’mon, babe,” he added, flashing you a smile like he was handing you something special. “We’ve been together a while now. Everyone’s gonna be there. And I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time we—”

You shifted your books in your arms. “I don’t know, Jake.”

He paused, annoyed. “Don’t know what?”

“I just—don’t feel like doing anything big tonight. I thought it was just a party.”

“It is a party,” he said quickly, eyes narrowing a little. “Don’t make it weird. We’re just having fun.”

You tried to step back, but your shoulder hit the locker. His hand brushed your arm. It wasn’t harsh, but it was heavy enough to make your spine stiffen.

“Look,” he added, “we don’t have to make it a whole thing. Just… don’t overthink it.”

You didn’t reply. Your throat was tight.

The bell rang for the final period, and Jake rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see you after,” he said, and in the same motion, turned and walked away. His shoulder bumped yours as he passed, just hard enough to knock your notebook from your arms.

You bent down quickly, cursing under your breath, heart still pounding. But before you could grab it—

A pair of worn boots stopped beside you. Then a hand.

Long fingers, silver rings. Careful.

You looked up into Eddie Munson’s face, his expression soft — not smug, not laughing. Just steady.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, already stacking your notebook with your other books, handing them back like you mattered.

You nodded, your throat suddenly too dry. “Yeah. Thanks. I… thank you.”

He glanced down the hallway where Jake had vanished, then back at you. “He always that much of a dick, or just when there’s an audience?”

You blinked. A breath hitched in your chest. “I don’t know.”

Eddie shrugged lightly. Not dismissive, not cruel — more like he didn’t want to push. “Guess I’ll see you around, cheerleader.”

He didn’t smirk when he said it. Just gave you the tiniest hint of a smile, like he was letting you decide what the name meant.

Then he turned and walked off, boots scuffing gently along the tile.

You stood there a second longer than you should have, your pulse roaring in your ears. Then you turned, barely remembering to breathe, and ducked into the girls’ bathroom as fast as your feet would carry you.

The bathroom smelled like strawberry lip gloss and drugstore perfume — cloying, too sweet, the way it always did after last period. You were fixing your hair in the mirror when the door creaked open behind you, and in came Camille — Drew’s girlfriend. Blonde, tall, too pretty for her own good, with a laugh that could either pull you in or tear you apart depending on her mood.

She spotted you and smiled, the kind that didn’t always reach her eyes. “Oh my god,” she said, sliding up beside you. “Was that Eddie Munson I saw helping you earlier? Jesus.”

You flushed instantly. “I dropped my notebook. He was just being nice.”

Camille popped a piece of gum in her mouth and blew a tiny bubble. “Nice?” she repeated, grinning like it was hilarious. “God, he’s such a weirdo. Like — metalhead dungeontroll nice? C’mon.”

You looked back at your reflection, pretending to fix a loose strand of hair. “He’s not that bad.”

“He’s literally the definition of that bad,” she said, then leaned in like she was sharing something sacred. “Don’t tell Drew I said this, but he gives me the creeps.”

You didn’t answer. Mostly because your stomach was still twisted from earlier — from Jake’s hand on your back a little too low, the way he leaned in and whispered about the party tonight like it meant something else. Like you already owed him something.

Camille, oblivious or just uncaring, leaned against the sink. “Anyway,” she said, popping her gum again. “I finally did it.”

You blinked. “What?”

“With Drew.” She grinned. “Last weekend. His parents were gone, and, y’know…” She trailed off, making a face that said duh. “It was really good, actually. Better than I thought.”

“Oh,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Cool.”

Camille looked at you out of the corner of her eye. “You and Jake haven’t yet?”

You froze.

Her tone wasn’t cruel. Just curious. Like she was asking if you’d tried a new lip balm. But still — the question hit too close, too sharp.

“I mean…” you started, fumbling for words. “Not… like that.”

Camille raised her eyebrows, chewing slowly. “Seriously?”

You laughed awkwardly. “It’s not a big deal.”

She shrugged, sliding her lip gloss back into her bag. “I mean — you’ve been dating for what, like four months? That’s forever in high school.”

You stared down at the sink. “Yeah. I just… I don’t know. I want to wait, I think.”

Camille rolled her eyes, but not in a mean way. “You’re overthinking it. We’re literally teenagers. It’s supposed to be fun. And Jake’s hot — if you don’t do it soon, some other girl probably will.”

You looked up at her, that familiar weight pressing against your ribs. The one that always came when people said this is what being a girl means. When they said this is what’s normal. What’s expected.

She didn’t notice your silence — or didn’t care. She just fluffed her hair and threw you a wink. “See you at the party tonight, okay? Maybe we’ll both get lucky again.”

And just like that, she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her.

You stood there, staring at yourself in the mirror. Your lip gloss was perfect. Your hair was curled just the right way. But none of it felt like you.

You weren’t sure who you were supposed to be anymore.

By the time you arrived at the party, the bass was already thudding through the walls of Derek’s too-big house, the kind with marble counters and no parents for miles. Camille clung to Drew’s arm, laughing too loud, and Jake kept his hand glued to the small of your back like it was some kind of claim. You let him guide you through the front door, blinking against the flashing lights, the scent of beer and cheap weed clinging to the air like fog.

Someone shoved a Solo cup into your hand almost immediately — tequila, warm and sour — and Camille raised hers like it was a toast.

“To Friday nights and bad decisions,” she giggled, and threw her head back to take a long sip.

You smiled weakly and took a small sip, just enough to wet your lips. Jake was already on his second, talking with Drew near the kitchen. Camille stayed close.

“You need to loosen up,” she said, bumping her shoulder into yours. “Seriously, one drink won’t kill you.”

You glanced around at the crowd — bodies pressed close, music shaking the floor, laughter and smoke curling in the corners of the room. You felt dizzy already.

“I just don’t really like tequila,” you said, trying to keep it casual.

Camille rolled her eyes. “God, it’s not like you’re gonna die. Just drink it.”

You took another sip, deeper this time. The burn hit the back of your throat, and you winced, eyes watering slightly. Camille giggled and topped off your cup before you could protest, the tequila sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

“Jake’ll like it if you’re a little tipsy anyway,” she added, like it was some kind of helpful advice. “Boys like that.”

Your stomach twisted, but you said nothing. You just nodded, half-listening, and took another sip — smaller this time. You didn't even like the taste, Camille had mixed it with cranberry juice which somehow made it taste worse, but it was easier than saying no.

Camille clinked her cup against yours and downed half of hers in one go. “You’ve gotta keep up, girl.”

You laughed weakly and took another sip, then another. It burned less now. Or maybe you were just getting used to it.

Someone passed by and bumped your shoulder. The music was pounding harder, and the lights from the living room strobed in and out of the hallway. You hadn’t even realized you were sweating until you touched your upper lip.

Camille wandered off after that, laughing at something Drew whispered in her ear, and you were left standing there — sticky cup in hand, head starting to float just slightly. Not dizzy. Not wasted. Just loose. Like someone had untied the tension from behind your ribs and let it spill out.

You stood alone for a minute, letting the noise blur around you. You didn’t even want to be here. The music was too loud. The air too warm. The tequila too strong. You weren’t that kind of girl. The one who knew how to flirt and sway and drink like it didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

You drained the last inch of your cup anyway and set it on the nearest table, wiping your hands on your jeans.

You wandered toward the living room, hoping for a breeze near the sliding door, or maybe a quieter corner where the lights weren’t so harsh — when Jake found you again.

His grin was wide. His pupils blown. His arm slid around your waist with the kind of practiced ease that made you wonder how many girls he’d held like this.

“There’s my girl,” he said, pulling you against his chest. “You having fun?”

You nodded, though your head felt light, your knees a little unsteady.

He kissed you, warm and sloppy. It wasn’t bad — not at first. Just familiar. His hands slid down your back and you let him, tried to ignore the spinning feeling building in your chest.

But then his fingers curled under the hem of your shirt. Then up. Too fast. Too much.

“Jake,” you said, pulling back slightly, “I don’t… I think I’m too drunk.”

He just smiled, like that was the point. “That’s perfect.”

Your skin went cold. You stepped back, but he held your wrist.

“I said no,” you repeated, firmer this time, trying to twist free. “I don’t want to.”

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” he said, tugging you toward the stairs. “You’re fine.”

“I’m not,” you said, panic rising in your throat. “Jake, let go of me.”

He sighed, annoyed now. “Why are you acting like this? You were fine a minute ago.”

“Because I said no.”

You yanked your arm harder, stumbling slightly, the world tilting too fast — and then, all at once, a voice cut through the haze.

“She said let go.”

Jake turned just as Eddie Munson stepped forward from the crowd, eyes dark, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t look scared. He looked ready.

The contrast couldn’t have been sharper — Jake in his designer polo, hair gelled to perfection, and Eddie in his black band tee and ripped jeans, his fingers already curling like he’d been waiting for a reason.

Jake scoffed. “Oh look, the freak’s here. What, you stalking her now?”

Eddie’s voice didn’t waver. “No. Just not a fan of guys who don’t take no for an answer.”

Jake’s grip tightened. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, stepping closer, “it does.”

“She’s my girlfriend, Munson.”

Eddie’s eyes flicked to you — just a split-second, but enough to check. Enough to ask if that was still true.

“She said she didn’t want to go with you.”

Jake shoved him.

It was fast. A blur. But you saw it.

Eddie’s fist connected with Jake’s jaw, sharp and clean.

The crack of it rang out over the music — loud, raw, ugly. Like the moment ripped straight through the party.

Jake staggered back, one hand flying to his face, eyes wide in disbelief. He hit the wall behind him with a dull thud, sliding slightly before catching himself.

“What the fuck?” he roared, blood blooming bright against his lip. “Are you serious, Munson?!”

Eddie didn’t flinch. His shoulders were squared, fists still clenched, breath hard and fast like he hadn’t even realized he was holding it. His curls fell loose in his face, wild and damp from the heat of the room.

“She said no,” Eddie growled. “You think that means keep going?”

Jake sneered, spit pink with blood. “You don’t know shit, freak. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“You laid hands on her when she told you to stop,” Eddie snapped. “That makes it my business.”

Jake lunged, his fists tightening, but Drew jumped between them — arms out, palms up, the nervous kind of energy that said he was used to fights but not ones like this.

“Jake, man, no — not worth it,” Drew said, shoving him back. “You’re bleeding. You’re drunk. Just chill.”

Jake jerked his arm out of Drew’s grip. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then stop acting like a goddamn asshole,” Drew snapped back. “Jesus.”

“God,” Jake laughed bitterly, wiping at his mouth, “Look at this shit. Are you serious right now?” Jake suddenly turned his attention toward you, it took you a second to realize he was addressing you. “Running off with him?”

Your name came out like a curse.

You were still frozen. Still clutching the hem of your shirt like it might hold you upright.

“Don’t,” Eddie said sharply, stepping between you. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Jake tilted his head, smiling without humor. “What, you gonna hit me again, freak? Gonna take her back to your little dungeon trailer and play D&D while she cries about how mean I was?”

Eddie’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t move.

“Bet she’s just another little tease anyway,” Jake added, voice louder now, like he wanted the whole room to hear. “Playing shy till someone actually tries to give her what she wants.”

You flinched. Heat flushed your cheeks, your ears, your neck.

“Fuck you, Jake,” you said, your voice shaking but loud enough to carry.

He stared at you. Like he couldn’t believe you’d actually spoken.

“I didn’t want that. You didn’t listen. That’s not my fault.”

Jake scoffed. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep tonight, princess.”

“Let’s go,” Eddie said gently. His voice dropped low as he turned to you. “C’mon, I’ll walk you home. You don’t have to stay here.”

You hesitated. People were still watching. The bass still pulsed through the floor. You could feel the weight of every stare, every whisper already forming.

“I—I don’t want to cause a scene,” you said softly, embarrassed.

Eddie gave a humorless smile. “Bit late for that, sweetheart.”

You cracked a tiny laugh — the kind that tasted like shame and relief at the same time. Then you nodded.

“I just wanna go home.”

“You sure?” he asked, searching your face. “We can find your friend—”

“I’m sure,” you cut in, voice firmer now. “Please.”

Behind you, Jake muttered something under his breath — slut, maybe, it might have been bitch — but Drew stepped in again, pushing him back with a rough shoulder and a hard glare.

“Get a grip,” Drew muttered to Jake.

Eddie wrapped his hand around your wrist — not tight, just enough to ground you — and guided you through the crowd. The whispers followed, but you didn’t look back.

Not at Jake.

Not at the house.

Not at what you were leaving behind.

You only looked at Eddie.

And for the first time all night, you felt safe.

The front door slammed behind you as Eddie led you down the porch steps, his hand still lightly wrapped around your wrist like he wasn't sure you'd keep walking if he let go. The street was darker out here, quieter. The distant thump of music faded into nothing behind you, replaced by the rustle of wind in the trees and the gravel crunching under your shoes.

You walked in silence for a few minutes, your heart still thudding too hard, your hands too cold. Eddie kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, like he wasn’t sure if you were going to break or bolt. He was quiet too, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet. It was… thoughtful. Like he was giving you space to breathe.

After a few blocks, he veered slightly off the sidewalk, nudging your shoulder. “C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the woods. “Shortcut through the trees.”

You hesitated, glancing at the line of tall dark pines rising behind the houses. “Seriously?”

“It’s not haunted,” he promised, grinning. “Well. Maybe just a little. Depends on how cool you are with raccoons.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Raccoons?”

“Yeah, y’know. The masked bandits of the forest. Local gang. Might try to mug us for snacks.” He shrugged like this was a completely normal concern. “We’ll have to establish dominance.”

That made you laugh — small and real — and he grinned like he was proud of himself for getting it out of you.

It was ridiculous, honestly, how quickly the weight in your chest had started to lift. How just a few words from him made everything feel better. Like everything that had happened at the party wasn't so important anymore.

“It’s just trees,” he said, nodding toward the narrow dirt path between them. “You’re safe with me.”

The words hit deeper than they should’ve. Maybe it was the way he said them — not dramatic or flashy, not performative — just steady. Sure.

You followed him in.

The trail was overgrown in places, but the moonlight peeked through the gaps in the trees, casting everything in soft silver. It was cooler here, the air sharp against your skin. You crossed your arms, mostly for warmth, and Eddie noticed. Without saying anything, he shrugged off his worn denim vest and handed it to you.

“You’ll freeze,” you said.

“I’ve got layers,” he replied. “You’ve got goosebumps.”

You took it, letting the worn fabric settle over your shoulders. It smelled like him — faint smoke, motor oil, some kind of cologne — and it was oddly comforting. Familiar in a way Jake never managed to be.

After a minute, you spoke quietly. “Thanks. For… back there.”

Eddie looked down at you, brow furrowed just a little. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” you said. “No one’s ever really… stood up for me like that.”

He exhaled, slow. “You shouldn’t need someone to. That guy was a dick.”

You gave a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah. He was.”

Eddie kicked a branch out of the way and slowed his pace so you could keep up. “Y’know, I’ve seen you with him before. And I always wondered if he actually saw you.”

You glanced over. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged again, but it wasn’t careless. “You’re not just some pretty girl in a cheer skirt. You’re funny. Way smarter than any of those guys realize. You have this little nervous habit where you twist your ring when you’re overwhelmed. You do that when you answer questions in class, too — not that you need to, you’re always right — but I don’t think you even notice.”

Your mouth parted, but nothing came out. Your fingers brushed the ring on your middle finger, and you looked down in surprise. He was right.

Eddie noticed. Jake never had.

“You always sit with your back to the windows, like you don’t like people watching you,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck like he hadn’t meant to say so much. “And when you smile, like really smile, it kinda ruins me a little.”

You stopped walking.

Eddie did too — only a few steps ahead now, the leaves crunching under his boots, hair silver in the moonlight.

You swallowed. “Why do you pay so much attention to me?”

He turned back to face you, and his voice was quieter now. Less teasing. “Because I see you.”

The breeze rustled through the trees, and for a second, all you could hear was the sound of your heart thudding in your chest.

“I saw you even when you didn’t see yourself,” he added. “That first week of school when you sat behind me in English, I thought you were gonna laugh at me. But you just asked to borrow a pen. And then you said thank you. That was it. That was the moment.”

You stepped forward, the words catching behind your ribs. “The moment for what?”

He gave you a crooked smile. “The moment I realized you weren’t like the rest of them.”

You looked at him then — really looked. At the way his lashes curled long and dark over his cheekbones, the scar on his eyebrow, the softness in his eyes that didn’t match the way people talked about him in the halls.

You had no idea what to say.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You reached for his hand.

And he took it like he’d been waiting forever.

The world paused for a heartbeat — your hand in his, your pulse like a drum — and then the first drop landed. Soft. Cool. Right on your cheek.

You blinked up at the sky.

Another. And then another.

A few seconds later, it was pouring.

“Shit!” you gasped, a surprised laugh bubbling up in your throat as the rain turned fast and sudden, soaking through your hair and clothes like the sky couldn’t wait another second.

Eddie laughed too — a startled, real, chest-deep sound — and tugged your hand tighter. “Come on!”

You ran.

Your sneakers slipped slightly in the grass as you both sprinted toward the road, water smacking against the pavement and splashing up from puddles you couldn’t dodge in time. You were soaked within seconds — hair plastered to your cheeks, makeup probably running, your shirt sticking to your skin — but you were laughing, and so was he.

It wasn’t a perfect run. You tripped once and nearly lost your balance, and he caught you by the elbow, steadying you with a grin that made your stomach flip. You clutched his arm, breathless, dripping.

“This is so gross,” you said through a laugh, rain catching in your lashes.

“Gross?” he echoed, squinting at you, curls dark and flat now against his face. “This is peak cinematic romance, sweetheart. I think this is where I’m supposed to say something poetic and then kiss you like we’re in a John Hughes movie.”

You raised a brow. “You mean, like... Pretty in Pink?”

“More like Sixteen Candles. Rain, angst, unrequited love… Except I’ve got way better hair than Jake Ryan.”

You let out a laugh, half-shocked, half-swooning. “You wish.”

And then you were both laughing again, so breathless you had to stop just before the sidewalk that led to your house. The porch light glowed a few yards away, blurred behind the curtain of falling rain.

You turned to run again — but Eddie didn’t move.

You felt the tug first — his hand pulling you back — and then his arms sliding around your waist, warm even through the damp fabric of your clothes. Your breath caught as you turned to face him.

His eyes searched yours — wild, soft, all at once — water trickling down the curve of his jaw, over the tip of his nose, his lips pink and parted.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he murmured.

You didn’t even have time to answer.

His mouth met yours in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was full of everything unsaid — every second he’d watched you from afar, every time he bit back a thought because he didn’t think he deserved to say it out loud. It was hungry. Careful. Real.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping his soaked shirt as you kissed him back. He tasted like rain and mint and something a little bit like courage. He tilted his head slightly, deepening it, one hand cradling the back of your neck like he was afraid to let go.

The world around you disappeared. No rain. No trees. No porch light. Just him.

The kiss broke for half a second — barely — and you gasped for air, your forehead pressed to his, both of you laughing breathlessly, dripping with rain and something that felt dangerously like love.

“You realize this is insane, right?” you whispered, your voice shaking with adrenaline.

“Yeah,” he breathed, brushing his thumb across your jaw, his smile lopsided and beautiful. “Completely. But you kissed me back.”

You swallowed. “I know.”

And then you kissed him again.

Softer this time — less like lightning, more like a promise — and his fingers curled into your waist, pulling you closer.

Rain soaked you both down to your skin, but neither of you cared. Not even a little.

When you finally pulled apart, still grinning, still dizzy, he nudged your nose with his. “Let’s get you home before you melt.”

“Too late,” you said, laughing as he laced his fingers with yours again.

And this time, you didn’t let go.

did you guys miss me??<33 i know it's been ages and im sorryyy, but im back ! w a long one too, excuse the mistakes it was written at 3am

will i ever stop writing about eddie x popular girl? probably not. maybe it's cause i was a cheerleader in high school and fell in love w the guy who introduced me to metallica and black sabbath

@deadwizzardlover @bib200

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAhZ9_msWmB/?igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

This but eddie munson aka the freak when a new alt girl shows up to town and she's really into him

of course! thank you for requesting. you didn't specify if you wanted it nsfw or to go past that point so i didn't.. also i tried to ad being Alt as much as i could but i did have to google to style so..sorry

I'D BE HONOURED

Pairings: Eddie munson x fem! Summary: when moving into the trailer park, you straight away take a liking to the only one that seems to match your energy. Warnings: mention of a joint, getting a little high.

you were always moving. never staying in one city for more than 2 years.

and in all of your life. you've never come across a guy like him.

Eddie Munson.

you moved here a week ago and you've already been told the tales of the town freak.

a Satanist, a ruthless metalhead that will sacrifice you if you get too close.

you didn't really care for those rumours until you saw him on your second day, you were moving your boxes inside when you saw him across the way, sitting at a table in front of the trailer across from yours.

he looked...hot.

like he just came out of a Rockstar poster..more specifically, like the posters that were rolled up in the box you were carrying in your hands.

you understood the words they spoke of him; you were usually on the other end of them as well.

he's just a normal guy..

but a fucking hot one.

you were in your room, putting last little touches on the walls and hanging the last poster.

it was a small room, barely fitting all of your stuff, but you made it work.

but all the dark colours made it a little too dark in the room.

you flicked the switch but it wouldn't turn on.

you huffed

"are you fucking kidding me?" you rolled your eyes as you began vigorously flicking it on and off before giving up.

you looked out the window after opening the curtains and found him.

sat on a swing with his back turned to you.

he was a bit far away, but you could tell it was him by the denim vest he's wearing. no one else would dare ware something like that here, you've learnt that much.

you turned around and stood in the middle of your room.

your dad had gone out to get takeout. So it was just you.. with nothing to do

may as well try to talk to the wild beast. right?

The sun was low, casting an amber glow over the trailers in Forest Hills as you walked out of your trailer.

The soft buzz of cicadas filled the evening air, blending with the faint metallic creak of swings from the small playground by the woods. You leaned against the frame of your new trailer, arms crossed, surveying the quiet neighborhood you now called home.

Across the way, a beat-up van sat parked outside a trailer with peeling paint and a lopsided porch. It screamed personality, just like the guy who lived there.

the rumours screamed in your ears.

it's about time you met him. the freak. Trouble. Weirdo. But none of that deterred you. If anything, it piqued your interest. The world always seemed too tame for your taste, and Eddie looked like someone who could turn things upside down.

Your combat boots crunched against the gravel, but he didn’t look up. His focus was on the ground beneath his feet, the tiniest of smirks tugging at the corners of his lips as he brought a joint to his mouth.

“Mind if I join?” you asked, your voice cutting through the quiet.

Eddie’s head snapped up so quickly you thought he might fall off the swing. His wide brown eyes darted to you, then to the joint in his hand.

“Uh… I mean, yeah, sure,” he stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush. He gestured vaguely to the empty swing beside him, his other hand quickly flicking the joint away, as though you hadn’t already seen it.

“Be my guest.”

You plopped down on the swing, your legs stretched out in front of you as you kicked the ground lightly to sway back and forth.

“Didn’t think anyone still hung out at playgrounds.” you chuckled softly

Eddie let out a nervous laugh, his eyes darting between you and the ground.

“Yeah, well...Didn’t think anyone still moved into this dump,” he added quickly, though his tone was light, his curiosity evident.

You grinned, tilting your head to look at him. “Lucky for me, I did.”

you took this time to really look at him

his dishevelled mane of hair, but as much as it looks wild, it looks so soft.

his frizzy fringe just meeting his eyebrows as he raised them.

it was cute.

his eyes were glassy, and a bit red. his irises were a little blown out, but he didn't look that high.

His gaze flickered to yours, and for a moment, he seemed frozen, his fingers twitching in his lap like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Then, as if realizing he’d been staring too long, he cleared his throat and looked away. “So, uh, what’s your… deal?”

“Deal?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “What brings you to the luxurious Forest Hills?” He forced out a chuckle, but you caught the slight wobble in his voice.

You shrugged. “My dad wanted a change of scenery. Hawkins seemed like the perfect mix of boring and cheap.”

Eddie laughed, a little too loudly, before clamping his mouth shut.

“Yeah, well, Hawkins excels at boring,” he said, his words a little rushed. “Freaks like me are the only excitement you’ll get.”

You leaned closer, resting your elbow on the swing’s chain as you smirked at him.

“Good thing I like freaks, then.”

Eddie froze, his eyes widening as his face flushed a deep red. “Uh…I- thanks? I- uh- I think?” He fumbled for a response, his hands gripping the chain of his swing so tightly that it creaked.

You laughed, the sound bright and easy. “Relax, Eddie. I’m not here to bite. Yet.”

That earned you another breathy laugh, though he quickly tried to hide his face behind his curls as he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing at the base of his throat “you already know my name then, I take it”

you shrugged, realised he hadn't actually introduced himself to you yet

"doesn't take a while to hear about the tales of Eddie Munson and his cult" you joked

he looked down, kicking his foot on the dried grass "I don't-"

you cut him off "- I know"

you shake your head realising he still doesn't know your name, and you introduce yourself with a small smile

"nice to meet you" he smiles, brushing his hair from his face to reveal his dimples

The two of you sat there for a while, the silence between you comfortable. When he finally offered you the joint, he hesitated.

“Uh, here. If, you know… you want.” his fingers brushing against yours briefly before he yanked his hand back like he’d been burned.

You took it without hesitation, a grin tugging at your lips. “Thanks.”

“So,” you said, exhaling the smoke and leaning back on the swing. “What do people do for fun around here? Or is this town as dead as it seems?”

Eddie smirked, though there was still a flicker of nervous energy in his eyes.

“well..if you stick with me, new girl. I promise to show you some fun"

You grinned, feeling like you’d just stepped into something far more exciting than you’d expected when you moved here.

“well, if you got anything better than this" you motioned to the joint "that will be a good start"

Eddie smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, if you’re looking for something a little better than that,” he said, flicking the joint away with a casual flick of his wrist. “I’ve got the good stuff back at my trailer. Trust me, it’ll knock your socks off.”

You couldn’t help but grin at his boldness. “oh?” you raised an eyebrow, motioning to the joint you’d just smoked. “Now you’ve got my attention.”

Eddie’s grin softened, but he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as if suddenly unsure. “Uh, yeah, but, I mean… it’s not, like, fancy or anything. Just, uh, a little stronger than what you’re used to.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I guess if you want, I can show you.”

You raised your other eyebrow. “Oh, I’m definitely in. Lead the way,” you said, your voice teasing, but genuinely interested.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his nervous energy palpable.

“Yeah, sure.” He started heading toward the path leading to his trailer, but his movements felt a little more jittery than usual, like he wasn’t quite sure if you were just humouring him or actually interested.

You followed him, enjoying the quiet tension between you two as the rustling leaves beneath your feet filled the silence. There was something raw and magnetic about the way Eddie carried himself- even if he was clearly unsure about letting you into his space, it only made you more curious.

When you arrived at his trailer, Eddie hesitated at the door for a second before fumbling for his keys. He finally unlocked it with a soft click and pushed the door open. You stepped inside, immediately hit with the mixed scent of incense, smoke, and something heavier- weed, for sure.

The inside of the trailer was cluttered in the best way. things stacked in the corners, folded messily, a whole bunch of ashtrays and stains on the rugs. it was chaotic but in a way that screamed Eddie- the only thing that seemed odd for him were all the hats on the wall- because you couldn't imagine Eddie wearing a hat, especially with his head of hair, it would look a bit weird.

you liked it. this was his personal haven, but now that you were stepping inside, it was obvious that this wasn’t a space he was used to sharing with anyone- especially not a girl.

Eddie cleared his throat, standing by the door awkwardly as he gestured toward the mess.

“Uh, yeah, sorry about the, uh, the mess. It’s, uh, not exactly... company-ready or anything.” He shifted on his feet, his hands slightly trembling as he scratched the back of his neck.

"I, uh, usually keep it... you know, just for me...and Wayne" He glanced at you with an almost apologetic look. "But, you know... make yourself at home or whatever."

You smiled, feeling more at ease. “It’s fine, Eddie,” you said, your voice soft but reassuring. "It looks like you’ve got some good stuff in here."

Eddie gave you a tight smile, but it was obvious he was still self-conscious.

“Yeah, yeah... uh..mostly my uncles so..” He moved toward a pile of records, his movements a little faster now, almost like he was trying to distract himself from his nervousness.

“Alright, I’ve got the good stuff. Just gotta find it.” He rifled through the drawers, looking for something, his hands a little shaky as he fumbled through it.

You stood in the middle of the room, watching him look under a table attached to the wall, a chair on either side of the dark wood, you found it amusing, watching him rush around, a frown on his lips as he scratched his side, his tummy peeking out of his black DIO shirt.

Finally, Eddie pulled out a small metal tin from behind a stack of vinyl's, his face lighting up.

“Ha! Got it.” He held it up, the tin looking almost like a treasure. “This is what I was talking about. It’s, uh, stronger than what you had earlier.” He set it on the table, still trying to act cool, but you could see the way his hands shook just a little. It was endearing.

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. Stepping closer to get a better look. “You weren’t kidding.”

Eddie’s smile softened, and his eyes darted to yours, clearly nervous now. He opened the tin, the scent of something far stronger than what you’d smoked earlier filling the air. He looked down at it, then back at you, his voice dropping slightly as if he was trying to gauge your reaction.

“So, uh, you want to… you know... try it?”

You stepped closer, your heart racing a little now. The air was thick with something unspoken between you two, the electricity of the moment almost palpable. “Hell yeah. Let’s see what you’ve got, Munson.” You were leaning in now, a little excited, but more than that- you were drawn to him, to this side of him he was letting you see.

Eddie swallowed, his eyes flicking between you and the tin. “Yeah, alright,” he muttered.

he still seemed a little unsure but eager to share what he had with you. He took out what he needed, trying his best to hide his nerves. You could tell this was a side of Eddie that he didn’t show to just anyone, and it made the whole situation feel more intimate than you’d expected.

he walked into the room down the hall and nodded his head to follow him

you assumed it was his room by the look of it. a mirror on the opposite wall of the door, a red and black guitar hung up gloriously. it was exactly how you pictured his room to be, but better.

so many posters littered on the wall, trash on the floor, stains on the bed that he immediately covered with a blanket when he saw you looking, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

he sat down on the floor, leaning on the side of his bed, patting the spot next to him.

you left some space as you watched him.

he passed you the rolled joint, his fingers brushed yours, and you both froze for just a second. The moment stretched, and you could feel that something had shifted between you two. Eddie didn’t say anything, but his eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than normal.

Eddie cleared his throat and pulled his hand back quickly, as if your touch had burned him. His nervous energy was palpable now, and he fidgeted with one of the rings on his fingers.

“Uh, yeah, so…” he started, his voice trailing off as he avoided your gaze, instead focusing intently on the joint like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Eddie,” you said, your voice breaking the silence and pulling his attention back to you. His brown eyes flicked to yours, wide and unsure, as if he wasn’t sure what you were about to say. “Relax,” you added, leaning back a little as you held up the joint. “You act like you're corrupting me”

He let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Of course not. You’ve probably smoked way better stuff than this, huh?” His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of genuine insecurity buried underneath.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before taking a slow drag, the taste of the weed filling your lungs. You exhaled, watching the smoke curl lazily into the air.

“It’s not bad,” you said finally, offering him a sly smile. “I mean, I’ve had worse.”

Eddie’s lips quirked up into a small grin, his nerves melting just slightly.

“Well, don’t go spreading that around, no one will buy off me if you do” he joked, reaching out to take the joint from your hand. His fingers brushed yours again, and this time, he didn’t pull away so quickly.

“you mean you don't just give it out for free?" you look around, motioning to the room where you sit, looking at him knowingly. finding if funny how you're smoking this for free, but sells it for 20 bucks a pop

he laughed "yeah... think of it as a taste of what you'll need if you're in Hawkins for too long.."

"you’ve got a nice setup here,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the room.

he looked around, twirling the joint between his fingers. “Yeah, it’s definitely me. Messy, chaotic, and, uh... probably not what you’re used to.” His tone was light, but the words carried a trace of doubt.

you looked down at your clothes, the layers of fishnets and lace, your short, ruffled skirt and band tee and back up at him with an eyebrow raised “do I look like I'm not used to it?” you said, your voice soft but certain.

Eddie glanced at you; his cheeks tinged pink. “No, you uh- You’re...you look good” he said, his voice quieter now, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You smirked, leaning back against his bed. “Oh yeah?”

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Yeah? you don't dress like every other girl here... it's nice”

“Thank you” You paused, pretending to think as you stole the joint back from him, your fingers brushing his once more. “you know, i expected you to be different"

he raised an eyebrow "oh yea? how different?"

you shrugged "I don't know...Cocky. Loud. Completely full of himself.”

Eddie laughed at that, the sound nervous but genuine. “Oh, don’t worry, I can be all those things. Just, uh, takes me a minute to warm up when a girl’s sitting in my trailer for the first time.”

he looked away and shook his head. he clearly didn't mean to say that and you could tell that by the way he mumbled something under his breath, cursing himself

You blinked, surprised. “Wait. The first time?”

He froze, like he’d said too much, and quickly tried to backtrack. “I mean, not the first time. Just, you know, uh… not often. Or, like, ever.” He groaned, running a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah. First time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound breaking the tension in the room. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Eddie’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, and he fumbled with the joint, nearly dropping it. “Adorable?” he repeated, incredulous. “That’s a new one.”

“Well, get used to it.” You took another drag and passed it back to him, your gaze lingering on his as the air between you grew heavy again.

Eddie hesitated, the joint halfway to his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice quieter now, a mix of nerves and intrigue.

“I think you know what it means, Munson,” you said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

Eddie stared at you for a moment, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Finally, he smiled—small, shy, but real. “Yeah, ok” he said softly, taking a drag and exhaling the smoke slowly.

you smiled and sat on your knees, kicking your legs to the side, leaning closer to him and propping yourself on your hand.

Eddie passed you the joint, his fingers brushing yours, His gaze flickered up to meet yours before darting away, a flush creeping over his cheeks. He fumbled with his rings, suddenly looking very aware of the space between you.

You took a slow pull from the joint, exhaling smoke as you leaned back in your seat, watching him. “Alright, Eddie. Let’s play a game.”

His eyes darted up, wary. “A game?”

“Yeah,” you said with a teasing grin. “Five questions. We take turns, no lies, no skipping. And I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “This feels like a setup.”

“Only if you’ve got something to hide,” you shot back, your grin widening. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Plenty,” he muttered under his breath, but he nodded. “Fine. Hit me with your best shot, new girl.”

You leaned in slightly, your eyes glinting with amusement. “If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

Eddie perked up at the question, the nervousness easing just a little. “Anywhere but here” he snorted. “but probably L.A.. could get big with my music there”

“bet you would,” you agreed, your tone a little softer.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Alright, what’s your deal? Like, why the alt look? You actually into the music, or is it just… I don’t know, a vibe?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s not just a vibe, Munson. I’m into it, metal, punk, goth, you name it. Music, the aesthetic, the attitude… it’s all part of the package.”

you reached over and took a strand of his hair in between your fingers, twirling it.

"why? you don't like it?" you tilted your head

he blinked cluelessly that it made you wonder if he was this cute when he wasn't this high

“no, s'not a bad thing,” Eddie said quickly, his voice almost tripping over itself.

You smiled at him, tilting your head. “Good to know, What’s something you’ve always wanted to try or do but never had the guts to do?”

Eddie froze for a moment, thinking. “I don’t know...”

You threw your head back against his bed, grinning. “oh c'monn. it's ok,, you can tell me”.

He laughed, a little shakily. “um..play drums?”

you furrowed your eyebrows "I didn't mean like that but sure, fine"

you took a second to think about your next question as you took your fingers out of his hair, tracing them down his arm, grazing his hand that kept him up on the floor

Eddie swallowed thickly, you were freaking him out, in a good way..every touch you send his way is giving him tingles, burning his skin and forces a blush on his cheeks.

it's just because I'm high, right? she's not actually flirting with me he thought to himself

You leaned forward “What’s your type?” you whispered, like you were telling a secret

Eddie blinked, his mouth opening and closing like he wasn’t sure how to answer. “Type?”

“Yeah,” you pressed, the grin on your face just shy of wicked. “Like, the kind of person you’re into.”

“Uh...” He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks turning pink. “I don’t know if I really have a type. Just... someone who doesn’t think I’m a total freak, I guess.”

You raised an eyebrow, your voice lowering slightly. “What if they think you’re a freak... in a good way? like a freaky way?”

Eddie’s eyes snapped to yours, the words clearly short-circuiting his brain. “Uh, well... I guess that’d be okay.”

You bit back a laugh, leaning back again. “Your turn.”

Eddie exhaled, his shoulders slumping like he’d just survived something. He hesitated before scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Last one. ‘I, uh—I just have to ask, um...”

You watched him flounder, a smile tugging at your lips as you waited.

but he's freaking out inside, his whole body burning up as the words spill from his lips as he stares at you.

you were making him flustered.. it wasn't fault you were giving him those looks. he's never done this, he's never had a girl talk to him..it's making him nervous

“Would you mind if..well...would you mind if I ripped off all your clothes with my teeth?”

you looked at him with a growing smile, stunned he’d actually said it. But then, with a grin, you leaned in, your voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down his spine.

“God, I’d be honoured.”

biting your lip, you watched him freeze and tense up, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped to make the perfect 'o' shape.

You giggled, leaning closer to leave a soft kiss on his cheek

"So cute" you whispered, pinching his cheek

His face flushed, and he stuttered to speak

"Well- I- um- what?"

His eyes met yours and seemed bigger than before. Brighter.

"I'll take you up on that offer. But my dad'll be home any minute, so I should probably head out, will I see you tomorrow?" You smiled

He could only nod. Staring at you with wide eyes as you got up

"Bye cutie" you winked

--------------------------------------

[strawberryraviegutz]

Reading beetlejuice x reader fanfiction while listening to goth music at 1 am >>>>>>>

[kissunoo]

𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍… 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾,

𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗐𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈, 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋.. 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍.”

[rainstormies]

firestarter | eddie munson

its my birthday today so heres a lil gift from me to you<3

pairing: eddie x r!cheerleader

fandom: stranger things

word count: 2,4k (oneshot)

synopsis: when the pressure breaks her, she ends up at his door. and he doesn't turn her away.

song aesthetic: war of hearts by ruelle

content warning: super mild smut

You don't cry at school.

That's the rule. The only one that's ever really mattered, ever since you first zipped up that red and white cheer uniform and figured out how to smile on command. There are cameras in every hallway, even if they're just eyes. Eyes with claws and voices sharp as teeth.

But today?

Today, you break the rule.

It happens somewhere between Tiffany rolling her eyes and saying, “You've been weird lately,” and another girl whispering something behind her palm about “the freak” and your “late-night van rides.” Your skin burns under the fluorescent lights. You laugh too loudly, too fake, and say you're going to the bathroom when really, your hands are already shaking.

You make it to the back of the school before the tears fall.

It's golden hour — that time when the sun hits the cracked concrete just right and makes even Hawkins look soft, like a memory instead of a town. Your sneakers crunch over gravel as you head to the back parking lot where the record store glows like a secret. It's quiet here. Nobody follows you here.

Except him.

Eddie Munson leans against the wall, arms crossed, black jeans ripped at the knee and guitar pick chain swinging against his chest like a promise. He doesn't say anything when you walk past him, wiping your face with the sleeve of your jacket like it's nothing.

You don't make it ten steps before his voice breaks the quiet.

“Didn't peg you for a Mazzy Star girl.”

You turn, startled. His hair is a little wild from the wind, shadows tucked under his eyes like secrets he hasn't slept off yet.

He's not smirking. Not this time.

You almost laugh. “You've been watching me?” you ask, trying for playful. It doesn't quite work.

He shrugs, pushes off the wall. “You always come straight to the sad stuff. Not even a pit stop in the pop aisle. It's kind of impressive.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile. “And let me guess — you're here for the loudest, weirdest vinyl they have.”

He grins, that crooked little thing that makes your ribs tighten. “Guilty. But I like your taste better. It says you've been through something.”

You glance down, suddenly shy. “Maybe I have.”

He steps closer, voice gentler. “Yeah. I know the look. It's the one you get when you've learned to keep quiet.”

You don't say anything. Not right away. Just cross your arms and shift your weight from one foot to the other.

He softens a little. “Rough day?”

You nod. “They think I'm... changing. That I'm not playing the part right anymore.”

“And the part is...?”

“Perfect girl... I guess. Loud laugh. Thin waist. Small brain.”

Eddie snorts. “God forbid you have thoughts of your own.”

You're too tired to laugh. Instead, your voice is small when you say, “They're not wrong. I have changed.”

He doesn't ask how. Just walks up to you, close enough that you can smell the faint cigarette smoke on his jacket, the leather, the mint gum he's probably been chewing since third period.

“I think,” he says, “you're just starting to like who you are.”

And maybe, you think, I'm starting to like who I am when I'm around you.

His fingers brush your wrist — barely there. You don't pull away.

You end up in the van that night.

Not for anything wild — not yet — just to sit. Just to breathe. Eddie pulls a blanket from the back and throws it over your legs. He offers you a mixtape he swears was made for someone else but you know was for you. A voice you don't recognize sings low about love and bruises and forgiveness.

He doesn't look at you when he says, “I know they talk. I know what they say about me.”

You whisper, “They talk about me too now.”

“I'd take it all if it meant you didn't have to hear it.”

That's when you kiss him.

Or maybe he kisses you — it's hard to tell, the moment catches like a match and burns before you can stop it. His lips are rough, a little chapped, but the way he touches you is gentle. Like he's scared you'll run.

You don't.

Your hands end up tangled in the front of his shirt. He groans softly against your mouth, thumb tracing the line of your jaw like he's memorizing it.

And when you climb onto his lap, straddling him in the dark, neither of you says a word.

Your thighs bracket his hips. His hands slip under your cheer skirt, just barely — resting, not rushing. The air is heavy with heat, the smell of dust and rain and pine-scented air freshener.

You can feel him, hard beneath you, and he looks at you like he wants to give you the world and ruin you in the same breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice ragged.

You don't.

But you lean forward until your forehead touches his, and whisper, “Not yet.”

You stay like that for a while — tangled, burning, not ready to go all the way but too far to pretend it's nothing.

It's everything.

And it's terrifying.

⊹ ︶⏝⭒ ⊹ ⭒⏝︶ ⊹

You don't remember walking to his trailer, only deciding to. The party was too loud, too polished, too much. Glossy girls with brighter smiles than hearts. Boys with beer and boredom in their eyes. The kind of party that tastes like cherry lip gloss and leaves you lonelier than when you arrived.

So you walked.

Now, you're standing outside his door with your pulse in your throat. You don't knock. You just open it.

Eddie's on the couch, legs kicked up, half asleep in his faded Metallica tee. His hair's loose around his shoulders, and the room smells like incense and motor oil. A movie hums quietly on the TV — something old, black and white, warbling in and out of focus.

He sits up when he sees you, a little too fast. “Hey.”

You shut the door behind you, leaning against it like you're not sure how to stand anymore. “Your uncle's out, right?”

He blinks. “Yeah.”

“Good.” You step forward, just a little, the quiet click of your shoes sounding loud on the floor.

He notices. He's looking at you like he's trying to figure out how much of you is here and how much of you is still wherever you came from. “You okay?”

You don't answer. Not at first.

You sit beside him, slower than you walked in. “I'm tired of pretending,” you say, so softly it sounds like a secret.

Eddie tilts his head. “Pretending what?”

You look at him, eyes a little hazy, voice steady. “That I don't miss you when I'm not here. That I don't think about this — whatever this is — when I'm stuck with people who only like the version of me they understand.”

Eddie's quiet for a moment. Too quiet. Then he says, “That's a dangerous thing to say. Especially when you smell like cheap vodka and cherries.”

You laugh, and it breaks the tension like glass.

He's watching you, but not like the others do. Not like you're a prize to be won or a name to be whispered behind backs. Like you're a riddle he wants to take his time solving.

You lean in, close enough to feel his breath. “I'm not sober enough to lie.”

There's a silence.

Then his hand is on your thigh — not rushed, not demanding. Just there. Steady. Warm.

“You've been gone,” he says, voice low. “I figured you were over it. Over me.”

“I was scared,” you admit. “Of what they'd say. What I'd become.”

Eddie shifts closer. “You mean what you already are?”

You nod, throat thick. “Yeah.”

His touch trails up, over denim, to your hip. “You're here now.”

“I am.”

The air is thick between you. Not heavy — just full. Like something about to happen. Like thunder waiting to break.

He leans in, his nose brushing yours. “Say it again. That you missed me.”

You don't hesitate. “I missed you.”

Then his mouth is on yours.

It's not soft. It's not rushed either. It's just real. His hands slide up your back, grounding you. Your fingers find his shirt, curl into it like you've been needing to hold something solid all night.

He pulls you onto his lap without breaking the kiss, and you let him. You're straddling him now, your knees digging into the cushions, your hands buried in his hair. He tastes like cinnamon gum and the end of a long night — sweet and a little wild.

The kiss deepens. His hands press into your waist, fingertips memorizing every inch like he's trying to carve it into his skin. You feel weightless. Reckless. Free.

Your lips part for air, and he's looking at you like you hung the stars. “God,” he breathes. “You drive me insane.”

“You like it,” you whisper.

His hand tightens just slightly at your waist. “Too much,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours, his nose brushing yours again like he can't help it. “Too fucking much.”

You stay like that, suspended in the hush between heartbeats. Kissing in the dark. The TV behind you flickers in a wash of silver and shadow, forgotten. The only thing you hear is your breath, tangled with his, and the thrum of your pulse like war drums in your throat.

Then he moves. Slowly. Deliberately.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, callused fingertips brushing the bare skin of your lower back. You gasp, barely audible, the contact sending sparks skimming down your spine. He moves upward, inch by inch, like every patch of skin is sacred.

And you let him.

His other hand finds your thigh, grips it just above the knee, then slides upward with the same unhurried patience, anchoring you tighter to him. Your body curves instinctively into his, hips pressed together, and you swear he curses softly against your mouth.

Your lips find the curve of his jaw, warm and sharp beneath the stubble. You kiss him there, once, then again, then again — slower. Lazier. Like you're staking a claim.

He lets out a sound that's somewhere between a groan and a whisper, low and broken. His hands are moving now, one mapping the small of your back, the other ghosting beneath your skirt, bold but reverent. Like he's worshipping, not wanting.

Your breath catches. Heat coils low in your stomach.

“Say something,” you whisper against his throat.

“What do you want me to say?” he murmurs, his voice gravel and silk.

“That this means something,” you admit, because the words are already there, too big to swallow.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. Really look at you. His eyes are wild and open, like he's showing you every part of himself he's never let anyone see. “It means everything.”

Then his mouth is on yours again, hotter this time — messier. Less careful. Like he's unraveling right beneath your hands. You kiss him like you're starved for it. Like his mouth might be the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

Your hips shift. He grips tighter.

His thumb brushes just beneath the band of your panties — nothing more — and yet it's enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Your whole body goes taut, electricity singing in every nerve.

But he doesn't push.

Instead, he stills, forehead resting against yours again, both of you trembling under the weight of everything you're feeling but haven't said.

“You wanna stop?” he asks, voice barely there, like he's scared even the question might push you away.

You shake your head, slow but certain. “No.”

His eyes search yours a moment longer, making sure. Always making sure. But then he exhales like he's been holding his breath for days.

You're both breathing hard, the air between you gone heavy and warm, saturated with tension and everything you haven't dared to say. The room suddenly feels too small for all this want — too full of heat and moonlight and everything he makes you feel.

So you reach for him.

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt and lift, and he lets you, arms raised as you pull it over his head. The fabric falls somewhere to the side, forgotten. His skin is warm beneath your touch, dusted with freckles and old bruises, the kind of soft that hides strength.

Then your shirt is gone too, slipped away like a secret in the dark, and suddenly there's nothing between you but breath and skin and the electric pull that's always been there.

His hand comes to the back of your head, gently, like you're something precious — and he guides you down, slow and careful, until you're lying on your back, looking up at him.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and when he settles there, chest against chest, mouth just hovering above yours, it's like everything clicks into place.

It feels right. Not rushed. Not reckless. Just right.

Moonlight spills through the window, casting the room in silver shadows. It touches everything — the curve of your cheek, the slope of his shoulders, the way his eyes drink you in like you're something holy.

He undresses you like that, moving your legs for just long enough to get his pants off, in the quiet glow of night. Patient. His fingers careful, never greedy, brushing your skin like he's learning it —memorizing the shape of your ribs, the dip of your waist the places where you shiver under him.

Your hand finds his chest, palm spread flat, feeling the thud of his heartbeat under your skin. It's fast. Just like yours.

And then his lips are on yours again.

Slower this time. Deeper. He kisses you like he's got all the time in the world, like this is the only moment that's ever mattered. Every move is unhurried — the soft grinding of his hips, the gentle drag of knuckles across your jaw, the sigh he lets you when you pull him closer.

His mouth trails lower — jaw, throat, shoulder — and every press of his lips leaves a mark, not on your skin, but in your chest.

And not once does he let go.

His hands stay on you, steady and warm. Guiding. Anchoring. Holding you like he's afraid you might disappear if he stops.

And you don't move away either.

You don't want to.

Because for the first time, you don't feel like you're pretending. You're not the girl everyone thinks they know. You're just you, and he's just him, and there's nothing else here but the quiet promise of something real.

The kind of real that lingers.

The kind of real you don't forget.

icl i've never written smut before so pls forgive me if it's shit. lmk if you guys have any suggestions or stuff u want me to write. enjoyy<3