#use curl like a neanderthal?

[irradiate-space]

wgat would we do without wget?

[dearlenore]

I just found your account recently and I have fallen in love with your writing, it's so beautiful.

Could you do something with protective reader. Like where reader and spencer like each other but are to oblivious to the others feelings to do anything but when reader finds out Spencer's being teased by some people she goes off on them (even though spencer assures it's not a big deal). And when spencer confronts her about why she did that she confesses on accident.

Hope this makes any sence 🫶🏻

A GOOD GIRL’S GUIDE TO DESTRUCTION • S.REID

SUMMARY: when you discover your workplace crush is being bullied by some loser agents with a room temperature IQ, you decide it would be criminal to allow it to stand and show them their place in the bullpen.

PAIRING: Bau!fem!reader x preseason1!spencer

tags: reader is a a little mean, reader wears heels, reader is canonly SUPER hot, lowkey bullying, use of y/n once or twice I think???, feminine reader,

a/n: WAIT this is so frickin cute also YES BABY IM BACK DOING REQUESTS!!🥹❤️ took a 2 day break (how dare I) and now I’m back, working on a Coraline / sex w a ghost inspired Spencer fic so be ready guysss also Tim Bradford content soon anyways to the fic!💋

w/c: 2K

THE BULLPEN BUZZED with its usual chaos — phones ringing, agents shuffling between desks, and voices blending into a low hum. You were perched elegantly at your desk, pretending to scroll through messages on your phone while discreetly watching Spencer across the room.

You knew how people saw you — effortlessly polished, always put together. Your glossy hair framed your face perfectly, your designer blouse tucked neatly into a fitted dress pants that showed off your figure without being unprofessional. Agents often paused mid-sentence when you walked by, some too intimidated to even meet your gaze.

But right now? You were watching him.

Spencer’s curls fell messily over his forehead as he scribbled furiously in his notebook, bottom lip caught between his teeth. His brow furrowed in that focused way you adored — like he was trying to solve the universe itself in that tiny notebook.

Adorable, you thought, your fingers drumming lazily on your desk.

That was when you heard it — the unmistakable snicker of two agents across the room.

“Can you believe this guy?” one of them muttered, voice just loud enough to carry. “He’s probably writing love notes to his library card.”

The other chuckled. “I bet he has dinner with his sock drawer — alphabetized, of course.”

Your gaze snapped toward them. Spencer, naturally oblivious, kept his head down, pretending not to hear — or maybe he genuinely didn’t care.

But you did.

It wasn’t just that they were mocking him — it was who they were mocking. Spencer, who always brought you coffee exactly how you liked it. Spencer, who explained things in a way that never made you feel dumb. Spencer, who once offered to walk you home after a late case, rambling nervously the entire way because he didn’t know how to flirt properly — but you secretly loved every second of it.

Nobody — nobody — humiliated Spencer Reid on your watch.

Game on.

“Morning,” you said sweetly, your voice carrying just enough sugar to make your presence impossible to ignore. You approached the agents’ desks with your coffee cup balanced delicately in hand — nails painted a glossy shade of crimson that matched your lipstick.

“Oh, sorry,” you added with faux surprise, setting your coffee down — directly on top of one of their open case files with a splash. The paper instantly darkened as the liquid seeped in, staining the pages in messy brown splotches. “Did I interrupt your little gossip session?”

Both men froze, their smug expressions faltering.

“Oops,” you said with a smile — sharp, intentional.

The taller of the two — Agent Neanderthal, as you’d mentally labeled him — scowled. “What’s your problem?”

“Oh, no problem,” you said airily, straightening your posture so you towered just enough to make him feel small. “I was just wondering…” You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low purr. “Should I mention your little trip to The Yellow Rose last Friday?”

His face twitched.

“I’m sure your wife would love to hear how ‘late paperwork’ somehow turned into a two-hour stay at a certain gentleman’s club.”

His face drained of color so fast you wondered if you should fetch him some water — if only to dump it on his head.

“And you…” You turned to the second agent, your gaze cutting through him like a blade. “I heard your performance review is coming up.” Your smile sharpened. “Did you really forget to file those evidence logs from last month?”

“That’s not even —”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest as if you were devastated by the revelation. “Oh no! I’d hate for this to reflect poorly on your career.”

His jaw tightened.

“So,” you added sweetly, stepping back and adjusting your silk blouse like you were bored already, “maybe next time you feel like mocking someone, you’ll remember you’re not exactly invincible.”

When you returned to your desk, you didn’t just sit — you practically posed. Perched elegantly on the corner of it, legs crossed just so, you let one stiletto dangle lazily from your feet — an effortless power move. Your silk blouse hugged your figure perfectly, hair sleek and immaculate, makeup flawless. You knew exactly how to command a room without saying a word — and today, that power was directed squarely at two very unfortunate agents.

You ensured you had a perfect line of sight to the pair — Agent Neanderthal and his equally unpleasant sidekick. Both were still stewing from your earlier encounter, heads down and lips tight. Good. Let them simmer.

Moments later, Penelope approached with her tablet in hand, her bright ensemble — purple heels, a floral dress, and glitter-covered glasses — making her impossible to miss. She wore a mischievous smile, her eyes practically sparkling with glee.

“Oh my gosh,” she gushed dramatically, loud enough to grab nearby attention. “Thank you for sending me that!”

“Sending you what?” you asked innocently, your voice light but your smile sharper than glass.

“You know,” Penelope grinned, practically bouncing on her heels. “The picture of the surveillance feed from last week?”

You bit back a smirk. “Ohhh… that.”

With a flourish, Penelope turned her tablet toward you — and there it was: a glorious shot of Agent Neanderthal, visibly drunk, stumbling out of a bar. His tie hung loosely around his neck, shirt half-untucked. The real gem, however, was the moment his foot caught on the curb — resulting in a spectacular faceplant onto the sidewalk.

“Oh wow,” you said, loud enough for your voice to carry across the bullpen. You tapped your chin thoughtfully, feigning surprise. “I didn’t realize he was so… graceful.”

The agents around you chuckled quietly.

One of the men in question froze, his face turning crimson as he locked eyes with you. His hand instinctively shot up to shield his face like that would somehow erase the memory.

“Oh, don’t be shy!” Penelope chimed in sweetly. “I’ve been thinking — maybe I should edit it to include some slow-motion effects. You know, like one of those sports fail videos?”

“I love that,” you agreed, grinning wider. “Oh! Maybe you can add some dramatic music too — something classy. Like ‘Ave Maria.’”

“Genius,” Penelope gasped, clicking her fingers like she’d just discovered a new planet.

By now, the nearby agents — including Derek — were openly snickering.

“Man,” Derek chuckled, “I didn’t think I’d live to see someone out-mean girl literally any Highschool drama.”

You shot him a wink. “What can I say? Some of us just have a gift.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Agent Neanderthal shot you a murderous glare. His face was still flushed, beads of sweat gathering at his hairline.

“Careful,” you said sweetly as you passed him on your way to refill your coffee. “Wouldn’t want you to trip again.”

The bullpen had settled into a lazy hum by late afternoon — phones quieter, conversations softer, agents slumped in their chairs as they chipped away at paperwork. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and printer ink.

Spencer was still at his desk, flipping through his notebook as usual. His curls flopped over his forehead, obscuring his face as his pen scratched rapidly across the page. He was deep in thought — his brow furrowed, lips slightly parted.

Completely willingly oblivious, as always.

And while that boy-genius brain of his could memorize entire encyclopedias, he somehow never seemed to notice the way you lingered near his desk a little longer than necessary or how you always ended up next to him during briefings.

Today wasn’t going to be one of those days.

As you strolled past Agent Neanderthal’s desk, you paused just long enough to deliver your final strike.

“Oh,” you said sweetly, your voice carrying just loud enough to ensure everyone nearby could hear. “I mentioned to Strauss that you’d be perfect for re-cataloging the evidence archives this weekend. She seemed thrilled.”

His head snapped up so fast you were almost impressed he didn’t get whiplash. “You what?”

“You’re welcome,” you said with a bright, saccharine smile before turning on your heel.

Behind you, you heard a chorus of muffled snickers — Derek’s laugh unmistakable among them.

“Damn,” Derek muttered. “I almost feel bad for the guy.”

“Don’t,” Penelope chimed in from her perch by the coffee station, eyes gleaming. “He had it coming.”

Your heels clicked sharply against the floor as you walked back toward your desk, each step a silent victory lap.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Spencer said softly, his voice pulling you from your smug haze.

“Do what?” you asked, still feigning innocence.

“Y/N…” He sighed, stepping closer. His gaze flicked briefly toward Agent Neanderthal’s desk, where the man was still sulking. “I know what you did. The coffee spill, the pictures, the whole ‘Strauss’ thing. You didn’t have to —”

“Yes, I did,” you cut him off, your voice sharper than you intended.

Spencer blinked in surprise.

“I heard what they were saying,” you continued, your tone softer now. “You sit there, minding your business, doing your job — and they still have the nerve to make you feel like you don’t belong.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Spencer insisted. “It’s not worth —”

“Well, I care,” you shot back.

The words hung heavy in the air, your frustration bubbling just under the surface.

“I care because you’re… you’re you, Spencer.” You exhaled sharply, your arms crossing tightly over your chest. “And they don’t get to treat you like you’re some kind of joke.”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t finished.

“I mean, what did you think I was gonna do?” you asked, your voice turning casual, almost amused. “You’re my favorite person. I’m obviously gonna step in.”

Spencer frowned slightly. “Wait… what?”

You blinked, confused by his confusion.

“Spencer,” you said with a laugh, “I’m in love with you. You knew that.”

The bullpen noise seemed to dull in an instant — a vacuum of silence swallowing the air between you.

Spencer’s expression twisted in slow motion — brows furrowing, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait… what?”

You frowned, the realization hitting you. “Oh my God… you didn’t know?”

“I…” Spencer stammered, still stuck somewhere between baffled and frozen. “No?”

“Oh.” You paused, trying to wrap your head around how he didn’t know. “I just… I thought you figured it out.”

“How?” Spencer asked incredulously, his hands gesturing wildly now. “How was I supposed to know that?”

You tilted your head, counting the obvious signs on your fingers. “I make you coffee every morning. I let you ramble about statistics even when I don’t care. I watched that entire chess documentary just so I could understand what you were talking about last month — which, by the way, was four hours long.”

Spencer’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

“I’ve been ridiculously obvious,” you continued. “Honestly, I thought Penelope was going to start making PowerPoint presentations about it.”

Spencer let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his curls. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do,” you said with a shrug, like you hadn’t just confessed your heart to him in the middle of the bullpen.

Spencer stared at you for a beat too long — like he was trying to process some unsolvable equation. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and kissed you.

His lips were warm and soft against yours — hesitant at first, like he was still waiting for you to push him away. But when you leaned in closer, his hand instinctively found your waist, fingers curling in your blouse like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You smiled against his lips, heart racing.

When you finally pulled back, Spencer’s face was flushed, his eyes still half-lidded like he was dazed.

“You know,” he murmured breathlessly, “I was… uh… trying to figure out how to tell you I liked you too.”

“Oh?” you grinned. “Well, I think I handled that better than you would have.”

“Yeah,” Spencer said softly, a warm smile spreading across his face. “You definitely did.”

“Well,” you teased, fingers curling around his perpetually crooked tie to straighten it, “I’m good at a lot of things.”

“Yeah,” Spencer repeated, gaze warm as it lingered on you. “You are.”

From across the room, Penelope’s voice rang out, far too smug to be accidental.

“I knew it!”

[brithefruitbat]

In Her Kiss, I Taste the Revolution

Luigi Mangione is a rule-following, buttoned-up Computer Engineering major from a wealthy conservative family in Baltimore. Raised on classical debate, private schools, and deference to institutional order, he believes in logic, compromise, and clean-cut appearances. His life is measured, polished, and painfully predictable.

Enter Serena Chávez. An unapologetically loud, lime-haired punk singer with a passion for direct action, mutual aid, and anti-capitalist theory. She's a whirlwind of radical politics, thrifted leather jackets, and tattoos that tell her story. To her, the system isn't broken. It's functioning exactly as it was meant to.

This is a romance fic about dialectical materialism.

I

Serena leaned into the microphone, breath rattling on the cusp of exhaustion and defiance. Strands of electric lime hair clung to her forehead, slick with sweat. A halo of melting neon. Her eyeliner had surrendered to the heat, pooling in streams down her cheeks. She’d just rendered her throat raw with a final, eviscerating scream. An exorcism that closed Deathwish’s set. Her voice now carried a gravelly edge. The result of the same flawed technique that once haunted Kathleen Hanna - inhaling while she sang, rather than exhaling.

“Thanks,” she rasped, her umber eyes sweeping over the modest crowd clustered near the bowling alley’s entrance. They were clad in worn band tees, battle jackets armored with patches, and boots that had seen better days. To Serena, they were signifiers of a scene stubbornly refusing to die.

The bar regulars hadn’t come for a punk show. Their participation was incidental, softened by alcohol. Still, some nodded in passive appreciation, a few even flashing the horns. It was a gesture somewhere between goodwill and apology. A subtle acknowledgment that they’d crossed into alien territory, and would try not to trample anything sacred.

“We’ve got CDs and patches at the table,” Trent announced, loosening the strap of his sticker-covered bass. “Help us survive under Crapitalism.”

Serena let out a chuckle. A whisky sour beckoned from the back of her mind.

As their audience began to scatter, a sudden and distinct force permeated the room. The doors cracked open, and in flooded a tide of volume and arrogance. Chatter collided with itself in a din of testosterone and entitlement. Voices barked fragments; “pledge,” “bro,” “shots!”

A wave of backwards caps, sweat-dampened polos, and unnecessary sunglasses. The unmistakable cacophony of Greek life.

Disdain surfaced in Serena’s brain. She stiffened. Were there girls unlucky enough to be sandwiched among them? Trapped in ambiguous situationships? Forced to humor these neanderthals?

They scattered like pests, swarming around the outnumbered punks. Pizza was procured, rounds of liquor demanded into being. A few cast curious, sidelong glances toward the leather-and-denim fringe that was the Death Wish faithful. The divide was sharp, hostile. Cultural oil meeting vinegar. No emulsification in sight.

Serena shrank into herself, suddenly hyper-aware of every stud on her top, every theatrical line of her makeup which was now melting into chaotic strokes. Laughter. Mocking, guttural, it rippled through the interlopers. Then, words flung like darts.

“Fucking freaks.”

She blinked slowly, as if processing a foreign language, and then smiled. Not kindly. Her gaze cut to her bandmates. “Let’s do ‘Sorority Girls,’” she said, voice steady but gleaming with wicked glee. The sting of insult had alchemized into mischief. Trent’s lips curled into a half-smirk. Jenny raised a bleached brow and shot a thumbs-up.

“Hey!” Serena shouted. Heads turned. Some retreating toward the door paused. Others froze mid-merch selection, their hands hovering over the Pay What You Can jar. “This one’s a cover,” she announced. A knife before the plunge. She struck the opening chords of the song. Grimy, angular, and unapologetically confrontational. Her voice, when it came, was candy-laced poison, dripping sarcasm as she sang.

“Alpha

Beta, Delta

Placenta

Zita, Smegma

Alfalfa!”

Cheers. Nervous, delighted reinforcement from the crowd that mattered. They surged forward again, forming a bulwark of grins and combat boots. Serena flexed theatrically, mocking the very machismo that now glared at her.

“Hey, hey, hey, boys let’s go to the frat party

The theme is white people

Get your roofies ready!”

Middle fingers shot upward. Boos punctuated the performance. She stood unwavering, feeding off their disapproval. Her voice climbed higher, edged with barely contained laughter, as she delivered the final verse with venom and flair.

“Brainless fucking football dudes,

Wanna puke and spew on you!”

A roar of applause overtook the space. A tidal wave of affirmation. The punks stood taller, unified. Conversation erupted as the band began to pack up. Neon-clad security hovered uneasily, fluorescent against the ocean of black jackets and faded jeans.

Serena slipped her guitar into its padded case and helped haul gear into Trent’s rusting van. She leaned against the side of the vehicle for a breath, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body was humming, not from exertion, but from the resonance of adrenaline. The kind you only got after a set where everything came out exactly wrong and exactly right. Off-key, messy, glorious. The scent of sweat, beer, and residual reverb clung to her like a second skin. She lived for this. For the moment where the noise quieted but the ache stayed.

Once, after a backyard show in South Philly, a girl with a busted lip came up to her and said, “You made me feel like I could do anything.” Serena never forgot that. That’s what she wanted to be. A weapon people could hold when the world got sharp.

The night air bit at her sweat-slick skin, and thirst curled in her throat like smoke. She debated her options. Brave the throng for a drink, or stick to the steel water bottle waiting in her tote? Logic whispered hydration, but her craving screamed bourbon.

Head high, she marched back inside, shoulders squared, every step a statement. High-fives from fellow outcasts met her along the way. “Freak” was a badge of honor.

She waded into the crowd of frat boys like a fish swimming upstream, trampling over a Birkenstock. Its owner snarled.

“Watch it, bitch. You're just mad ‘cause you’re chopped.”

Serena didn’t flinch. She tossed cash on the bar and gave her order, letting her glare speak volumes. The guy wasn’t done. He loomed, breath sour, fists coiled.

“You think you're cool ‘cause you’re emo?” he slurred. “You look fucking stupid.”

She stared up at him, measuring. His eyes glinted with hostility. She spat.

Time slowed. His face twisted, a cartoon of shock and rage. He stepped too close for comfort. Serena inhaled sharply, ready to duck or run.

Then, cologne. Subtle, green, a hint of sage beneath the sweat and booze. A man had wedged himself between them, shoulder broad, thick brow furrowed in quiet concern.

“Is he bothering you?” he asked, voice low but clear.

His arm slid onto the counter in a gesture of protection. Jaw tight. He looked nervous, almost shy. Serena arched her brow, suspicious of hero complexes.

“His existence is an affront to evolution,” she muttered.

It caught him off guard. He snorted and grabbed her drink as it arrived.

“Let’s go outside,” he offered, nodding toward the exit.

She eyed him warily, but the bourbon called. She followed.

Once in the cold, she snatched the glass from him. “Can I have that, or are you gonna slip something in it first?”

His expression flickered. Shocked, then solemn. “Of course not,” he said quickly, hands raised in surrender. “Just didn’t want you to leave it behind. That guy was looking to throw hands.”

He hesitated. “Wanna sit?”

With a sigh, Serena dropped into a patio chair. Her legs sang with fatigue. She took a long pull from the straw, the bourbon sliding down her throat. Liquid courage.

He joined her, awkwardly adjusting in his seat.

“So...you go to Penn?”

“Yeah. Second year. Fine Arts. Poli Sci Minor.”

“Same. Engineering. Philosophy Minor.” He paused, then smiled. “I’m Luigi.”

“Serena.”

“Good to meet you.” His grin was wide, toothy, honest. “Caught the end of your set. It was...interesting.”

She tilted her head. “You can be honest if it’s not your thing.”

Luigi ducked his gaze, lashes brushing his cheeks. “I’m more into EDM,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I listen to some rock.”

Serena leaned forward, amused. “Is that so? Which bands?”

Luigi shifted in his seat, propping an elbow on the metal table, pecan eyes flicking up as if to scan a playlist in his head.

“I mean... I like Joy Division, obviously. ‘Atmosphere’ is genius. And Nine Inch Nails. ‘The Downward Spiral’ is basically a thesis on digital alienation. Velvet Underground. Lou Reed's voice sounds like someone reading Bukowski out loud in a dive bar. Bowie’s Low is my go-to coding album. New Order, I respect the fusion. ‘Temptation’ might be their best.”

Serena’s expression didn’t soften, exactly, but something behind her eyes flickered. Not approval. Curiosity.

“Hm,” she said, swirling the ice in her drink. “Respectable. Safe answers. You do your homework.”

“Safe?” Luigi looked mildly offended. “Low is emotionally deranged.”

“You’re not wrong,” she allowed, cocking her head. “But if you really knew Bowie, you’d talk about Scary Monsters before Low. That’s when he got vicious. And Joy Division? I’ll take ‘Disorder’ over ‘Atmosphere’ any day. Rawer. Desperate. Still bleeding.”

Luigi blinked. “Okay, fair. What about New Order?”

Serena took a sip of her drink, then pointed a black-painted nail at him. “If you say Blue Monday, I will end this conversation.”

He laughed. “I was going to say ‘Your Silent Face.’”

That caught her off guard. Her eyebrows lifted. She was impressed despite herself.

“That’s... actually my favorite,” she said, slower. “Fine. You pass.”

Luigi mimed wiping sweat from his brow. “Thank God. Okay, but,” he said, leaning closer, “Radiohead.”

Serena rolled her eyes dramatically. “Thom Yorke sounds like a faulty humidifier.”

“False. He sounds like a mourning ghost.”

She laughed, despite herself. “Alright, fine. 'Weird Fishes' slaps. But only because of the drums.”

Luigi nodded solemnly. “Philip Selway is the true MVP.”

Serena smiled. Not wide, but real. She crossed her legs, boot toe tapping in rhythm with some phantom beat.

“Okay, so come on. Which one?”

Luigi blinked.

“Huh?”

Serena snickered.

“Which frat are you in?”

Luigi chuckled, sheepish again.

“I'm in Phi Psi, but I mostly joined for the house Wi-Fi and Smash Bros tournaments.”

Serena took another drink.

“Y’know, I’ve always felt the need to walk home with my keys between my fingers,” she said quietly. “I don’t go to parties unless I’m sharing my location with someone.”

Luigi’s shoulders slumped a little.

“That sucks. That’s not how it should be.”

Serena nodded.

“Broadly, it’s not just a frat problem. It’s a men problem.”

He looked pensive. She continued.

“If there’s a bowl of M&Ms, and you know 10% of them are poisoned, you wouldn’t eat a handful.”

Silence stretched. Not the awkward kind. More like letting things settle. She looked at him again—really looked. His eyes were earnest, warm. He wasn’t trying to impress her. He was just there, open. It disarmed her more than bravado ever could.

Trent walked through the door, supporting a giggling Jenny as she leaned on him. Serena’s canvas tote bag was held on his other lanky arm. “I’m DD,” he assured, beckoning for her to join them.

Serena stood. “Gotta go.”

Luigi rose to his feet with her. “Thanks for the chat.”

She pulled a magenta Sharpie out of her back pocket - the same one she’d used to scrawl the band’s setlist - then grabbed his hand without warning. “Hold still,” she commanded, writing her number across his palm in sharp, messy digits.

He smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. “I’ll text.”

Luigi stood for a moment in the chill air, watching her go, lime green hair a radioactive flare in the dark. Her number felt warm on his skin, like a sigil. He stared down at it, the ink already smudging.

“Broadly, it’s not just a frat problem. It’s a men problem.”

Her words stuck to him. Not guilt. A challenge. An invitation to understand more, to do more.

He opened his phone and snapped a picture of the number, just in case it faded. Then he turned toward home, humming “Your Silent Face” under his breath.

-

Serena locked the door to her apartment with a satisfying click, toes already aching to peel out of her platform Chelsea boots. The night’s adrenaline was ebbing, replaced with the slow throb of sore muscles and a stubborn, lingering tension in her shoulders. Half from the set, half from... everything else.

She tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter, and headed straight for the bathroom. The apartment was dim except for the silver glow from streetlights slicing through the blinds. Her space was small, cluttered with canvases and half-finished embroidery hoops, but the bathroom was hers. A temple.

Black tile gleamed. The walls were lined with shelves that held a careful arrangement of jars and bottles, her own modern witch’s apothecary. She pulled down a holographic pouch with lettering that read, ‘Twisted Allure: Unicorn Blood Milk Bath.’

She opened it and inhaled. Cotton candy. Sweet, synthetic, nostalgic. Like boardwalks and lip gloss and childhood whispers. She poured it in slowly. The water swirled as it filled, colors blooming into fantastical clouds of pink, lavender, and pastel blue. The surface shimmered faintly, reminding her of oil on pavement.

She lit her candles one by one, white soy wax in glass tumblers. The flames flickered against the tile, reflecting like stars caught in obsidian. When the bath was full, she sank in with a hiss of relief, the warmth stealing a groan from her throat.

For a long moment, Serena just lay there. Limbs floating. Steam curling around her collarbones. Her skin took on the tint of the water — a soft swirl of dreamlike colors. She watched a bubble drift and burst.

Then, slowly, her mind wandered. Uninvited, but not unwelcome.

Luigi.

That guy with the careful voice and the shy, crooked grin. He’d smelled clean. Green. Something herbal and grounding. Sage, maybe, or cedar. Not Axe or sweat or liquor, but...safety.

And those curls. Dark and tight. She remembered how they caught the light when he leaned forward. The slight sheen at his temples. Thick brows, low over those wide, brown eyes. The kind that crinkled when he smiled. There was kindness there. And some sadness, too.

Serena closed her eyes. Let herself picture him fully now.

A square jaw, softened by the slight flush that had colored his cheeks when she teased him about Radiohead. Long lashes, criminally long, like he didn’t even realize their impact. Lips that were neither thin nor pouty, just inviting.

She sank deeper into the warmth, water lapping at her collarbone, cotton candy scent thick in the air. The bath was making her drowsy. Her limbs, already sore, now felt boneless. She imagined tracing her fingers along the ridge of his jaw. Curling one of those dark locks around her pinky. What would it feel like to kiss him? Slow, maybe. Intentional. Or would he be the kind to surprise her, all hidden heat beneath that gentle exterior?

Her lips quirked. She didn’t usually daydream like this. Not about frat boys, certainly. But Luigi didn’t feel like one. Not really. He hadn’t looked at her like a body, or a spectacle. He’d looked at her like a person. Like someone he actually wanted to understand.

Unicorn Blood, she thought, watching the color swirl around her toes. The name felt stupidly fitting. Something rare. Maybe even magical, in a way.

Serena sighed. Let the thoughts fade. Let the night dissolve around her. There would be time to decide what Luigi meant. For now, she would soak in sugar-scented warmth and the memory of a man who stood between her and danger. Quiet, and smelling like sage.

[augustjoy]

Chewing Gum

Summary: Eddie gets gum in his hair, so Steve takes him to his favorite salon to get it out. The events of season 4 did not happen.

Eddie Munson x Hair Stylist (Fem)Reader (she’s kind of sunshiny emo lol also she’s described to have colored hair, tattoos, and piercings)

Fluff

Word count: 1474

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, no use of y/n, language!, Jason Carver being an ass, half assed salon info, let me know if I missed any!

not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Jason Carver is a dick. He treated Eddie and the boys like shit and went out of his way to make sure they knew they were “freaks”.

Eddie saw Chrissy get bumped by one of the other basketball players. They were messing around in the halls like a bunch of Neanderthals and Chrissy got struck in the crossfire. She was body checked into a locker and her books went flying.

“Here.” Eddie offered Chrissy her science book that had slid across the hall.

“Thanks Eddie.” Chrissy smiled.

Eddie nodded back to her and moved toward his homeroom, but not before Jason stormed over, purposely bumping Eddie in the process.

“Let’s go babe.” Jason said, pulling Chrissy along with him.

This had been a pretty tame reaction from Jason…or so Eddie thought. Eddie made it through homeroom and history no problem, it was when he got to lunch that all hell broke loose.

“Woahhh dude! You have gum in your hair.” Garreth said to Eddie.

“HA HA very funny Garreth.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Oh shit! Ed, man he’s not joking.” Dustin informed the older boy.

With that, Eddie reached to the back of his head and brushed his hand over his hair. As he shifted from the top of his head down towards the nape of his neck, he felt the sticky wad of chewing gum, causing his curls to tangle up.

Laughter erupted across the cafeteria, as Eddie’s gaze shifted to the disruption his eyes met Jason’s who shot him a smirk and a wink. Further proving Eddie’s theory that the asshole that was Jason Carver had, in fact, been the culprit of this incident.

“Eddie, I could call Steve, his hair guy could probably fix you right up.” Dustin offered.

“Hell no. The last thing I want to do is get help from Steve.” Eddie scoffed.

“We could just cut it out.” Mike shrugged.

“Fuck it. Call Steve.” Eddie conceded.

Dustin and Eddie made their way to the school’s payphone. Dustin was quick to dial the number and explain the whole situation to Steve once he picked up. Steve had offered to take Eddie to his hair guy, but only if Eddie asked nicely and said please…which he reluctantly choked out over the phone.

“I’ll come pick you up.” Steve told Eddie, before hanging up.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve pulled up to the school in his burgundy BMW, yelling at Eddie to “hop in”. The drive started off in an uncomfortable silence. This was the first time Eddie had hung out with Steve alone, not that they were hanging out.

“So, listen Eddie, nobody, and I mean NOBODY, knows that this is where I get my hair done and honestly I’d like to keep it that way.” Steve explained.

“Okay…you’re freaking me out. Where is this place?” Eddie said as he looked around the unfamiliar neighborhood.

“Just up here on the left.” Steve said, pulling up in front of a hair salon.

Eddie initially felt confused, he figured that Steve would go to a barber, like any other guy from school, but this actually made a lot of sense. Steve cared about his hair the way any girl would and he’s very particular about it so naturally he would go somewhere that would take better care of his hair.

As they made their way up the curb, Eddie was able to get a better look of the inside. It was painted mostly black but there were bright pops of hot pink and teal around the place. There were pink velvet couches and those smiley face daisy pillows strewn about them. There was only one employee in the place, and she was currently blow drying some girl’s hair.

Eddie’s eyes scanned the hair stylist, you were beautiful you had pink streaks in your hair, dark tattoos littering your arms and a nose ring. You took Eddie’s breath away.

“Steven Harrington you better not be back here to ask me to cut your hair shorter. You made me take so much off last time and I still haven’t gotten over it!” You shrieked.

“Would you relax! I’m not here for a haircut, I’m here with my uh, my friend.” Steve said, glancing over at Eddie.

“Hi Steve’s friend! Oh, my goodness your hair is beautiful! Please don’t tell me you want me to cut it off!”

Your theatrics were making Eddie’s heart sing. The compliment had him blushing.

“God no! I don’t want to cut my hair, that’s actually why I’m here.” Eddie exclaimed.

“He got gum stuck in his hair.” Steve replied waving him off.

“I didn’t get shit stuck in my hair. That asshole Jason Carver spit gum in my hair.” Eddie explained.

“Ugh the Carver boys are all terrors. I remember being a sophomore when Michael Carver was a senior and if he wasn’t the biggest douche bag, then I don’t know who was.” You said, shaking your head. You shifted your gaze over to where Eddie and Steve were sitting. “Wait a minute! I know you, Eddie Munson, we had freshman English together!” You said, reintroducing yourself to him.

“I knew you looked familiar!” Eddie smiled.

You told him that you’d be with him in just a minute, you wanted to get your client finished up and checked out. He watched in awe as you effortlessly sectioned and styled her hair, led her over to the register and cleaned your station quickly. He noticed you gathering a few things, which he could only assume would be for him.

“Okay come over and sit!” You gestured to your chair. As Eddie made himself comfortable you began explaining what you were going to do. “So, I am basically going to load your hair up with oil which should allow the gum to slide out. I will wash your hair after too, so you don’t leave here looking like a greasy mess. I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Okay, thanks.” Eddie said, pushing his bangs out of his eyes.

“If you want I can trim your hair too, just clean it up, make it so your bangs aren’t in your eyes so much.” You offered.

“Oh um, that would be great but I uh, I don’t have any…”

“It’s on the house Eddie. Just a favor for a friend.” You said quietly.

Eddie nodded slightly and you got to work, slipping on some gloves, and pouring the hair oil into your hands. You started working it into his hair, really targeting the areas around the chewing gum. Slowly but surely the gum started to untangle itself from Eddie’s chocolate tresses. Once the gum was completely out, you led Eddie over to the shampoo bowl and proceeded to wash his hair. You couldn’t help but smile down at the soft expression he wore on his face. His eyes had fluttered shut and you thought he truly could have been asleep the way his face was relaxed. After washing, conditioning and finally rinsing his hair, you gently grasped his shoulder.

“Eddie, you ready for me to cut your hair?”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” Eddie said, carefully getting up and heading back to your chair.

Eddie sat and you and him chatted back and forth as you trimmed his hair. You had made sure to communicate through every part of the process, which products you were using and why, the way you were cutting his hair and adding in some natural layering to help with the bulk, trimming his bangs a little shorter than he was used to so they wouldn’t be too long so quickly. You pulled out the hair dryer and attached the diffuser, explaining what it did to Eddie and letting him know that blow drying definitely isn’t necessary for him to do.

Steve couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that plastered its way on his face at the interaction playing out before him. He had never seen Eddie sit still this long or listen this intently to anyone. Steve couldn’t help but think that Eddie had better thank him for bringing him here.

“Alright Eddie you are all set.”

“Thank you so much, seriously! I really appreciate it and I don’t think my hair has ever looked or felt this good.” Eddie said, admiring your handywork.

“Of course! And by the way if you ever get gum in your hair again, peanut butter or cooking oil can get it out, it just takes a bit of work.” You explained. “But know that you can always come here, and I can help too!” You couldn’t help but mentally facepalm.

“Yeah. That sounds good! You know, I would need your number…you know to get a hold of you..” Eddie smirked.

He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of thanks toward Jason Carver…he had brought you into his life, all with a piece of chewing gum.

[izzytheloser12]

~~~♣~~~DCMK incorrect quotes Pride addtion~~~♠~~~

Shinichi: What are you in the mood for? Kaito: World domination. Shinichi: That's a bit ambitious. Kaito: You are my world. Shinichi: Aww… Kaito: Shinichi: Kaito: Shinichi: OH.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Ran: You have to apologize to them Sonoko. Sonoko: Fine! But I must warn you that this might make me a better, nicer person and that is NOT the person you fell in love with!

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Akako: I don't know how to tell you this, but… I love you. Aoko: That's great, Akako. Especially considering the fact we've been married for 6 fucking years.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Hakuba: Look, last night was a mistake. Heiji: A sexy mistake. Hakuba: No, just a regular mistake.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Sonoko: Relationships should be 50/50. Ran cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Heiji: Shinichi isn’t answering his phone Kaito: I’ll call Heiji: Ran and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi- Shinichi: Hello? ~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Sonoko, bursting into the room: You two are having sex! Ran, not looking up from their book: Really? Kazuha, why didn’t you tell me? I would have put my book down.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Heiji: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives. Hakuba: I wake up at 4:30 AM every day. Heiji: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives.

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~ *a group of reporters are following Yusaku around to try and get a report about a fake scandel about him*

News reporter: How does it feel to be the most hated man in japan?

Yusaku: Listen in a country full of neanderthals i wear it as a fucking badge of honor

Shinichi behind him: what about the rumors that you kissed Kuroba Toichi?

Yusaku blushing: WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT!????

~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Shinichi: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine. Kaito: But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again. Shinichi: O-oh. Well. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns?? Kaito: Is it working?

~~~~~~♠♣~~~~~~

Kaito: There are 20 letters in the alphabet, right? Shinichi: Nope, there's 26. Kaito: Ah, I must have forgotten U, R, A, Q, T. Shinichi: Aww, that's cute, but you're still missing one. Kaito: You'll get the D later ;). ~~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~~~

Hakuba: Did it hurt? Heiji: When I fell from heaven? Hakuba: No, when you fell down the stairs mere seconds ago. I literally saw you curl up into a ball and start crying.

~~~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~~~

Kaito: When I said you should try being friendlier this isn't what I meant. Shinichi, stirring a cup of tea aggressively: Oh, so now I'm TOO friendly? There's no pleasing you. Toichi, who broke into their house an hour ago: Two sugars please. Shinichi: Coming right up.

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Ran: It’s Pride Month, you know what that means! Shinichi: I get to eat as many Skittles as I want? Ran: What? No! What has Sonoko been telling you? Sonoko, walking in, pouring Skittles into her mouth: Taste the rainbow, bitch.

~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~

Kaito: I promised Shinichi that I wouldn't do anything illegal.

Haibara: why would you lie to your husband like that?

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Akako: She is my love, my light, the woman that I want to be with for the rest of my life. Aoko: Hey Akako, wanna bet on how many warheads I can eat before I die inside? Aoko: I truly am in love with this woman. ~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Kaito, admiring a sleeping Shinichi: You’re so cute

Shinichi, sleepily: I could beat your ass.

Kaito, lovingly: I know

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Kazhua: What was that noise?

Ran: My shirt fell.

Kazhua: It sounded louder than that.

Ran: …I was in it. ~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Hakuba: Is something burning? Heiji: Just my love for you. Hakuba: Heiji , the toaster is on fire

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

Kaito (to Shinichi): Sorry I told you about my trauma do you still think I’m hot

~~~~~~~♣♠~~~~~~~~

[arcane-vagabond]

Meet Me at the Sea: The Squad Confronts Jake

The Squad Confronts Jake

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Word Count: 1,050

A/N: Here is a little blurb I wrote that takes place after Chapter Three of Meet Me at the Sea wherein the Dagger Squad confronts Jake about marking Skipper! If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi! As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are greatly appreciated!! 18+ ONLY!! You can find this and all of my other updates on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator!

Series Masterlist || Tag List

“You’re a prick,” Bradley hissed, eyes blazing as he glared at Jake. Jake sighed, resting his head on his hand as he stared at the glass of water in front of him. He had been waiting for this ever since that moment on the beach.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he muttered, taking a sip from his glass. Bradley grabbed his shoulder, pulling him so that he faced the larger man. Bradley’s lips were pressed into a thin line, nostrils flaring as a dangerous glint sparked in his eyes. Jake cocked an eyebrow at him, which seemed to further enrage the other man. Bradley grabbed onto Jake’s shirt, curling his fists into the fabric as he pulled Jake up and out of his seat.

“Bradshaw, there will be no fighting in my bar!” Penny hollered, arms crossed and eyes glaring. “Take it outside or knock it off.”

“Sorry, Penny!” Nat called over her shoulder as she placed a hand on Bradley’s. “C’mon Brad, take a breath.”

Bradley spared her a glance before releasing the blond, stepping back as Jake ran his hands down his front. Looking up at his friends through his lashes, he heaved a sigh before sitting back down.

“Y’all going to join me, or are you just going to stand there looking at me?”

Bradley, Nat, Reuben, Mickey, and Javy all sat down at the previously empty table, never taking their eyes off of Jake.

“Where the hell do you get off staking a claim on her?” Bradley seethed, hands balled into fists where they rested on the wood. “You have Mandy.”

“I don’t want Mandy,” Jake responded.

“We know,” Javy said, earning a nod from Reuben and Mickey. “But what’s changed?”

“Who the hell cares what’s changed?” Bradley snapped. “He can’t have them both. He has to choose.”

“He’s right,” Nat said, fixing her eyes on Jake. Her expression was calm, but there was an underlying warning in her gaze. “You can’t claim both of them.”

“I don’t want to,” Jake sighed.

Bradley leaned back in his chair, eyes still cold as they regarded his friend. “So why’d you do it?”

“Thought you didn’t care?” Jake spat. Bradley narrowed his gaze at him.

“If that’s how you’re going to be,” he said, moving to stand, “then I’ll just go and stake my claim on her then.”

Jake snarled, the beast inside him rearing its ugly head at the thought of Bradley touching what was his.

“Over my dead body,” he sneered, standing up to block Bradley’s path. Bradley sneered right back, shifting like he was ready for a fight.

“Are we going to handle this the old fashioned way?” He asked Jake.

“Boys!” Penny hollered. Javy and Reuben stood up, the former holding Jake back while the other held Bradley.

“Sorry, Penny! It won’t happen again!” Mickey smiled, and the older woman let out a huff before stomping towards the back.

“Would you two neanderthals sit down?” Nat hissed, watching Penny as she retreated. “If you get us thrown out of here, I’m kicking both of your asses!”

The two men let their friends guide them back down to the seats, eyes still focused intently on the other as tempers simmered.

“Jake, tell us what’s up, man,” Mickey said, a look of concern on his face. “This isn’t like you.”

“For him to be a dick?” Bradley snickered.

“For him to put an intention bite on someone,” Nat scowled. “And Mickey’s right. What is up with you?”

Jake didn’t say anything, eyes fixated on the table. He was still trying to wrap his own mind around it. He knew what happened, but how could he expect the others to understand when his own mind was still reeling from it all? He knew you were his, he felt it. He knew it with the same certainty that the sun would rise in the morning. You were like a breath of air he didn’t know he needed.

But there was the problem of Mandy. He knew that once he revealed the bond between the two of you, most everyone would accept that as the end of things. But Mandy? She had always been possessive over Jake. She was used to getting what she wanted, and she had made it clear since they were kids that what she wanted was Jake. What would she do once she found out that she couldn’t have him? Jake shuddered at the thought.

“Nothing to say, asshole?” Bradley snapped, crossing his arms as he continued to glare.

“She’s mine,” Jake all but whispered. Five pairs of eyes stared at him. "She's my mate."

“Bullshit,” Bradley spat.

“Bradley-” Natasha sighed.

“No!” He shouted at her, rising back to his feet. “It’s bullshit! You’re telling me Skipper is your true mate?”

“Bradshaw, would you keep it the fuck down?” Reuben snapped, eyeing a pair of tourists on the other side of the bar.

“It’s true,” Jake said with a clench of his jaw. He tried not to focus on how good it felt to finally say it out loud. “I knew when I saw her at the bar the other night.”

He looked up to meet Bradley’s eyes, and after a moment, something seemed to shift in the brunette’s gaze - acceptance. Mickey let out a low whistle as Reuben chortled, leaning back.

“You been singing to her?” Javy asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Jake grimaced. “I don’t always mean to, but you know how the frenzy gets. I’m having a hard time controlling my song around her.”

“You told Mandy yet?” Mickey asked, leaning forward with wide eyes. The whole group sucked in a breath at that.

“I’m going to,” Jake said quietly.

“You better,” Nat warned him, a frown on her lips as she watched him.

“Somebody’s going to have to tell Bob,” Mickey muttered, looking at Nat. She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, fine,” she groaned. “I’ll do it, but he’s not going to be happy about this little development.”

“He’ll get over it,” Bradley said, lips thin as he continued to stare at Jake. His brown eyes searched green ones before nodding. He knocked on the wooden table twice before moving to head outside.

“Figure your shit out with Mandy,” he called over his shoulder nonchalantly. “If you don’t, then Skipper is fair game.”

Tag List: @jakeseresinlover @haley-hotchner @queerqueenlynn @nicestgirlonline @dempy @fanficfandomlove @aworldwideapart @stoptaking-the-good-names @maximus890 @sky2nd @devil-angel-winchester @hopip99 @hookslove1592 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @uniquedreamlandcheesecake @imamomof8 @pietrothemovie @comicgollum20 @kmc1989 @mayhemmanaged @rhettsluvr @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @deliriousfangirl61 @devrill @hangmandruigandmav @blue-eyed-mary

[bazaarwords]

in spite of war [7/9 | griddlehark | post-canon]

sorry for the...... 4 month wait..... a lot has happened!! hope everyone's doing well

merry whatever! here's gideon suffering more!! (a little nsfw if you squint, but i wouldn't get excited lol)

first | prev

🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴

I told myself I could have another day to wallow.

Everyone had made separate, “executive” decisions to stay on the paradise planet for a little while longer. Which, duh. We’d been floating around in a hunk of metal for weeks, barely interacting with each other. By the time the residents gave us the fruit with the sweet, juicy insides and the spicy powder to put on top, I think we all had made our decisions.

I must have eaten five of those fucking fruits. 

I sat on the sand in the blue firelight, licking juice off my knuckles like a neanderthal. The woman that had offered me the fruits hung around even though I must have looked like a lunatic.

“You’ve never had them before?” She asked.

I paused, finger halfway in my mouth. She was looking at it. That made me feel something other than crushing grief, which was nice.

I hummed. “Nope. Grew up with a lot of gray half-solids. Oatmeal, porridge, grits. Different kinds of lumpy shit.”

She smiled, and the firelight creased her face in unfamiliar ways. She was pretty, this I noticed with my detective skills.

“Our planet must seem alien to you. I hope you’ve enjoyed what we’ve offered so far.”

She said this—and here I go again with my detectiving—in a very sexy way.

And I—I don’t know. I really don’t know what I thought. She was laying it on thick, and I was lonely. I’d been lonely for a long time. I had no reason not to, I told myself. We kept talking and she kept getting closer and eventually there was no more room.

At eighteen, alone in my cell on the Ninth, I would have fucking wet myself at the opportunity. If I’d had time to prepare, I would have reread every skin mag I owned and done pushups and forearm curls until my eyes bled.

There was nothing to prepare, really. I went through the motions just like I’d seen in Sluts of the Seventh and that was that.

She left, after. I have no idea what she thought and I didn’t want to ask.

I sat on the edge of the bed, butt-ass naked with my face in my hands. I ran my hands through my hair. I missed my stupid head massager. I was pitiful again. I’d never stopped in the first place.

“It didn’t feel good,” I whispered. “Why didn’t it feel good?”

But I knew.

So I didn’t sleep that night.

I didn’t need to sleep ever, but I tried to keep it up for my sanity. I think we all did. I was feeling pretty insane, I have to admit.

I paced the beach like I was looking for something in the sand, like if I walked for long enough I would receive a cosmic revelation like a sledgehammer to the head.

But that didn’t happen, obviously. I would have liked a regular sledgehammer to the head. It would have stopped me thinking for a few minutes. 

I just worked myself up, made myself hot and feverish. So much so that I walked right into the water, up to my collarbones. I almost wished we hadn’t sewn my chest up. I wanted the water to rush in, to fill the space between my ribs. Like if something other than my mind was churning I could focus on it instead. Like I could scrub myself clean from the inside.

The waves lapped at me, and I felt tremendously stupid.

The water was piss-warm, and I was still hot and prickly, and then some of it got in my mouth.

The reflex was to sputter like an idiot, but I didn’t do that. The water was all salt, all nasty, gritty salt. I swallowed it. So fucking stupid. It made me want to puke immediately, but I wanted more. I dove in, mouth open.

I washed up on the beach, later. I’d probably drank enough seawater to kill a couple people by that point. I felt sick and raw and thirsty. Nothing about the saltwater had made me feel what I so desperately wanted it to. I just felt like an idiot.

I lay there until the sun came up, and then I wished I’d had my visor.

next

[archive-of-artprompts]

🔎Scooby-Doo, Where Are You!🔎

Send in a number, and I'll draw that Scooby-Doo monster based on the description given!

The Ape Man - A large ape with dark blue fur, sharp teeth, a big snout, and red pupils with yellow sclera. Very strong, smart, and aggressive. 

Black Knight Ghost - A  traditional English, black suit of armor, with a red plume on its helmet and yellow eyes glowing from within its visor. It only comes alive on nights when the Moon is full. Very strong and agile. Terrorizes anyone it encounters, emitting creepy growls.

The Caveman - A primitive neanderthal with long, black hair and heavy brow ridges above his eyes. Wears a brown cloth around his waist. Becomes aggressive towards anyone identified as a threat.

Charlie the Robot - a tall, humanoid, metal machine. Has a beige face plate with pseudo facial features: light orange eyes, a “nose”, and round “ears”. Designed as if wearing a dark blue fitted hood, gloves, and boots; light blue arms and pants; and a purple leotard. Short-circuited to be mischievous and destructive. Has superhuman strength, speed, endurance, and control over almost every aspect of Funland (rides, lights, food stands, registers.) Only weakness is a powerful electromagnet.

The Creeper - A phantomlike zombie with green skin, a hunchback posture, dark red hair, yellow sclera, and a slim face with prominent cheekbones. Wears a dark green trench coat and pants, and a black undershirt and shoes. Violent temper. Strong and can walk through walls, which is how he robs banks. 

Dracula - Resembles a man with pale skin, pointy ears and nose, fangs, curled eyebrows,  red sclera, and slicked back black hair with a widow’s peak and sideburns. Wears a black cape, with a red interior, over a grey tuxedo and black bow-tie. Can transform into a bat, and disappear inside of his coffin. Smarmy, secretive, and sneaky. 

Frankenstein's Monster - A gargantuan man with short, jet black hair and yellow eyes, and paleish green skin. Wears a dark blue coat and pants, a purple shirt, and black shoes. An unrelenting, unfeeling drone with super strength.

Ghost of Captain Cutler - Dressed in a light green, old-fashioned deep sea diving suit that is covered in a type of glowing seaweed found only around the Graveyard of Ships. Leaves glowing footprints wherever he goes. Very lifeless, only making moans and groans.

The Ghost Clown - Looks like a stereotypical clown: silly red and black costume with an orange neck frill, puffs, and gloves; red hair; little black hat and big shoes; and white face makeup with a pink nose and lips, and black eyeshadow. Bears an evil grin and yellow eyes. Enjoys telling grim jokes. Controlling and calculative.  Expert hypnotist, using a gold coin on a string to compel people into dangerous situations.

Ghost of Elias Kingston - A middle-aged man with undead-looking blue skin, black hair, surly eyes with yellow sclera, flat nose, and a cleft chin. Wears an old-fashioned grey trench coat from the American Civil War era with matching grey pants and black shoes. Driven by greed for the Wetherby family's fortune, seeks to terrify the family into giving it up. Can hex people, accelerating their age and causing them to die within a few hours.

Ghost of Mr. Hyde - A slender apparition with green skin, big beady eyes, shaggy gray hair, bony fingers, and slim face. Wears a long, green trench coat and pants, black shoes, and a dark green, tight-fitting hat. Sinister and maniacal. Can climb on any wall and ceilings. 

The Ghost of Redbeard - Ghost of a large man, with a large, red beard. Wears a black pirate hat with a skull and crossbones, a pink bandana underneath the hat, a large red coat with a pink interior, pink pants, and brown boots. Armed with a cutlass. Imprisons people on his ship, threatening to kill them, and forces them to serve him.

The Green Ghosts - Two ghostly apparitions donning green, tattered, hooded robes. Their faces overshadowed, only their orange glowing eyes and mouths visible. Gangly arms with long, curved fingers, and black cuffs with broken chains upon their wrists. They scare away visitors with sinister laughter. Are very fast, able to cast their shadows wherever at will, and leave behind an ectoplasmic residue.

The Headless Specter - An eerie, abnormally tall ghost that appears exactly like the portrait of Jefferson Stillwall that hung in the parlor, but without a head. Wears a 1800s style attire: a brown double-breasted overcoat with dark brown cuffs and lapels, a light tan formal shirt with frilly cuffs, a dark pink neck scarf tied formally and tucked under the coat, gray slim pants, black shoes, and formal white silk gloves. Scares away thieves from the family fortune.

Miner Forty-Niner - A tall, elderly, expressionless man with a large grey beard and mustache. Wears a brown cowboy hat that hides the top half of his face, brown pants, and a long-sleeve blue top, over which he wore an open black waistcoat. Obsessed with trying to find veins of gold. 

The Mummy of Ankha - A mummified corpse covered in bandages. White eyes and black sclera. Hostile and short-tempered. Unable to speak, mostly groaning, except for the word “coin”, referring to an old Egyptian coin which a visitor had put in their pocket by mistake. Protective of its treasures, persistently chasing down thieves. Has super strength, and can petrify people. 

The Phantom - Looks like a classic ghost: a translucent white sheet with dark eye-holes for sight. Intangible. Dislikes visitors to the Haunted Isle and Vasquez Castle, relying on the element of surprise to scare them away.

The Phony Phantom - A tall, ghostly humanoid dressed in blue overalls, a light blue shirt, and brown shoes. Its top half is obscured by a simple white sheet. Its eyes are vacant with black tears leaking down them,

Puppet Master - Man with pale-grayish skin and yellow sclera. Wears a black cavalier hat, jacket, and pants; a dark-gray cloak with a high collar and red inner lining, dress shoes, and gloves. Can vanish when the lights are out. Manipulates life-sized puppets to terrorize visitors. Stealthy and malicious.

Snow Ghost - A large creature’s ghost, somewhat resembling a yeti. Long, white fur, claws, yellow eyes, and large, thick eyebrows that curled around at the ends, resembling horns. Violent and dangerous. Can fly and is extremely powerful. Leaves behind large footprints.

Spooky Space Kook - A ghostly, humanoid apparition inside of a stange, bulky, blue spacesuit. A skull is visible through the helmet, with dull yellow eyes set inside black sockets. The "background" of the creature's space helmet is entirely dark, but glows red whenever the creature emits its high-pitched laugh. Leaves glowing footprints and fingerprints. 

The Wax Phantom - A nine-foot bulky humanoid made of cyan wax. Can glow in the dark and has super strength. Attempts to turn people into wax dummies. Destructive and murderous. 

The Werewolf’s Ghost - The ghost of a werewolf sheep rustler with a dog-like face, green skin, brown hair, red sclera, fangs, and pointy ears. Wears a black coat over a gray shirt and pants. Aggressive, but ultimately a coward.

The Witch - Stereotypical looking witch: old lady with pale, green skin, long pointed nose and chin, white hair, and yellow sclera. Wears a tattered purple dress and cape, a black, pointed hat and high-heeled boots. Commits malicious witchcraft, can disappear and reappear in a puff of smoke, and fly.

The Wolfman - A man with a dog-like face, fangs, claws, yellow sclera, and pointy ears. Has light gray skin and brown, shaggy hair on his head, arms, hands, and legs. Wears a dark green shirt and a green coat and pants. Feral and fairly strong.

The Zombie - the servant of a witch. A man with very pale, green skin, a bald head, pointy ears, and red sclera. Lanky frame and uneven gait. Wears green shoes, brown tattered pants, a blue-green tattered overcoat, and a pine green shirt underneath. Slow and mean-spirited.

(Monsters and Descriptions from Scoobypedia)

[themuffin2649]

Mimicry Mockery

Context: Leon/Vincent must quickly find their rival to save MC.

TW: Uncencored Cursing

—————

Leon: “Ugh, Vincent! Where are you?! You used to stand out like a sore thumb. a really ugly thumb.”

The athlete kept running around the endless hallways of the mansion, hundreds of doors scarred around them, but not a single sign of Vincent in sight.

Leon: “Ugh, think Leon! If I were Vincent, where would I be…”

He then straightens his posture as tall as he could and put on a pouty face as well as lifts his nose in the air.

Leon: “I’m Vincent! Everyone and everything is never good enough for me, and I need all my possessions to cost at least a million dollars because I’m Sooo much better than everyone! I also don’t give a shit about meaningful relationships, I can just BUY romance with the money I wipe my ass with!”

Vincent: “SHUT THE FUCK UP LEON!!!”

Leon: “Bingo!” He says, running to the direction of the cursing.

Leon then convinces Vincent to borrow the Helecopter to save the MC

—————

Vincent: “Dammit! The ONE time I need that Neanderthal here, he’s nowhere to be found! I can’t even smell his stench. Such a pain in my ass…”

The boy looks around the seemingly endless hallways, calling out his name gains no response, and he’s starting to doubt that Leon is even here.

Vincent: “If I were to be Leon, where would I be?”

Vincent then slouched and put on an angry face. He even curls his biceps and mimicks angry stomping on the ground.

Vincent: “I’m Leon, and even though I can take down 4 trained kidnappers, I throw tantrums like a baby. I also stink like a wet dog and I suck at basketball. I’ve also been with my best friend for 8 years and not once did I have the balls to ask him out on-”

All of a sudden, a fist collided with his face, causing his nose to break and bleed. When he looked, he saw Leon’s face red with anger.

Vincent: “Oh! So NOW you finally get here! Not after I called your name 100 times!”

Vincent then convinces Leon to help him beat up some guys to save the MC.

[collegiatesins]

it  took  leona  a  moment  to  collect  herself.  teeth  pressed  into  each  other  behind  a  tight-lipped  frown,  jaw  aching  as  she  silently  tallied  all  the  ways  she  might  deliver  maximum  devastation  without  crossing  the  line  into  actual  consequences.  not  that  bash  was  worth  the  trouble.  god,  no.  but  the  imagery  alone,  vivid  and  deliciously  vindictive,  was  enough  to  balm  her  bruised  pride.  it  wasn’t  about  whether  he  wanted  to  sleep  with  her  or  not.  leona  didn’t  need  his  validation,  nor  did  she  crave  his  attention.  what  did  get  under  her  skin,  however,  was  the  insult  buried  beneath  his  jabs.  the  implication  that  she  was  dumb.  that  her  struggles  in  chemistry  were  some  symptom  of  shallowness,  of  a  vacant,  pretty  head  that  couldn’t  possibly  hold  more  than  lip  gloss  and  surface-level  thoughts.  being  bad  at  chemistry  didn’t  make  her  stupid.  it  just  made  her  bad  at  chemistry.  if  she  were  the  scatterbrained  airhead  bash  seemed  to  believe,  she  wouldn’t  have  dragged  herself  to  her  professor’s  office  hours  in  the  first  place. 

leona  wouldn’t  have  cared  enough  to  try.  and  of  course,  the  one  time  she  dared  to  show  a  flicker  of  vulnerability,  the  universe  rewarded  her  courage  by  sending  him  as  her  so-called  tutor. "  i’m  failing  chemistry,  ”  she  began,  voice  like  honey  left  too  long  in  the  sun—syrupy  sweet,  but  seething  beneath  the  surface,  “  because  the  professor  teaches  it  like  it’s  a  300-level  course  when  it’s  supposed  to  be  an  intro.  he  doesn’t  teach,  he  rants,  and  the  syllabus  reads  like  it  was  scribbled  by  a  madman  during  a  fever  dream.  but  sure,  call  the  pretty  girl  stupid.  that’s  the  only  explanation  your  neanderthal  brain  could  cough  up,  right?  ”  her  words  cut  clean,  sharpened  by  irritation,  but  she  didn’t  linger  on  the  insult.  chemistry  majors  weren’t  exactly  known  for  their  originality,  after  all. 

bash’s  remarks  were  as  dull  and  predictable  as  the  lab  equipment  they  used.  instead  of  continuing  the  argument,  leona  moved  with  cool,  deliberate  grace.  she  plucked  the  textbook  from  his  hands  without  a  word,  flipping  through  its  dog-eared  pages  until  she  landed  on  the  chapter  responsible  for  her  current  academic  descent  into  hell.  thermodynamics.  with  a  firm  push,  she  slid  the  book  back  across  the  table  toward  him,  fingers  still  faintly  curled  in  a  challenge. “  we  have  a  test  next  friday.  it’s  far  too  late  to  find  someone  new,  and  I  don’t  have  the  luxury  of  wasting  time.  so,  I  guess  you’ll  do.  ”  her  tone  made  it  clear  that  barely  was  implied.

most  insults  thrown  bash's  way  wasn't  taken  to  heart,  though  he  wasn't  above  letting  pointless  words  be  an  excuse  to  start  a  fight.  still,  there  couldn't  be  much  offense  when  someone  like  leona  didn't  know  him.  first  impressions  definitely  wasn't  and  probably  never  would  be  his  strong  suit.  he  recalled  how  easy  it  was  to  get  a  rise  out  of  the  other  that  one  rowdy  night,  though  arguably  it  seemed  to  be  accomplished  quicker  this  time  around.  perhaps  a  new  record,  the  way  leona  seemed  to  be  distressed  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  room.  the  pure  hatred  wasn't  returned.  irritability,  sure.  but  bash  was  willing  to  open  the  text  book,  go  over  the  basics,  and  move  the  fuck  on. 

〝               maybe  if  you  weren't  so  obsessed  with  other  people's  looks,  you  wouldn't  be  flunking  out  of  chemistry.      〞bash  wasn't  above  being  shallow,  but  pinpointing  physical  flaws  only  went  so  far.  it  was  more  apparent  to  challenge  someone's  intellect  than  traditional  beauty  standards.  〝               am  i  supposed  to  be  wounded?  if  you  haven't  notice,  i'm  not  trying  to  fuck  –  therefore,  i  don't  fucking  care  what  you  think  of  me,      〞though  he's  had  his  fair  share  of  tutoring  sessions  having  added  benefits,  it  was  duly  noted  that  the  lack  of  moisturizer  was  far  behind  leona's  standards.  bash  reached  out  for  the  textbook,  a  sigh  soon  leaving  his  lips.  fucking  art  students,  he  assumed  at  least.  this  would  be  similar  to  having  to  teach  the  alphabet  to  toddlers. 

credentials.  it  was  tempting  to  to  blast  his  own  ego  in  this  sense,  but  he  doubted  leona  would  exactly  be  impressed.  plus,  admitting  his  circumstances  didn't  really  give  bash  any  positives  either.  〝               i'm  a  graduate  student  for  chemistry.  completed  my  undergrad  at  nyu  in,  guess  what?  chemistry.  this  doesn't  have  to  be  so  complicated.  if  you'd  rather  fail  though,  i'm  not  going  to  beg,      〞some  people  were  beyond  his  help  and  it  wasn't  like  bash  was  doing  this  out  of  the  goodness  of  his  heart.  if  he  didn't  get  the  amount  of  hours  from  leona,  well,  there  were  probably  more  than  a  few  students  that  needed  a  little  extra  assistance.  〝               what  chapter  are  you  on?      〞bash  had  questioned,  giving  the  other  the  chance  to  move  the  fuck  on  as  he  flipped  through  the  pages  absentmindedly. 

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

No Happy Endings (Unless Fairy Tales Come True).⁺˚*･☾

Pairing | Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings | 18+ only, minors DNI. Porn with smatterings of a plot. Cheating (reader cheats with Eddie as do others), oral (female receiving), protected P in V sex, kinda sad Eddie but only for a bit, brief mention of uncomfortable sexual situations, readers first orgasm, little bit of Eddie with somebody else. Some generalisations about gender and sex for plot reasons.

Word Count | ~9,300

Request | Once upon a time I made an offhand comment in the tags of an ask saying it’s possible Eddie’s fucking lots of cheerleaders behind their boyfriend’s backs. Then an anon threw it right back at me and it’s haunted my thoughts ever since.

A/N | The initial comment was offhand. Reader is not a cheerleader, she’s just pals with cheerleaders. Also cheating is bad etc etc. I also don’t really think Eddie would do this, but I’m taking my Eddie just wants to be loved thing to its logical endpoint; Eddie is become slut, destroyer of pussy.

.⋆｡⋆✮˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆. 

Can we-,” she groans softly, biting her shiny lip as she looks at him over her shoulder. “Can we, uh uh, turn the music off?”

Eddie’s gaze shifts from watching himself disappear inside her to the flushed cheeks of her face, her long fluttering eyelashes. 

“No, we can't."

"But-" Eddie grasps her cheerleader ponytail, silky in his fist, and pushes her face forward into the mattress, whatever she was going to say now muffled by his sheets. 

She doesn't seem to mind. That little squeak she makes when she's close starts picking up when Eddie grinds a little rougher into her, liking what was supposed to be a silent punishment for her request 

Eddie has to hold back a scoff, has to stop himself from leaning over to turn the dial on his stereo as far right as it’ll go, instead. 

He likes her, as much as he can like the sexually frustrated popular girls he brings back here. She just ignores him in the halls, instead of overacting disdain for him in front of her jock boyfriend’s face. 

That, and her pussy clasps his dick like it’s in love. 

But that’s the new Iron Maiden album she’s talking about, and he’ll be damned if he turns it off for a girl who’ll kiss her boyfriend tomorrow morning with the mouth that moaned for him tonight. 

In the next thirty seconds she cums around him with a shudder, back arching, presenting her ass to him like she wants it spanked. But he's not allowed to do that, lest her boyfriend bend her over tomorrow and find a lasting mark in the shape of Eddie's hand, darker where his rings are. 

That's the image that makes him cum, the real reason he does this. Some time this week or next, the basketball player that thinks this girl loves him will call Eddie or one of his friends a freak, maybe shove him in the hall or write dumb shit on his locker. And it won't hurt like it used to. What pain there is will be buried deep under the thought that now gets Eddie through the monotonous nightmare that is high school, that lets him grin in the face of almost every mouth breathing neanderthal that thinks Eddie's the dirt under their white sneakers.

I fucked your girlfriend stupid. 

Eddie rolls off her and settles back into his pillows with a long sigh, tugs the condom off himself carelessly. He searches his bedside table half blind, flicks the lighter when he finds it, smoke curling up from the new cigarette between his lips. All the while, he listens to the sounds of a woman dressing. Rustling fabric and whirring zips, the drag of a hairbrush through touch-messy locks.

Eddie doesn't watch. It's not for him. 

He doesn't get the intimacy of watching a pleasured woman put herself back together. No coquettish looks over naked shoulders or flirty wiggling hips. Neither does he get the kisses, or the girlish smiles and shy waves in hallways. He doesn't carry anyone's books, or cuddle up with take out and a movie. Eddie doesn't get gentle hands in his hair or a lap under his head.

He doesn’t even get his name, cried out in pleasure, from these girls who wish he was someone else.

But he does get their moans, real and desperate. And that's enough. What more could he expect?

"Hey, so, I thought I could maybe come by next week, around the same time?" 

Eddie glances over. She's pristine now, like he’d never touched her. Not for the first time, he spies the little cross around her neck and doesn’t bother holding back the scoff.

"Sure," he nods, used to this routine from her and all the others. She'll get cold feet around the three day mark, tell him she has to stop doing this. Then she'll show up anyway, looking sad and guilty until he fucks it all away. Eddie takes a long drag and watches her stand there awkwardly, wanting to leave but not wanting to be rude. 

Then she remembers who he is. "Okay, bye then." 

She's out of his room in a second, heading to his front door at pace. If Eddie feels a prickle of hurt in his chest, he knows just how to beat it away. 

"Tell Rory I said hi!"

.⋆｡⋆✮˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.  

Eddie's face hasn't lost the pleased smirk since you approached him after school. 

It appeared the second after you asked, in a way that you’d clearly practised, if you could buy from him. Standing there by his van, surrounded on all sides by your classmates finding their own way home, he’d fixed you with a look. Dark eyes you'd never properly taken in scanned you shamelessly. With his tongue pressed to his top lip, Eddie crossed to the passenger door and opened it with a swing and mock gentlemanly gesture. "Alright, hop in. We'll get you what you need."

Now, sitting to his right with your knees pressed together nervously, you can't help but keep looking over at him for seconds at a time. You’d thought that by this point you’d have convinced yourself not to go through with it. That sitting next to him this long would get it through your head that this is Eddie Munson, and even considering this is crazy.

He’s not your boyfriend. That should be the first thing you think, but instead you’re caught up in the knowledge that last week you would not have looked at him twice, in a relationship or out of it. They would never have considered going home with Eddie, and neither would any of your friends. Or so you thought, before a group of them, cheerleaders all, had admitted what they’d done with him. In his trailer, in the woods behind school, in this van.  

“It’s not the fifties anymore!” Stacey had said, smile all pity for your clear confusion. “We all love our boyfriends.” This had prompted a chorus of agreement from the five other girls who’d admitted to meeting with Eddie. “But it’s not like we’re going to be with them forever. Why not get some experience with somebody…good? Even if he is a complete loser in literally every single other way.”

You’re trying to wrap your head around it as you look at him. You hadn’t thought of him as a loser, exactly, but certainly unpopular. And that wasn’t you being unfair. It’s like he rebels against it, being liked. The way he jumps at people in the cafeteria and makes himself the fool in class. He wears t-shirts with monsters and screaming faces on them. He carries around a pocket knife. You’ve seen his initials carved into enough desks to be sure of it. 

But then, Bea had told you, all earnesty. “It’s kind of different with him. He won’t…pressure you, if you change your mind.”

You’d watched five girls nod in agreement with varying degrees of willingness to admit it. 

It had shocked you to your core at the time. But now that same core is warm at the suggestion. In truth, Eddie Munson is better looking than you'd ever let yourself think. Those wide eyes you'd got a good look at earlier are framed by long dark eyelashes. His lips are plush and pink, framed sweetly by boyish dimples. His hair looks clean and soft, his hands on the steering wheel look strong. 

When you look up from those hands, you find that the smirk has been replaced by a grin. He's caught you staring, and you are left with a hot face and a mind that searches for a way to change the unvoiced subject. 

"Who is this?" You ask, gesturing to the radio, the melodic wailing and electric guitar unfamiliar to you. 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "Black Sabbath? Ozzy Osbourne?" 

You nod, realising you have no way of building on that information even as you open your mouth to reply. It closes again, and Eddie’s face sinks into irritation. 

"I have a pretty good radar for silent judgement, you know."

"I wasn't." You shake your head in earnest at his disbelieving look. "Honest. I don't really know enough about it to judge."

Eddie hums, then smiles sardonically. "Certainly hasn’t stopped anyone before." 

You chew your lip, wondering how you're going to turn this around. You don't even know entirely what you're supposed to do. Seduce him? That doesn't seem likely to work at this point. Ask him directly to what, fuck you? Treat you like you don't have a boyfriend waiting for your call? 

As it happens, you don't really need to do anything. Eddie pulls up outside his trailer and looks at you with a tilted head. "So, how do you want it?" When you blink, he gestures between you. "This. You’re welcome in the castle, but we can fuck in the backseat if you prefer."

You can't imagine how you look to Eddie after that. Something fishlike, with widened eyes and an open mouth. Embarrassment floods through your veins, that despite your admittedly weak efforts to seem casual and aloof, you may as well have written your intentions across your chest and flashed him. 

"Have I really been that transparent?”

Eddie narrows one eye, shrugs in a yeah, kind of, gesture that has you covering your face with your hands. 

“You must think I’m a terrible person,” you mumble into your palms.

“Mm? Oh, cause of the boyfriend thing?” He breathes a laugh through his nose. “Nah, I don’t care about that.” When you don’t respond, Eddie sighs. “Who’s your boyfriend again?”

You glance through your fingers at him, find those wide eyes directed entirely at you. “Kenneth Hunt.”

Eddie smirks and tilts his head forward to hide his face for a second. When he looks back up at your worried expression, he shakes his head as if getting rid of a thought then stares at you straight. “Couldn’t care less about the guy. Far as I’m concerned, you’re doing the right thing here.”

You drop your hands to your knees, rubbing over the skin with your sweaty palms. “You’re just saying that cause you wanna get laid.”

Eddie’s pink lips curve into a smirk again, eyes bright with mischief and anticipation.“I think you know exactly how easy it is for me to get laid without you, sweetheart.” He opens his door, barely paying you any mind when he continues. “You’re already here, but finding somebody else would be inconvenient, at worst.”

Eddie walks to his door with confidence, a trademark bounce in his step. Your eyes shut tight, allowing yourself a second to breathe without him looking at you. Maybe you thought you’d have more time, a little longer to decide if you really wanted to do this. You had the $20 bill in your purse ready in case you chickened out and actually ended up buying weed you’d have dumped in a random trash can on the way home. 

Even now, you are wondering if you are the sort of person who can go through with this. At the start of your relationship, the very thought of being with anyone else would have disgusted you. 

It is not a surprise when you realise that it just doesn’t anymore. 

When Eddie turns after getting the door open, he finds you walking up after him. His lips purse in a smile and he ducks his head, gesturing for you to enter first. 

You don’t know what you were expecting a drug dealer’s home to look like. Certainly, this homely, cosy room wasn’t it. The whole place is obviously masculine; in need of dusting and lacking the subtle decoration of women. But it looks like the home of a middle aged man, not that of the rebellious boy whose hands are already touching eagerly at your waist.

There’s even a pair of grey slippers by the door. 

A shiver runs up your back when Eddie’s mouth finds your shoulder, the sting of it warm even through your clothes. You make space for him to drift up to uncovered skin, wanting to let go when you feel soft lips and warm breath on the sensitive place where your shoulder meets your neck. Instead, you allow curiosity to come out.

"You, um, really like mugs, huh?" 

"Hmm?" Eddie says, pausing his seduction to glance where you are looking. "Oh. Right. No, my uncle used to collect 'em? Same with the hats." 

"How come?" 

His fingers twitch at your waist. "He, uh, used to drive trucks for a living?" Eddie shrugs, a hand coming up to tuck hair behind his ear in a gesture you might read as bashful if he were anyone else. "Picked 'em up wherever he went."

"One way to keep a travel log, I guess." You smile, and for just a second Eddie smiles back. Not the pleased smirk or the sardonic grin he’d given you talking about his music. A genuine, happy thing that softens his eyes. 

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth. He really is good looking up close. You can’t help thinking that maybe he would have been from a distance, too, if you’d ever allowed yourself to look. 

Eddie seems to sense the change in your demeanour. If you were less desperate, you might regret prompting the loss of his shy, pleased expression. As it is, the return of his mouth to your neck has you rubbing your thighs together, seeking friction already. Teeth scratch the skin of your jaw, a tease of coming roughness that has your toes curling in your shoes.

“C’mon through,” he says, turning your acquiescent body the direction he wants it to go, walking behind your clumsy legs. 

“Okay, this makes way more sense,” you laugh. This room is all him. Records and cassettes, multiple guitars, clothes everywhere. The smell of smoke, the smell of Eddie. 

A messy bed. A dirty ashtray. An open pack of Trojans.

Eddie hums dismissively, pressing himself to your ass. He feels hard and ready, twitching against you at the soft, feminine sound of surprise you let out. Experienced fingers smooth up your thigh, until his hand is digging into the softness at the top, a single thumb playing with the frilled elastic of your panties. 

“How do you want it?” His thumb smooths along cotton, finds the split of your pussy through the fabric and your cunt clenches. “Hm. How about I get you warmed up first, yeah? Play with this little pussy till I can slide right in.”

Eddie presses his thumb up where you are wettest, humming happily at the heat of your cunt while your knees shake, ready to collapse and leave yourself open to whatever he wants. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s how I want it.”

“Well, good,” he laughs, his free hand pulling up the hem of your skirt. “‘Cause that’s how you’re going to get it.”

Your eyes flutter at the feeling of Eddie's callused fingers dipping under the waistband of your panties. He stops a minute to play with the curls of hair on your mound and smiles against your neck at the pleading wiggle of your hips. When Eddie’s fingers pull your lips apart, exposing your sticky cunt to his touch, he sighs approvingly into your ear. "There she is." 

His fingers tease gently at your entrance, gathering wetness and rubbing at the smooth lips of your cunt while you both stare down at his hand working beneath the fabric of your panties.

“Fuck,” you breathe, knowing he must be feeling exactly how excited and ready he has you. Eddie fills your clenching cunt with two fingers, the stretch of them walking that blissful line between pleasure and pain. Your body jolts at the intrusion, but the sound you let out is pleased, a quiet gasp and whimper that prompts Eddie to breathe a laugh into your neck.

“You like that?”

You nod rapidly, hips jumping at every slow movement of his wrist, the aching stretch and drag of his fingers in your cunt. The press of callused pads against your walls, catching perfectly against the sensitive skin of your walls and-  

“Oh, fuck.” 

Eddie curls his arm tight around the front of your waist when he feels you start to slide away, steadying you against him with a delighted laugh. "This is the best fucking part with girls,” he tells you, angling his wrist just right, your mouth falling open to allow you to gasp air into your lungs in between groans. “You’ve got all these fun little spots to work with.” He squeezes your waist for emphasis, presses his lips to your ear. “Want to know my favourite?”

Eddie’s thumb finds your swollen clit, and you know in an instant exactly why girls forget they have boyfriends when he touches them. 

He starts fucking your cunt with his fingers, pressing tight to the perfect spot inside each time while his thumb rubs tight, focused circles on your sensitive button. Your thighs shake around his hand, and Eddie coos a mocking tone that only serves to make you clench tighter around him. 

You can hear it. The building wetness, louder every second, but you can't think to be embarrassed, not when Eddie's tucked his chin on your shoulder to stare down at your body, rolling and flinching to the rhythm he sets.

"Oh, god. Fuck, fuck-" 

Your toes curl in your shoes, hips chasing his fingers and their magic though he makes no move to stop. Together, the sensitivity of your clit and your clasping hole build until you're crying out, reaching behind you to press a hand to Eddie's cheek. It’s a sudden need, an ache to see him, the person giving you this, the person determined to bring you to this blissful peak you have been desperate to reach for a long time. The ecstatic tremors people are always talking about. 

Eddie’s face turns to yours at your desperate touch. He is all flushed cheeks and prettiness; excitement in those wide eyes, his tongue peaking out in his concentration. He hums a questioning tone, and you moan back, mouth open and breathing in the smoke and mint of his breath. 

Eddie's lips are soft looking and pink. Simultaneously, or perhaps one follows the other, the thought crosses your mind that he might kiss you, and you cum on his rough fingers. 

Your body seizes up, caught between searching for more of the pleasure he brings and trying to push him away as it reaches a painful edge. Eddie's fingers are steady and unrelenting until the hand on his cheek is pushing back to tangle in his hair and you are gasping. You ache for more of his touch, the high it seems only he is capable of giving you. 

You wonder if it’s always like this, after. The feeling that parts of your body are more his than yours, now.

"Please, fuck me." 

Eddie grins, dimples pressing sweetly into his cheeks, giving your clit one last mean rub just to feel the jolt of your body pressing to his. His fingers are wet with your slick when he brings them between your faces, expression a little crazed. That pink tongue appears again to lap at his middle finger, his eyes fluttering then fixating on you.  

Your mouth opens before he even asks. Eddie presses his fingers, still dripping with you, against your tongue. It's musky and salty and natural. Nothing amazing, but the way Eddie's watching you take it gives you half a mind to suck on the digits, just to see how he might look at you while you do it. 

He pulls his hand away before you can make good, running the pads over your bottom lip. 

"It's my favourite," he murmurs, big eyes set on your drooling mouth. 

A feral, desperate part of you wants to ask if he means he likes yours best, this boy who must know the taste of so many. Your eyes flicker to his own pouty mouth, but he doesn't give you the time to lean in the way you might want to. 

"Get on the bed." Eddie releases your body, leaving you cold along your back and where his arm had held you tight around your waist. Body thrumming, you settle yourself back on his mattress, toeing off your shoes and opening your legs to let your skirt slide tauntingly up your thighs. 

If you were coming to realise how attractive Eddie was before, one orgasm deep you are convinced of his beauty. He looks even better like this; flushed and a little sweaty, his messy hair the work of your fingers. You watch him, panting, while he removes the heavy leather jacket and his shirt, throwing them carelessly to the floor. The tattoos that decorate his pale arms and chest have you sinking deeper, wiggling your hips to try and find friction against his mattress.

“You gonna take your shirt off?” He asks with a smirk. “Let me see your tits?”

You glance down at them, wondering not for the first time what the appeal is, and look up to find Eddie’s lithe hands pulling at his belt. The clink of the buckle makes your cunt clench, watching his fingers pull leather through metal. Your own hands find the hem of your top to pull it up and over your head, face heating at his unashamed gaze on the newly exposed skin.

“This, too?” You ask, reaching behind you to the clasp of your bra.

His lips curve. “You know many guys who’d say no?”

“I’m asking you.”

Eddie blinks, eyes flicking up to yours. You see him swallow under his pale throat and then he clears it, hands losing their grace to frantically undo the button and zip of his jeans.

“Yeah,” he nods, teeth abusing his pillowy bottom lip. “That, too.”

You pull at the clasp and let it fall. Eddie moans at the back of his throat, his hand slipping into the exposed check fabric of his boxers. The desperate movement of his wrist under cotton, brought on by the sight of you, could fool you into thinking he was new to this. Dark eyes drift back and forth like he’s trying to pick his favourite, a pink tongue peaking out in a show of concentration.

You laugh, shaking your shoulders to give him a show, and it’s like you’ve reset him.

Eddie grunts, takes a long breath, and pulls his thick cock from his boxers. He drags his hand over his length in a smooth stroke, the excited boy that had you giggling just a second ago replaced in an instant by a man showing off.

He has a right to it. You search for friction from his mattress at the sight of him, long and thick. A dripping head exposed when he pulls back pink skin around swollen flesh. He'll hit the end of you, that spot he’d found with his fingers. And he’ll split you apart while he's at it. 

Eddie tears open a condom wrapper with his teeth, smoothing the wet rubber down from his tip until it's stretched transparent and clinging to his heavy cock. He tilts his chin up proudly at your unashamed stare, his dick twitching. 

"Turn over." 

Happy to do as you're told if it gets him inside you faster, you turn your back to him and fall to your hands and knees. Once you are staring at his headboard, a ringed hand finds your shoulder, pushing you down until your chest is flat to his sheets, your ass up and on display for him. 

"You still want it, right?" 

You hardly think you can be hearing him right. You turn your head as best you can with half your body held flat like this, but he is out of eyeshot, your gaze only finding a stack of amps and a pile of wires that further mark this room as his. Unable to catch him, you settle for wiggling your hips, grinding into the air, your humility lost to his fingers and the sight of his cock. "Uh, no, my pussy's in the air waiting for somebody else to come along. Be serious, Eddie." 

A half there chuckle sounds above you, and a quick warm kiss is pressed to the curve of your back as his hands flip up your skirt. "Fuck yes," he breathes, eyeing your ass cupped sweetly in wet panties until he gets his fingers in the elastic to pull them down to your knees. 

You feel exposed, your most intimate place bare and open to his gaze, but you are as hot and wanting as ever, whining low into his sheets. The hand on your shoulder drifts down your back to your hip, his thumb rubbing gently over your skin when his cock meets the entrance of your pussy. 

"Relax," he says, the first gentle push of his hips not enough to get him inside when you're this wound up, body resisting the intrusion. Eddie keeps stroking your hip, lets you clench and unclench your fists and toes in your effort to let go. "'m gonna make you feel real good," Eddie assures, the promise in his tone a comfort. "Just as soon as you're ready, okay?" 

You mewl, wanting that more than anything. With a long sigh, you let the soft caress of Eddie's warm hand and the ease of his voice soothe you until your body is loose and supplicating. 

"That's right. Let me in, sweetheart." 

The slow stretch of his cock pressing inside you is an aching, brilliant burn. Your fingers curl into the bed, stuck between pushing back onto him and giving in to whatever pace he wishes to set. He stops before he reaches the end of you, panting in the air, hand caressing your hip. You whine when he pulls back, pussy clenching up in a desperate attempt to keep him inside. 

“'m tryna be gentle,” he laughs, pressing his face to your shoulder with a shaky breath. "This pussy needs looking after, ‘kay? S’too tight to force it, so don't rush me."

You nod, rubbing your cheek on his sheets, surrounded by the smell and feel of him. Eddie works you open slowly with his cock, pushing deeper before taking the sweet stretch away over and over again until you’re shaking with need. Your pussy flutters around the invading inches of his cock, twinges of pain slowly giving way to sweet pangs of pleasure.

“Doin’ so well,” he soothes, breathing harshly through his nose. “Want it all, don’t ya?”

“Want it all,” you repeat

"You need it a little harder?"

"Mm, yeah. Need it harder." 

Eddie gives you one last slow roll of his hips, his strong hands drifting up to grasp at either side of your waist. 

With the first rough thrust, you are crying out. His thick head meets that spot his fingers had located inside you, mapped out and known to him already. Eddie’s cock, heavy and hot, slides easily through the soaked walls of your cunt, your body happily inviting him to use you just like this. 

The aching stretch, the drag of his cock inside you, the dirty tease of his heavy balls smacking your clit with the way he has your hips tilted. Almost as good as all of that is the sound of Eddie above you. 

Masculine groans and fuck yeah's. Boyish laughter when your cunt squeezes happily around him, the delightful humiliation of it only encouraging your pussy to keep clasping his cock. 

"Feels good, yeah? Yeah. S'good for me, too, baby. It's a sweet little cunt you're giving me."

You shudder, whining at the sound of that. You don't exactly think it; you just know somewhere that it's true. If Eddie will touch you, fuck you, talk to you like this? Give him your pussy is exactly what you'll do. If he wants, he can have it to keep. 

You can feel that perfect incline wanting to happen again. Eddie has you mewling under him, your hips squirming to encourage his thick, warm cock deeper with every thrust he gives you. 

You have hit the familiar wall. Pleasure mounting and mounting, going nowhere. Only now it’s Eddie fucking you, and you trust him already to take you exactly where you need to go.

"I wanna cum again," you whine, barely noting the stutter of his hips. "Wanna cum. Please." 

He doesn't reply for too long, waiting until a frustrated cry leaves your lips. "I like the sound of you begging," he answers, the salacious grin on his face audible in his tone. "A little more wouldn't hurt."

Your toes curl in half irritation and half need, hating him a little despite the pleasurable prickle his teasing causes to dance up your spine. You consider screaming into his sheets until he gives you what you need. You could grab his hand and force it between your legs, or else try to draw the ecstasy up yourself if you didn't think he would only stop fucking you as punishment. 

Eddie presses deep and then deeper still, the head of his cock rubbing perfect at the end of you, and you know then that you have no use for pride when it comes to him. 

With shaking arms, you push your chest up from the mattress until you are resting on your palms, elbows locked straight. When you look back, you find Eddie flushed and sweaty, dark curls stuck to his forehead and his pink cheeks. His brown eyes are round and surprised to be looking into yours, shifting back and forth between your left and right. 

"Eddie," you say, his name leaving your mouth as a moan. "Please make me cum. I need-" You stutter and gasp at his fingers tightening a bruising grip on your waist, your clit throbbing in response to the demonstration of the strength in his hands. "I need you to do it for me, Eddie." 

He blinks at you, pink lips open to let out his pretty groans. Then he's nodding, and his right hand disappears from your waist to find your clit. 

"Thank you," you breathe at the first circle of the rough pads. Your pussy twitches as relief spreads through your body, already attune to what Eddie's touch there will bring. At once, the places he has found on your body take you to an edge that you would willingly throw yourself from. "Eddie. Eddie, Eddie- fuck-"

Your arms give way when your cunt throbs violently around him. Eddie follows you down, his chest curling over your back. He keeps his fingers working you through your high, wrapping his other arm around your front to hold you close. Reaching back to tangle your hand in his hair, you feel his lips, his warm cheek, at the sensitive skin of your neck, his aching closeness just as good as his cock at bringing about this ecstasy. 

"Shit. Shit, you're so fucking good," Eddie groans, voice a pleasant vibration on your skin. His cock twitches and jumps inside your aching hole, and you feel the sudden warmth as his cum collects at the tip of the condom. 

Your bodies twitch through aftershocks together, then slump as one to the bed. Eddie's chest holds tight to your back, his hairy thighs bracketing yours. For a few sweet, fuzzy moments, you are alone in the world with him. 

You scratch gently at his head, fingers still lost in his messy locks. Eddie breathes a long sigh then makes a gentle happy sound like a relaxing cat. 

You laugh softly, and lose him. 

Eddie's comforting weight vanishes along with his warmth as he sits up. With a sigh, he pulls his softening cock out, your pussy aching with the significant loss when he's gone.

Once you think you can control your limbs, you roll over onto your back and stare at his ceiling, searching your chest for guilt over what you’ve just done. It's not your boyfriend you can hear pulling off a condom, not him searching a cluttered side table for a pack of cigarettes. It's not him who tosses himself back on the bed beside you with a bounce. 

But you don't find shame. You're too busy feeling the relief that nothing is wrong with you. Your body is capable of what it should be, and in truth you are giddy with it. So much so that you find yourself laughing into the air, covering your face with your sweaty hands and shaking your legs at the knees. 

“Where did you learn to fuck like that?”

When you take your hands from your eyes, Eddie has a cigarette hanging from his lips, a lighter in his hands waiting to be flicked. “Uh,” he starts, grabbing the unlit smoke so he can speak with both sides of his mouth free. “I don’t know. Practice, I guess. And then you just gotta, y’know, pay attention to what the girl likes, ‘n’ what she doesn’t like, I guess.” 

You collapse into his pillows, watch him return the cigarette to his plush mouth and take a long drag, breathing out away from your face. 

“What do I like?”

Dimples appear on the cheek closest to you, shallow crow's feet at his eyes. “Liked me sweet talking you while I bullied your cunt.”

The way your pussy clenches has you believing him, curling up at his side and watching him settle himself. “Mm. Yeah. Do you like that, too?”

Eddie blinks for a second like he hasn’t heard you correctly, tilts his face down to where you are lying on his mattress, gazing up at him with a dreamy smile. “Uh, yeah,” he nods, hair a beautiful mess, shifting with his movement. “But I kinda just like fucking, honestly, so…” 

He laughs awkwardly, eyes shifting between you and his cigarette on a loop.

You nod. “I guess it’s just easier for guys.”

Eddie considers this, shrugs. “Yeah, in my experience.” He grins to the side. “Some days a strong breeze does it for me.”

You snort, reaching out to trace a line along the tattooed chain that curls around his torso. Eddie squirms a little like it tickles, but allows you to follow the links with your finger. You bite the inside of your lip, wondering where this need to tell Eddie everything you’re thinking came from. 

“Got a confession,” 

“Shit.” His eyes go wide, blinking fast with worry. “Shit, please don’t tell me I just took your virginity.” You smile, shake your head, and feel the tension leave his body. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that. What is it?”

You watch him take a drag from his cigarette, the slow rise and fall of his tattooed chest. “I, uh. No-one’s ever made me…finish, before.”

Eddie’s nose scrunches up sweetly. “Christ, that’s almost as bad. You came for the first time staring at my unmade bed.”

“I didn’t notice,” you tell him, swirling a finger around one link. Your teeth dig into the gum behind your lip. “Could’ve been looking at anything, probably, and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

Eddie licks his lips quickly, his gaze moving from your mouth to your eyes. “If I’d known it was your first time-”

“Not my first time-”

“Your first time reaching the big O, experiencing le petite mort, uh, blowing your lump-”

“Blowing my lu-”

“If I’d known,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’d have had a sweet view of this most handsome of faces between your thighs.”

You pause your touch on his stomach, blinking at him. The image is as invasive as it is appealing; those big eyes watching you while his mouth works your sensitive pussy. Your clit throbs at the thought even while you squirm with a touch of discomfort. "You really do that, Eddie?"

"Did I or did I not tell you pussy was my favourite taste?" Eddie asks, sounding a touch irritated until he takes in your expression. "You never even had your pussy eaten, sweet thing? Nobody even tried?" 

When your head shakes timidly, Eddie huffs like he means it. “Man, what is the point of sex education? Everyone’s fucking anyway, but all these boys don’t know what the hell they’re doing.” He shakes his head, looking genuinely aggrieved for you. “Need a whole semester on how to find the Goddamn clit, or else find the patience to try looking for it in the first place.”

His genuine irritation has you amused and fond in equal measure. “Who would teach that class, Eddie?” You laugh, thinking of the man who’s been teaching sex ed since your parents attended Hawkins High. 

“Hey, Coach Wright only pushes that abstinence only bullshit cause that’s what the man dictates," he snickers, clearly imagining it himself. "The man in this case being the Indiana Department of Education.”

“Of course,”

You like him like this. A boy you would have described as scary forty-eight hours ago, laughing with you, joking like old friends. If you feel any shame, it’s not for a boy across town you always thought too highly of. It’s for this boy here, who you really didn’t think of much at all. He is kind enough to be angry on your behalf. To look after you the way nobody else ever has.

And he’s pretty. You’re happy to admit it now. He is so pretty that when Eddie licks his lips and blows smoke from them, and the image of him between your thighs returns full force. What it would be to have those eyes on yours, the softness of those lips somewhere you can't see, only feel. 

You swallow, rubbing your thighs together to deal with the growing throb of your clit. 

Eddie catches the movement and blinks at you with a slow smile. He snuffs out the cigarette in the ashtray on his bedside table before turning to you with a little sigh. "You're desperate for it, huh?" 

“Yeah,” you breathe. Abandoning any possibility of playing coy, you touch at the lithe muscle of his arm. “But, not, I mean- You don’t have to. It’s already-” You look at his pleased face, hoping he hears what you want him to know. “It’s already better than it has been for me. Like ever, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles at you shyly, gifting you the sight of one dimple and the sweet shine of his soft eyes. “I’m happy to hear that. I mean, I’m not happy that it wasn’t good before. Happy that it was good, that I was good. To you. You know?” You nod, heart aching, more endeared to him with every word he speaks now that the cocky boy you pushed you into this room and bent you over to take his cock has been replaced by this blushing one who is clearing his throat nervously under your adoring gaze. “Right, yeah. Gonna eat you out now, ‘kay?”

“Okay, Eddie.” 

With gentle firmness, he leans over your face to help you lie back into his pillows, his hair falling around you and tickling your cheeks. Eddie mumbles an apology and tucks it back behind his neck only to find you staring up at him, expression soft and wanting. You watch each other. His eyes flicker, and you think, not for the first time, about what it would be like if he kissed you.

"Just to be clear,” he says, voice soft until- “It wasn't talking about Coach Wright that got you going again?" 

The reverie is broken with his laugh and your mortification. "Oh my God, Eddie, obviously not!"

"You sure? Cause I pride myself on giving, and if you need my flawless impression to make this the best it can be, I will do that for you, sweetheart." He presses a short kiss to your collar while you giggle, shaking your head at him. His lips linger at your chest, his wet tongue gliding over your nipple, lips sucking till you gasp. Just as you’re about to moan his name, he releases the pebbled bud to laugh. When he looks up, his eyes are watering with mirth. "You have some amount of nerve to look me in the eye and call that running!"

"Stop!" You cry, toes curling at the too accurate impression of the old man's crackly Southern drawl as Eddie giggles into the softness of your stomach.

"My grandmother Mabel moves faster, and she's been dead near twenty years, God rest her soul!" 

"Eddie, I hate that!"

"Oh?” He says, running a finger around your belly button. “You want dirty talk? Why, you look so damn sexy climbing that rope I could-"

You squeal, kicking your legs either side of his torso, and reach down to press a hand over his mouth, feeling the humidity of his laughing breaths against your palm. "Sto-op," you whine, waiting till he's finished laughing and is blinking slowly before moving your hand. Eddie smiles at you, dimples on display, and kisses your stomach again, down to the top of your thigh. His tongue peaks out at the sensitive skin there, hot and wet, and the throb in your cunt reminds you why he’s there.

Eddie chances a look at you, and you see in his expressive eyes that he's thinking about speaking. Instinct brings your hands to his hair, brushing back some of the damp curls at the front. His eyes flutter, some tension in his body gives way, leaving him with a cheek resting on your thigh. 

He swallows then speaks. "You want me, then?" 

Your chest hurts. You don’t look away. "Yes, Eddie. I want you." 

His eyes close tight for a few seconds, until you drag your fingers through some of the displaced curls, scratching soothingly with the pads of your fingers at his scalp. He hums softly, blinks again, then sighs as he sinks down between your thighs. 

“Ah, there she is,” he says, any traces of vulnerability lost the second he catches sight of your pussy, wet, swollen, and waiting for him. “Oh yeah, she needs more, for sure. Should’ve told me earlier, baby. I would’ve helped you out.”

“I didn’t-”

“Shhhh,” he breathes, hooking a leg over his shoulder and pressing the other aside and up so he can push in close, the soft plushness of his lips brushing your mound when he grins. “Wasn’t talking to you. ‘M having a conversation, here.” Eddie kisses at the curls of hair above your cunt, drifting down until his breath becomes a teasing caress. He gives your twitching clit a single kiss, lips wrapped perfectly around it, and your legs jump either side of his head. “Yeah, you were saying?”

“You’re so fucking weird,” you laugh, half caught between amusement and desperate anticipation, covering your face with your hands while Eddie mumble apologies to your cunt for the second interruption.

“She’s just jealous, sweet thing," he murmurs, leaving wet kisses down to your entrance, his nose bumping your aching button. "She doesn't understand our connection." 

He licks, broad and hot, up the length of your cunt with a satisfied groan. "Tastes so fucking good."

Eddie's head shakes, pressing his mouth to your weeping pussy, lapping at your soft entrance. You listen to the sound of his tongue, his satisfied lip smacks and grunts, and realise he was entirely serious about loving this. Your toes curl at every stroke of his tongue, soothing the ache his cock left behind. 

You are taunted by the way his nose keeps brushing your clit, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves that is desperate for his mouth. If it weren't for the building ache, you could watch Eddie like this for hours. Hair messy and sticking all over his face, eyes closed in bliss. The way his head moves like he wants to get deeper, taste everything you have to give. 

Your fingers tighten in his hair, give a gentle tug, and his soft eyes find yours.

They remain half closed from satisfaction, the warmest brown lost to dark pupils. They are still the prettiest pair of eyes you've ever seen. 

"Feels good," you whine, tangling one hand in his curls. With the other, you smooth down your mound to the top of your cunt, exposing your clit with two fingers so he can see the sweet button he's been torturing. "But I need you here. Please, Eddie." 

He pulls himself from your entrance with a gentle gasp of air, the bottom half of his face soaked with you. Your talkative boy doesn't say a word, just nods desperately before lathing his tongue over your clit. 

Your thighs lock around his head without you even noticing. Your body is desperate to keep him there, though there really is no need to try and force him. Eddie will kiss your clit till you're crying if you promise to say his name like that every time it feels good. 

He circles his tongue around the top of your cunt, playing with the nerves and watching the drop of your chin, the slow but constant nod of your head while you cry out. You feel your pleasure building under his mouth, the now familiar crest approaching. Your clit twitches with your thighs and Eddie groans happily, sensing the approaching high he's drawing out with his worship of your pussy.  

Eddie gives you the perfect satisfied sound from the back of his throat, wraps his pillowy lips around your clit to suck gently at the swollen button. Your cunt numbs for a split second, close to pain, then sends flashes of ecstasy through your body as you cum. Eddie’s name comes just like he wanted, in a stream of grateful whines. 

When your limbs lose their tension, legs falling limp against his shoulders, you think this must be what it feels like to be high. Even the final press of Eddie's lips to your oversensitive clit only draws a soft grunt from you. The loss of his warmth is sudden and sharp, but you don’t let him go for long. When you feel him flop down beside you on the bed you search for him and find his hand, as strong as you had thought it would be. You press your fingers to his palm until he holds your hand properly, grounding you enough that you feel ready to speak.

"That was amazing. I mean," you breathe a laugh, turning to look at him, finding him staring up at the ceiling. "Holy shit, Eddie. You have some kind of gift."

He doesn’t glance over, blinking those big eyes at any sight but you. The movement feels natural, to try and get his attention by bringing your joined hands to your mouth. You leave a kiss to his knuckles and Eddie finally looks at you, eyes shiny. 

"Can I," you murmur into the back of his hand. "Can I stay for a while?" Your face heats at the poorly hidden surprise on his face, but you push forward with a nervous giggle. "Kinda need to wait until I can feel my feet again, anyway." 

"You can stay as long as you want, sweetheart," he nods, swallows, then corrects himself. "As long as you need.”

You chew your lip, leaning in a little to just rest your temple at his shoulder. "Good, cause I actually kind of need to know why one person needs so many amps."

You feel the subtle shake of his laughter under your head, soothing and warm, and curl up at his side, pulling at his arm until it clasps you tight. You let yourself enjoy the happiness in Eddie's voice. 

"A metalhead can never have too many amps, Princess," he assures. "Allow me to explain…"

.⋆｡⋆✮˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.  

A little part of him hates you. 

He didn’t demand you look at him like he was special, important to you, or moan his name like that when you came. He didn’t invite you in so you could ask him about his amps, or his handmade Corroded Coffin poster, or Wayne’s collection of mugs. He didn’t ask you to stay, you just did it. 

Eddie let you stay too long, and held you in his arms too tight. He’d spoken too much, answered every question and asked his own before listening to more than he should have. He let himself get a taste of what it might be like to be wanted by you all of the time, not just when you are left disappointed by whoever you came to him to replace, forget, or punish. He might as well have smoked a whole twenty pack of Camels, the way all that sweetness turned to ash in his mouth. 

“What are you going to do now?” He’d asked, when his van stopped outside of your Mom’s pretty front garden. He’d stared at the petunias and felt stupid for even asking.

“Call my boyfriend.”

He’s glad it was dark, glad you were staring at your hands so you didn’t see him flinch. Eddie used the minute of silence after to mourn what he never had, then he’d felt you shift beside him. Your lips found the corner of his mouth, your eyes and his shut tight to savour it. An almost kiss, more fitting than anything else you could have given him. 

“Thank you, Eddie,” you’d whispered, warm breath spreading over his cheek. Cool where the tears were. “Tonight was…special.”

Eddie watched you walk inside, then slammed the heel of his palm into the dashboard until his wrist ached. 

Bea showed up at his trailer the Sunday after. She flashed the stretchy green fabric covering her mound under her pleated skirt and Eddie thought about all the times pulling at the elastane and hearing it snap back onto sensitive skin made his cock jump, trying to will that reaction when she placed her vanilla scented skin against his, rubbed her fingers over his crotch. She took his wrist to pull him towards his room, and he felt panic overtake any excitement in his chest. 

Would he lose the scent of you on his sheets if she lay herself down where he wants you to be? 

“Can we, uh, slow down?” Eddie had asked, planting his feet in the hallway before his room, feeling the pause before she replied as a physical presence between them. 

“Slow down and do what, exactly?”

Eddie’s lips twitched. Let me tell you all about my Uncle’s mug collection, he almost said. 

“I don’t know, I just- I need a minute. We could talk.”

Her hand dropped his wrist, found her hip instead. “Okay, but you know that’s not what this is, right?”

“Yeah. No, I know. I mean-” He sighed, thought, fuck, what have you done to me? “I know what this is. I’m not your boyfriend, but I’m not a sex toy, either, okay?”

"Don't act like you don't get something out of this too, Munson."

Edde ran a hand through his hair and thought about how you'd pulled his face to yours with it, how much you wanted to hold him, see him while he made you feel better than anyone else ever had. The way you’d stayed after like it meant something.

"Not what I want," Eddie said, walking decidedly back to his front door to throw it open and gesture to the cold air. "You may take your leave." 

"Whatever," Bea mumbled, her arm crossing her body, the insecurity brought on by rejection apparent in her stance. Eddie felt a touch of guilt about it. "I know one of them probably gave you puppy eyes and made you think you might have a shot, Munson, but just so you know, none of the girls are interested in you for more than this. We do talk, you know?" 

The guilt vanished, swiftly replaced by hot sharp shame that stung his throat. 

"I mean, don't fool yourself, Munson. You're fun, but you're nobody's boyfriend."

"Just…get out."

When she was gone, her baby blue sports car pulling away from his home, Eddie threw himself into his bed and allowed himself a moment to breathe the smell of you before he covered his eyes with his fists and swallowed tears

You're all he can think about. Sweet memories mixing with terrible dread, the knowledge that the dream will end abruptly for him on Monday. It's the same story as all those other girls. You'll be back with your boyfriend by then, resentment worked out by Eddie's cock. Maybe in a week or two you'll show up at his trailer, wide eyed and wanting. 

The only thing worse than that would be if you never came around again. It’s sick, he realises, but he’d put himself through it for the way you look when you cum, would go through even worse for the way you say his name when you laugh.

Eddie wonders if he can avoid the sight of you when he gets into school, keep you out of sight and until you leave his mind. But he's not at his locker longer than ten seconds when he swears he can sense your presence from the drop of his stomach.

Eddie looks up, and there you are. Walking with your boyfriend. Kenneth Hunt (dubbed Kunt by Gareth in what Eddie felt was a stroke of genius), worse than a bully. Puts on a real nice front for teachers and parents and girls. He rarely takes part in the real shit, just stands on and watches like being there while his friends shove Dustin or Jeff into a locker makes him tough. He’ll throw some insults occasionally when he’s feeling particularly brave. He’s pathetic.

But he has you.

“Fuckin’ idiot, Munson,” he mumbles, hating himself for believing for even a second that it wouldn’t have ended this way for him. Soon, as you pass him, one of two things will happen. 

You will bury yourself into that prick’s chest, bat your pretty eyes at him and act like you need protection from the freak. 

Or you’ll ignore him, flounce past like you didn’t fall apart on his fingers and his tongue and his cock. Like you didn’t lie warm and comfortable with him in his bed for hours. Like he didn’t make you smile. Like you didn’t almost kiss him. 

His chest already aches, and he’s thinking seriously about skipping his next class and hotboxing his van just to forget he ever let you in anywhere; his van, his room, his stupid, throbbing heart. 

Only, Eddie blinks at you, trying to work this scene out. You aren’t cooing in Kenneth’s ear. Or putting on that baby voice girls do with boys they like. Your face is scrunched, fingers curled into fists rather than pressed lovingly at his arm. Actually, you’re hissing at each other, the frustrated sound of a public argument trying to be kept private. 

“Baby, I seriously don’t understand where all this is coming from!” 

“I explained already,” you answer, exasperated, shaking your wrist from his hand. “I just don’t think we’re right for each other.” 

You’re approaching, and his naïve heart calls for you, hope a dangerous warmth in Eddie’s chest. 

You look up. Your eyes find his. 

“Since when, though? I just-”

“Hi, Eddie.” You wave, giving him a pretty smile, your head tilted shyly.

“Hi,” he breathes. He wouldn’t have been able to hide his excitement if he tried. But you aren’t trying, so why would he?

You bite the inside of your lip and scan him up and down, taking in his dark mess of curls, his ripped jeans and his Reeboks as you walk past with a subtle, flirty smile. Kenneth pauses, losing ground on you to instead stare at your retreating form. He turns to Eddie, jaw loose, eyes displaying his desperate attempts at joining what to him must seem like completely unconnected dots.

Kenneth’s fists clench, and he shakes the very idea from his head. “Freak,” he bites, taking off after you.

Eddie huffs a laugh, because the insult doesn’t matter anymore. Not when this new knowledge is so sweet. 

He watches the letterman jacket jog up after you, and thinks, I fucked your ex-girlfriend stupid. 

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where volunteering sucks. And freshmen are just as bad for your health as energy drinks.

Or the seventeenth installment of the SKZ!pack prequel series.

Tags: Skz, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, SKZ!pack, SKZ!abo, Poly!skz, omegaverse, pack!prequel, skz!Pack prequel series, new, update, skz x you, skz x reader, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, lee felix, hwang hyunjin, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, y/n, fluff, skz fluff

Genre: Fluff

Title: Orientation

“I can’t believe you let hyung talk you into volunteering. Let alone a whole day of giving tours to baby freshmen who have proven to be no smarter than a box of rocks and just as annoying.” Hyunjin scoffs as he catches sight of you, tugging on your ‘Department of Sciences’ hoodie. 

Jisung makes a noise of annoyance in his throat, a nonverbal beratement at Hyunjin to stop moving around so goddamn much, and paints another coat of nail polish across the omega’s nail, his tongue stuck between his lips in concentration. 

You sigh and roll your eyes. “You get a class credit for doing it. It’s an easy A.” 

Hyunjin snorts, but stays still this time, giving you an unconvinced stare from the kitchen table. “Still can’t believe it.” 

“And I still can’t believe that you all took bets on my kinks.” Chan enters the kitchen now on the tail end of the conversation, straightening his unruly curls with his fingers, already sporting his navy ‘Department of Music’ sweatshirt. He gives Hyunjin a sharp stare, only given away by the slightly amused twitch to his lips. “So I guess we’re even.” 

Minho appears in the doorway, looking entirely too sleep rumpled for almost eleven in the morning, and scowls at all of you. 

“What the hell are you all doing in my kitchen?” 

“Hanging out.” Hyunjin offers unhelpfully, as Jisung finishes one of his hands with a flourish and an admonishment to blow carefully on the wet nails. 

“I think the freshmen are cute.” Felix chimes in, sliding into the seat next to Hyunjin and resting his head lightly on the other omega’s shoulder. “They’re precious, all wide eyed and innocent and excited for a new year.” 

Minho looks downright exasperated now. 

“Oh my god, is literally everyone here?” 

Jisung scoffs. “You would. Leave it to Sunshine Angel Baby Felix to think the newest wave of fresh meat is ‘adorable.’” 

“I hate the freshmen.” Changbin grunts, sliding carefully past Minho in the doorway, headed straight for the fridge, as he tugs open the door and reaches inside to pull out a bottle of orange juice. “They come into the studio spaces and fuck all the equipment up.” 

He lifts the juice to his lips in an annoyed sort of motion and takes a swig right from the jug. 

“Seo Changbin, I know you did not just drink straight out of my carton like some sort of bumbling, disgusting, uncivilized neanderthal.” 

Changbin looks suitably apologetic as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Sorry, hyung.” 

“The actual worst thing about freshmen though, is that they don’t know how to keep their stupid hands or thoughts to themselves.” Hyunjin continues with barely concealed annoyance, as Seungmin skirts around the still lurking Minho and tosses Changbin a cup from the cabinet with remarkable ease. 

Minho sighs and scrubs down his face with his hand as if he’s about to commit murder, before he turns and disappears back down the hallway to his room without a word. 

A moment later, a door slams shut.

“Yeah.” Jisung agrees with a vicious nod, digging around in Minho’s pantry and emerging victoriously with a bag of chips in his fisted grip, which he uses to point sternly in Hyunjin’s direction, then your own. “Noona is hella hot-goddamn fine even-and those little cretins are gonna be hitting on her alllllll day.” 

Beside you, Chan makes a sound of betrayal in his throat. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” 

You grin and turn to the put-out alpha standing beside you, patting his cheek a few times, none too gently, with the open palm of your hand. 

“You’re very pretty, Christopher. Now c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” 

********

You pop open a much needed can of Monster on your walk across campus, and Chan immediately gives you a judgmental side eye as you lift the energy drink to your lips. 

“Energy drinks are bad for you, you know.” 

You take a long sip, and stare him down boldly. “Funny, cause you know what else is bad for me? Children. And we’re about to spend the whole day with a fuck ton of them.” 

Chan considers you for a moment, dark eyes thoughtful, and then reaches for the can, fingers curling around your own as he steals it and raises it to his own lips for a quick swig. 

“Touche.” 

You walk in silence for several moments, gravel crunching beneath your feet, and then Chan says, glancing sidelong at you once more, “You look cute, you know? In your department sweatshirt.” 

You roll your eyes and hide the smile that’s threatening behind your teeth. 

Instead, you turn to him and raise a brow, keeping your expression serious. 

“I’d look cuter if it were off of me though.” 

Chan chokes on the sip of energy drink he has just stolen, and you laugh as he hands you back the can once more, coughing, desperately trying to scrub off the spilled stain that now marks the front of his hoodie. 

“Shit.” 

You pull him to a stop, turning him to face you as you knock his fumbling hands out of the way and pat at the spilled energy drink with a napkin from the recesses of your backpack. 

You’re aware he’s watching you, but you purposefully keep your gaze downturned, focusing more than is necessary on wiping away the stain from the navy material. 

You finally chance a glance up at him through your lashes. 

“You’re just too easy, baby. I had to.” You give a little laugh and a shrug as you finally release your hold on him, but don’t step away. “Sorry.” 

Something flickers across his gaze at your words, but you don’t catch what it is before it disappears, and then he says quietly, “Say that again.” 

You tilt your head and stare up at him, confused. 

“What? Sorry?” 

He shakes his own head, curls falling into his eyes, and there is a thin ring of gold around his pupils now, bleeding into the caramel of his irises. 

“No. What you called me.” 

Understanding dawns on you, and you swallow, trying to ignore the sudden heavy scent of rain in the surrounding air. 

“What, baby?” 

Chan hums, a contented sort of rumble in his chest, and your wolf practically salivates at the way his pupils dilate in response to your voice, and that word. 

“Interesting.” You muse, smirking now. 

You take a step closer to him. 

Chan lets out a long, controlled breath between barely parted lips, and shakes his head, and when he looks at you again, there’s no sign of the gold, of the alpha, that plagued his eyes, only moments before. 

He offers you the hint of a sheepish smile as you feel your own wolf retreat a bit. 

“Sorry. It’s been awhile.” 

You study him for another long moment, and then put some space in between you once more.

“Changbin calls you ‘babe’ at the studio all the time. He told me.” 

Chan grimaces as you both continue to walk once more.

“Yeah, but that’s not the same, that’s just in joking. Bros being bros.” 

“Is it?” You query, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, and you see realization begin to cross his face. 

“Isn’t it?” He repeats back slightly under his breath, brow furrowed. 

You groan and roll your eyes, hurrying your steps so he has to catch up to you, still looking deep in thought. 

“God, the music department is so gay.” 

********

“Okay, any questions?” You clap your hands to get the chattering group of freshmen’s attention, as Chan does his best to round them up into one space outside the campus cafeteria. 

One of the girls-Rheena? Raina?-raises her hand.

You point to her. 

“Yeah.” 

She glances at Chan like he’s put the stars in the sky, her pale pink lips slightly agape as she ogles. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” 

Chan looks caught off guard, glancing at you with a hooded expression, one brow raised.

You sigh. “Yes.” You glance around the group, ignoring the crestfallen look on the omega girl’s face. “Any other questions?” 

Another freshman raises their hand, this time, a boy. 

You don’t like the cocky look in his eye. 

“How’d you manage to bag another alpha? Isn’t that like, weird or something?” 

You sigh again, longer this time, and mutter beneath your breath, “I meant questions about the tour, god.” 

You force a smile onto your face and stare down the smirking little shit-newly alpha-as you say tightly, “It’s not weird. Perfectly acceptable actually.” 

The boy looks like he’s about to say something else, but luckily, Chan jumps in before he can speak again. 

“Okay!” He claps his hands loudly and grins at the freshman. “Lunch time! You can enter the cafeteria through the doors behind you, use the cards we showed you to pay for your meal plan, and then find somewhere to sit.” He glances down at the watch he wears and then back to the group of kids before you. “You’ve got an hour and a half, and then we need to meet back here for the final leg of the tour, okay? Everybody got that?” 

There are several nods and murmurs of agreement, and then the group of freshmen disperse and disappear into the swinging doors that lead to the cafeteria. 

You blow out the annoyed breath you’ve been holding and subtly flip little alpha man off behind his back as he leaves your sight. 

Beside you, Chan chuckles. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t like kids.” You scoff and shoot him a glare. “It’s not that I don’t like kids, okay? I just don’t like that kid.” 

Chan grins, all flashing pointed teeth, and hands you your sack lunch as you both settle onto the cement stairs behind you, a knowing look in his eyes as he watches you dig around for your sandwich. 

“Fair. But you also have to remember-” He takes a bite of his own sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “-it sucks to present. He’s probably dealing with a whole slew of hormones from his alpha that he didn’t even have to think about before.” 

You chew sullenly, unwilling to give Chan the point he deserves. 

He takes a sip from his coke and glances at you sidelong, waiting. 

You sigh and crush your own now empty can between your fingers. 

“Fine. I’ll try to give him the benefit of the doubt.” 

Chan grins, tossing his eaten lunch into the nearest trash can, before he leans over and pats your head in an altogether annoying way, which is why it catches you off guard completely when he murmurs in your ear, breath warm on your skin, voice dipping into deep alpha timber. 

“Good girl.” 

You swallow your bite of sandwich, now dry in your mouth, and try not to think about earlier, when he had asked you to repeat what you had said, in that same lilting, deep, commanding tone. 

Say that again. 

You repress a shudder and throw your own half eaten lunch into the same trash can. 

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite nerds.” 

A familiar voice breaks through the tension of the moment, followed by a snap of Autumn in the air, and you both glance up as San, grinning ear to ear, comes into view around the corner of the cafeteria. 

You immediately groan even as Chan stands to give the incoming beta a high five. 

San’s face doesn’t lose its grin as they both settle back down beside you, the beta throwing his arms around the two of you and pulling you close. 

“Sup, alphas?” 

You roll your eyes. “Why am I not surprised that you’re here? Although-” You glance to where he appeared, half expecting to see Wooyoung rounding the corner at any moment. “-where’s your better half? I’d think your ugly mug would scare the children if he’s not around.” 

You offer him a sweetly innocent smile. 

San scoffs. “Please. I’m hot as fuck and you know it.” 

A crisp, cold wave of early Autumn washes over you at his words, and you make a show of pinching your nose. 

“Seriously, Sannie, did he forget your leash? There’s no other way he’d let you wander around on your own.” 

“For your information, I hold his leash, so jot that down-” San leans into you and runs his cold nose along your throat, even as you shove him away from you. He gives you a grin so wide his eyes disappear into crescents. “-and second, he’s rounding up our kids for the second half of the tour.” 

“You let him do that on his own?” Chan asks with slight amusement, glancing down at his watch, even as he stands and stretches. 

“Of course.” San shrugs, dark eyes gleaming now, as he smirks wickedly. “I wanted him to know what the rest of us have to deal with on a daily basis, living with him.” 

“Cruel.” You remark, but there’s respect in your tone, and he knows it. 

“Cruel, but just.” He gives you a wink, and you grin. 

San stands, towering next to Chan, and stretches his own arms above his head, his maroon ‘Department of Dance’ sweatshirt riding up to reveal a tan swath of skin, and the beginning lines of the dark ink of his matching tattoo that he shares with his moonmate, sketched across his hip. 

You stand as well, gathering up the last of your trash, and San gives you a questioning look. 

“Where’s Minnie? Couldn’t convince him to come this year?” 

You snort beneath your breath. “Lee Minho would rather pull out his own teeth than have to deal with freshmen-and you-all day.” 

San makes a wounded face, always dramatic, as you all begin walking toward the cafeteria and the bustling groups of freshmen. 

“Damn. Harsh.” He grins roguishly. “I was really looking forward to us wearing matching couple’s hoodies.” 

“Pretty sure Minho burned that sweatshirt the first week of school. Something about ‘lack of school spirit and maroon isn’t his color.’” Chan remarks dryly from San’s other side, and the beta mocks a pout. 

“He would.” 

San glances over your head and waves wildly to someone, and you follow his gaze, finding a harried looking Wooyoung standing with a large group of gathered freshmen, tapping his foot impatiently and glaring at the beta beside you. 

San whistles beneath his breath. “He looks mad.” 

You nod in agreement. “You’re gonna die.” 

Chan claps the beta on the back. “Hell of a way to go, man.” 

San sighs, and then he perks up again, whirling to face the two of you even as he walks away, walking backward and somehow narrowly avoiding every freshman in his path. 

He points to the two of you. “Oh, hey! We’ve got a freshie in our group that doesn’t belong. Not interested in Dance or anything down that alley whatsoever, but he’s still undecided major wise. Care if I send the little dude to you for the second half? Maybe he’ll dig science or music.” 

Beside you, Chan shrugs. 

“Sure. Send him over.” 

San gives you an enthusiastic double thumbs up, and turns to run in the direction of the still waiting Wooyoung. 

“Think they’ll accept a trade?” You remark sarcastically beneath your breath, as your own group comes into view, cocky little alpha shit right up front and center, your gaze immediately falling to him. 

Chan nudges you warningly in the side, and you bite back a smirk. 

He’s addressing the group of waiting freshmen, when San saunters over with the newest member of your entourage, pulling him up beside you quietly as Chan continues to go over the itinerary for the rest of the day. 

You glance over your shoulder at the beta, and unwittingly, your gaze falls to the boy beside him. 

He’s small, dark red hair falling over the tips of his ears, pointed features pretty and delicate, fox-like, the way he holds himself reminding you a little bit of Felix, unsure and hesitant. 

San is saying something to you, but you’re not registering, because something deep inside-your wolf-is keeping your gaze pinned on the mysterious freshman at his side. 

And then, it hits you. 

He doesn’t smell. He doesn’t have a scent. 

Whereas the rest of the incoming students haven’t quite learned how to control their pheromones yet, their scents strong in your nose, telling you exactly where they fall in the subgender way of things, the boy in front of you smells like nothing-nothing except laundry detergent and maybe a little bit of sweat from the high overhead sun. 

He’s unpresented? Is that even still a thing? 

Curiosity instantly rears its head, and your wolf simultaneously urges you forward without a second thought. 

You hold out your hand, and San stops talking, looking at you curiously. 

“(Y/N).” Your fingers don’t waver, as you watch the boy glance to you in slight surprise, and then down to your still outstretched hand. “And you are?” 

After another brief moment of hesitation, he places his palm in yours. 

“Yang Jeongin.”

San chuckles, giving you a knowing look, which you dutifully ignore, and claps the new student on the back once more. 

“Well, you’re in good hands, Jeongin. I’m gonna get going.” 

And then he’s gone, with one last pointed look in your direction. 

It’s then that you realize your fingers are still interlaced with Jeongin’s, and you pull back abruptly, clearing your throat, even as Chan finally finishes his long winded speech to the other freshmen. 

“Well, Jeongin.” You motion with your head to the group behind you. “Hopefully you think Music and Science are a bit more interesting than whatever those two goons had going on in your old group.” 

Jeongin stares at you for a moment, and then he smiles, and something within you loses breath at the sight, his sharp teeth flashing, eyes disappearing into crescent moons within his cheeks. 

“I’m sure I’ll fit in just fine.” 

You swallow hard, and pull your gaze away from his own, glancing at Chan now, who is staring at the two of you quizzically, one eyebrow raised in silent question. 

You shrug in the other alpha’s direction, and then turn back to Jeongin with a nod. 

“I’m sure you will, Yang Jeongin. I have no doubt about that.”

************************************************************************

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[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

I decided I wasn’t quite done with these. I HAD to finish the last two AU Settings I did not get a chance to get to. (I just thought I would have finished them a little earlier, like still in May. 😅)

Tagging @lordoftherazzles​ because I blame you for this, and @blueberryrock​ to judge my Thranduil writing abilities. 🤣

Masterlist for these drabbles here. Check out the original post/prompt list. And feel free to send me requests if there are any specific combinations/pairings you want to see. I mean, it’s not May any more, but I like the challenge!

Rival Shops + Hair Stylist + "Did you enjoy yourself last night?" + Barduil

Lasgalen Locks was revered as more than just ‘a place that cuts hair’. It was a trend setter for the women (and most of the men) of Dale. One simply didn’t go to Thranduil telling him what they wanted. He decided how best to make them fabulous, and they would leave as a satisfied customer. For years, no one dared to oppose him in the world of hair, and then the Hair Shop opened up right across the street.

“Such arrogance. The Hair Shop. As if they were the only one in town. As if they were the best in town.” Thranduil murmured under his breath.

“Dad, please don’t tell me you’re going to use the binoculars again.” Legolas complained as he passed him, a cup of coffee in hand.

“Not to fear.” Thranduil turned with a smirk. “I’ve seen all I need to of Bard.”

Legolas rolled his eyes, and Thranduil had to bite his tongue not to give himself away anymore. In all honesty, Thranduil would never have given a second thought to having competition. His self-confidence wouldn’t allow for something so trivial. It was just that…the owner was unfairly attractive. With his long dark curls that he tragically hid in a bun when he was working. Thranduil had been unable to pull his eyes away. And then he watched his methods, and he became hot for an entirely new reason.

What kind of a neanderthal used clippers on every haircut? The men walked out of his shop looking exactly the same! With the exception of Durin’s oversized bodyguard who seemed to delight in waving at Thranduil before getting his head shaved. Honestly, the mohawk had suited the man just fine. It wasn’t his fault he was surrounded with people of very little taste. To make matters worse, Bard seemed fully aware of Thranduil’s disdain for his abilities. Signs had started to appear in the window advertising:

Simple Cuts! Don’t expect me to get fancy with it.

It was obviously meant to be a slight against him. Which is why Thranduil had Legolas and Tauriel respond in kind with:

Personalized to you, come make your hair DO.

Which was frankly rather cheesy and tacky, but Thranduil left it up if only because Bard shook his head and laughed every time he saw it.

“You could just go over there and ask for his number like a normal person.” Legolas noted. “I’ll even try not to be weirded out by my dad dating again.”

Thranduil scoffed. “I’m not desperate enough to sink to the level of Bard Bowman. Honestly, if you have enough energy to sass, you might as well make yourself useful and take stock of our colors.”

“I’m pretty sure I did that last night. When you were scouting the competition again.”

Adult children were the worst. What had Thranduil been thinking? Unfortunately, before he could snark the cocky shit, their first customer had entered. After all, Thranduil had a reputation to keep, of a calm, cool, and poised persona. Any thoughts of Bard or Legolas’ teasing about said man, were left by the wayside…all up until that night anyways.

They were going through the motions of closing down when movement across the street caught Thranduil’s attention, freezing him in place. A woman stood with her back to him, but she seemed to be gesturing excitedly about something before she threw herself into Bard’s arms. Thranduil wouldn’t have thought much of it, except he had a perfect view of Bard’s face. His open, loving smile nearly undid him as he realized with an unfair amount of envy that the man was straight. Honestly, what else had Thranduil expected. Look at the way he cut hair! 

Thranduil had paused in front of the window watching Bard lock the door to his shop before putting his hand on the woman’s back to lead her down the sidewalk back to his beat-up jeep. Unfortunately, the man looked over at him only to freeze slightly at seeing Thranduil staring back. He gave a small wave and nod of his head before turning back to the woman. Thranduil snorted as he continued to go through his own steps for closing. He thought it would help him get over the man. Instead, he spent all night long thinking about him with her.

***

The next morning, Thranduil was unlocking the shop when he heard someone call his name. He looked back over to see Bard jogging over. He had to resist the urge to sneer at the man as he closed the distance.

“Hey, I had a question for you.” Bard started.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" Thranduil interrupted.

Bard raised an eyebrow. “I? Yes? Thank you for asking. Sigrid was excited because her editor loved her recent manuscript and it’s going to print next month.”

“You must be very proud.” Thranduil snarked.

“I am, yes.” Bard brightened, Thranduil’s tone clearly going over his head. “But then again, wouldn’t any father?”

Thranduil was immediately brought up short at that. Father…then that woman, Sigrid, was his…

“Sigrid is my daughter, yes.” Bard clarified with a smirk as if he could see Thranduil’s surprise written on his face.

Thranduil’s brows pinched together as he ducked his head, hating his faux pas and how it exposed him. A heavy silence hung over them as he wished more than anything for the other man just to go away so he could lick his metaphorical wounds.

“So anyways.” Bard cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you would like to go to dinner? With me? It doesn’t have to be tonight, just…sometime.”

Thranduil gave him a sharp look wondering if he was just teasing him at this point. 

“Why?” He demanded.

“Because I like you. I think you’re cute, and I realized last night after I caught you staring for the twelve time that you weren’t ever going to do anything about it.”

Thranduil’s grip tightened around the door knob as he glared at the smiling man. He finally released a sigh through his nose.

“I hope your taste in restaurants is better than your taste in hair. I refuse to enter any establishment with the name ‘Shop’ or worse ‘Diner’ in the title.”

“So Bombur’s Diner is out then?” Bard smirked.

Thranduil really hoped he was joking, and it seemed he was as he gave a quick bark of laughter at his face. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll find somewhere worthy of His Majesty’s presence.”

“You’re annoying.” Thranduil complained. “Go away now. I expect to see you here at six.”

“I look forward to it.” Bard confirmed, giving a short bow before walking back across the street. 

Thranduil rolled his eyes as he finally entered his salon. Bard Bowman was even more aggravating in person, and yet Thranduil found himself checking the clock every ten minutes for the rest of the day.

[wisteriasymphony]

"Of course, the issue with the Graham de Vanily rings is that age has made them very, very brittle." 

Adrien felt the way Felix snapped one of the rings in half travel up his spine, needles skewering their way through vertebrae and up into his throat. He collapsed, unable to take the feeling as it overwhelmed him, the sensation as if his body was suddenly trying to tear itself apart at the seams. Bone severing from ligament, muscle parting from muscle, his intestines suddenly collapsing in on themselves as his body violently pushed itself apart. Would it continue until he tore in half, popped open? Until one half of him could be fully separated from the other, the mess of liquid organs sliding out the middle as if some twisted mimicry of birth? Adrien wanted to clutch his head as it hit the floor to steady the buzzing migraine that seemed to be forcing cracks in his skull, but his arms were already clutching his stomach and seemed intent on staying there.

"Isn't this the beauty of creatures like us, Adrien?" Felix taunted. "We can be made to suffer beyond anything a human being could ever imagine. Experience feelings the likes of which they could never believe. And why wouldn't that happen to you, too? You're the perfect specimen, after all. The original, the Übermensch." Felix stalked closer, grasping the rings in his palm. "If you're in pain, it could only be the most pure, the most perfect of pain."

Adrien couldn't bring himself to cry out or scream for help, a sickening weight in his throat making it seem as if his larynx had detached and was simply swinging loose in his skin. What escaped his teeth was merely only a wheeze—a laugh, dry and thin. As Felix's thumb brushed the jagged edge of the ring and another surge of pain coursed through Adrien's shattered body, Adrien felt his mouth fill up with vomit, and the quiet laughter ceased for a moment as he choked on it. The acid and bile dribbled down his chin and stuck to it, discoloring his lips and the foam at their corner in sickly shades of green and bloodied orange. Unable to keep any of the muscles in his face still any longer, Adrien pressed his forehead deep into the cold marble of the floor with what little might he had left in his convulsing body. The very edge of his tongue was resting against the stone as he continued to aspirate on his own spit, his own vomit, the blood and chunks of bile clinging to his teeth. As he felt his mouth slowly dry out and his breath grow stale, the bits of viscera and bloodied saliva hanging in his mouth grew sticky. The marble tasted horrible, and he could feel dust clinging to his tongue. Felix idly tossed the broken ring about in his hand, watching the fractured metal scatter ambient light into his palm. He smiled, walking over to his cousin before flipping him over with his foot. Adrien groaned, the sound escaping his open mouth something inhuman, maybe even pre-human. A neanderthal gasp of pain. 

"Aren't you so great? So immaculate?" Felix laughed. "How I tremble in your presence, Adam Übermensch. To think I was crafted in the image of something so... untouchable." Felix's voice lowered to a reverent whisper, even as his eyes were wide and wild and the stretch of his grin gave off an almost predatory delight. He looked down at Adrien, watching him convulse and cough. "We are so far above the world, my brother, my origin, and yet even here I find myself trapped in your shadow. I bow to you."

"Ch... choke on my dick and balls." Adrien's voice was hoarse, barely even there, and yet as he strained to make a smile there was something so potent about the glee beneath his pain. "Bugger."

Felix swung his foot to drive his heel into Adrien's ribs, cursing underneath his breath. His cousin spun out on the marble floor, a trail of foamy spit and pallid vomit following him in drips. The howl of anguish Adrien let out was much weaker, pulled thin into a whimper as he curled up into a ball on the floor. 

“It’d be a mercy to let you die here,” Felix sneered, fist tightened around the broken rings until he felt them jab into the flesh of his palm. “To let your life peter out in a way that fits you so well. But you’d take too much pleasure in it, wouldn’t you? With how intent you are on debasing yourself?!”

The low, whistling gasps of laughter Adrien continued to let out seemed to be in response to nothing at all, his eyes glazed over as if his head was too busy spinning to focus on the outside world. 

“Well,” Felix huffed, “I won’t stand for it. Not for a moment. And I hope you take that to heart, Adrien."

Adrien heard the sound of metal ping against hard stone as the rings were tossed idly to the floor. For a moment, Felix stared down at them, then to the shaking mass of flesh that could hardly still be called Adrien. He squinted, his gaze cold, and then walked off. 

For a long while, the fading sound of his footsteps was the last thing Adrien heard. He simply laid there, cocooned in thick silence, unable to even breathe. The foam would drip from the corners of his mouth and his hands would twitch and shake, but otherwise Adrien was trapped in his own failing body. Not even his own mind could keep him company, the pain so great it obfuscated any rational or coherent thought. At most, he could focus absently on the feeling of weight in his stomach: a pressure in his sternum, a reflex to vomit when there was nothing left in his guts to expel. Forever on the verge of rejecting some organ or clump of mass and spitting it out on the floor, yet with no release. 

Somewhere, far away on the other side of Paris, Ladybug threw a lucky charm up into the air.

The Graham de Vanily rings were cast by Adrien’s feet, and thereby out of his sight. Had he been able to see them, however, it would’ve looked as if they suddenly unbroke themselves in less time than it took to blink. There was no magnetic pull as they locked into place, no visible process of fixing—One moment, they were shattered, and then they weren’t. Had he also been afforded the strength to crane his head to the nearest window, Adrien would’ve been able to pinpoint the second it occurred. Put simply, it was the very centisecond of the microsecond of the nanosecond that a swarm of ladybugs passed over the point on the earth where the rings sat as they soared through the sky. But inside, the low cicada-like buzz of a trillion wings streaking across the air was inaudible, so Adrien had no way of knowing. 

It was only hours later that Nathalie found Adrien entirely by accident. Her clipboard—full of papers Gabriel needed to sign and printed schedules Adrien needed to memorize–clattered on the floor as she ran over to him with a worried shriek. The vomit and blood had all been miraculously cleared, and yet as Nathalie went to check to see if Adrien had hit his head and concussed himself, there was a thin film of drool that had escaped Adrien’s slack jaw, covering his cheek and sticking it to the floor.

“Oh my god- What happened? Are you sick?” Nathalie picked her head up and looked around, nearly calling for Gabriel before remembering he wasn’t at home. Nathalie cradled Adrien’s face in her hand, brushing dried tracks of tears with her thumb. “Did you fall? How long have you been on the floor?”

Adrien nearly tried to stand up to assure Nathalie that he was fine, only to realize his legs had no intentions of cooperating. No longer did he feel muscle separating from bone or organs detaching from their place, but in its stead was a particular fatigue that preventing anything from moving to begin with. He was no better than a large, oddly-shaped stone on the floor, solid but still heavy. Nathalie couldn’t even tell he was trying to get up.

Adrien’s first noise was that same laugh of his: that thin, hoarse wheeze that sounded like he was struggling to push air through his lungs. Even as he laid there helpless, that grin reappeared back on his gaunt face.

“Felix is a cunt and I hate him.”

should i post the thing where felix breaks adrien's amok for no better reason than to gleefully watch adrien nearly die in front of him

[pleasebringmeatrout]

I must tell you, I just got back, well actually 3 months ago, just got back from Europe and I did a tour of the Continent. And I worked in Paris. I had never worked in Paris before. And I have a friend in Paris…a woman who is so chic…she’s just SO chic, you can’t stand it.

And she’s a darling, marvelous woman…and she’s just so chic! Anyway, she said ‘you must go to my hairdresser, because obviously, you need somebody’. HA!

She arranged for me to go this marvelous Parisian fellow who is just supposed to be the end, you know. And he came in and took one look at me…and he was quite discouraged.  And he said the first thing you must do is look nothing, nothing like Judy Garland, nothing like yourself!

And I said, well, don’t you think I should look a little like myself? And he said, ‘No No…that would be disastrous. We must change you completely’.

So, the night of the performance he comes backstage and he had about 9 assistants, you know. And they clipped…and my hair just got taller and taller…and really it was about up to here, you know…and great big things out here…in my day you used to call them spit curls. And I looked very strange. I looked like an overweight Balenciaga model. And I came out on stage for the concert that night…I walked out balancing my hair. Ha.

And when I work, I get very warm, as you can see.  I get so hot. And I started to sing and I started to get warm. And my hair started to fall.  And it got lower and lower and, I just mean…it looked Neanderthal. The lacquer was running down my face. It was terrible.

[plus-size-reader]

Perfect Strangers

Bucky Barnes x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1644 words

Warnings: I got carried away, just so you know. 

Summary: The reader and Bucky have a very strange relationship, and they always will

——————————————————————————————————

You and Bucky had never really gotten along.

When you were young, you fought more than anything else, with him sticking his foot in his mouth over and over and your quick temper driving your attitude.

Really, you were only good at fighting.

Even now, you two couldn’t be in the same room with one another unless you were yelling at him or making out. That was all you did, and as dysfunctional as it may have been, it worked for you.

You had never been the relationship type and James wasn’t any better. The last girlfriend he’d had was in the forties.

Casual hookups were all you had in you, and it had never been a problem before.

However, there was definitely something different in the way that he’d been acting as of late. There were no clever quips or quick insults as you passed, or anything else for that matter.

It was as if you were perfect strangers.

The only problem with that, of course, was that you weren’t. Perfect strangers never got the chance to taste the other’s tongue and you had Buck had done far more than that.

Something was definitely up, you just hadn’t figured out what it was yet.

You weren’t exactly in a hurry to figure it out either, to be perfectly honest. Bucky’s attitude problem wasn’t something you had to worry about, and it certainly wasn’t yours to fix.

Whatever it was, you thought for sure he’d figure it out and get over it.

...But maybe you were wrong.

He was pouty, and even more moody than usual. It just didn’t make any sense, though had you stopped to think about it, you could have easily put the pieces together.

You had recently started seeing someone else.

His name was Todd, some low level agent at S.H.I.E.L.D who’d asked you to get a drink a week or so back. It wasn’t serious, of course, meaning that you liked him in about the same way you liked anyone.

More than anything, he was good for drinks and sloppy makeouts in bar bathrooms but Bucky didn’t care about any of that.

He hated him.

If anyone got to take you for drinks or smear your lipstick all over the place, it was him. He’d known you longer than any of them, certainly longer than Todd, and it should have been him.

...But he couldn't exactly tell you any of that.

You and Bucky had always kept your relationship fun, without all the serious crap that no one wanted to deal with in the first place, and you liked it that way. You didn’t get too attached, but you had fun when you both had to let off a little steam.

It was the perfect arrangement.

For some reason though, seeing you on the arm of another man made his blood boil.

Bucky could have killed him, if he was in any position to do so. The other issue was that he wasn't in any position to make any changes.

You weren’t his girlfriend, and he didn’t want you to be, he just didn’t want anyone else to touch you or be near you or speak to you, ever.

Was that too much to ask?

Evidently, it was.

The dark haired male knew that no matter what he did, or what he said, nothing would change the way you felt about one another. The most frustrating thing was that he didn’t even understand why he felt like he did.

Bucky didn’t care about you, did he?

Up until recently, he’d been perfectly content with the way your relationship was going but not anymore. For some reason, everything was different now and he hated it.

He was restless, and nothing made it better. Everything reminded him of you and how he felt about you, which just made him more angry for feeling that way at all.

It wasn’t what he wanted, but it just was what it was. He couldn’t exactly change it, so he’d made up his mind. All he would do was sit back and pretend he didn’t feel it, eventually it was going to go away.

It had to.

~

His plan lasted all of about three days, before everything came crashing down again.

You had brought Todd with you to Stark tower last night, to ‘meet the team’ as you put it but Bucky knew better. He knew exactly what that meant and he wasn’t happy about it.

His jaw tightened as he looked over your frame, the soft smirk you wore and that spark in your eye.

What you’d done was beyond unprofessional but that wasn’t what had him so upset and he knew it. What Bucky couldn’t get over was the thought of that creep’s hands all over you, and the fact that it wasn’t him in your bed last night.

Though, the last straw came during breakfast, when Todd decided it would be a good idea to smack your ass on his way past, on his way to the bathroom.

It was a subtle thing, something no one else even paid any mind to, aside from a small smile from Natasha to Clint. For them, this was funny, but all Bucky could think about was where he’d put his body.

He couldn’t help it.

What he did next was what caused the real problem though. Instead of just moving on and being mad on his own time, Bucky marched over to your side and yanked you around the corner, into the next room.

At least here, there wouldn’t be quite as many prying eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you spit, immediately snatching your arm back from his grip as you tried to figure out what had gotten into him. He was always like this, absolutely incapable of using his words.

In the past, you’d explained him akin to a neanderthal or some kind of caged animal.

Now though, Bucky didn’t seem to be in a joking mood, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for your sass. You had to know how much this was upsetting him, and how much he hated it.

Even you couldn’t be so stupid.

“Get him out of here” he suggested, not even bothering to explain himself. There was such an arrogance about him, as he ordered you to do as he said, it actually forced a laugh from your throat.

Bucky had finally lost it.

“I don’t know what you mean” you smirked, resting your hands on your hips as you looked him in the eye, daring him to be more blatantly honest about what he wanted.

You were testing him, just like you always did, but it wasn’t going to work this time. Bucky was mad, and it would be best for everyone if you just told that punk to leave so you could get back to your breakfast.

...but you weren’t going to do that.

Bucky wasn’t your father, and he certainly wasn’t your boyfriend, he had no authority over who you spent time with, in or out of your bedroom.

“I’m not kidding, get him out of here” he repeated, his jaw tightening again in a warning sort of way. He wasn’t going to do anything to you, you knew that, but it was still fun to imagine.

Even if he tried, you’d have him on his ass in a minute, you both knew it.

“You are such an asshole, you know that?” you scoffed, another laugh playing in your throat as you looked at him, your brow furrowed. You couldn’t believe he was acting like this.

He was such a child.

“I’m an asshole? No kid, he’s the asshole, trust me” he spit, practically growling as he let out all his frustrations over the past few days, watching him lay his hands on you and whisper in your ear.

He had no right, and clearly, only Bucky had the common sense to recognize that.

That earned another laugh from you, this time much more dangerous before as you stepped closer to him. “That's what this is about? You don’t wanna share your toy, Buck?” you huffed, rolling your eyes.

You had always been very clear about what you wanted from him, and you were under the impression that he felt the same, but clearly not. You never got jealous, and really, it was pathetic that he was.

Especially over Todd.

You were having a good time with him, sure, but you could replace him in an hour, there was nothing special about him.

“Oh fuck off” he grumbled, running his metal hand through his dark hair, each wavy lock curling around his fingers as it passed. Even pissed, he was so delicious.

Maybe that was why you two fought so often.

You were quite the sight too, your blood boiling as you waited for him to say anything of substance, your arms now crossed your chest. Your breath was heaving under the pressure and your skin was on fire.

Then, like a rubber band giving under the immense pressure of being stretched past its limit, Bucky gave in, just like you knew he would. Within a minute, you were pressed hard against the wall, his forearms firm under your thighs as he held you there, his lips on your own.

His breath was raging, not that yours was any better, and he’d bit so hard into your bottom lip that you could taste the iron when he finally backed up for air, not that either of you cared.

“I’ll get rid of him” you decided, after a few seconds of silence, the male’s forehead rested against your own.

It was uncharted territory for you both, but maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. If nothing else, it would get him off your back for a little while.