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And if I'm reading a COD fic and you replaced my glorious magnificent Gaz with Keegan or Konig you better hide because I'm already coming after you trust you will be dealt with
Yes queen! Call that man gay because he said something you disagree with. Because you love the gay community, right? But you totally didn't mean it as an insult, sure. You just called him gay because your support is conditional and you still view supporting queer people as something to wear like a medal instead of actually caring or changing. But, no yeah totally call him gay you're just a girl boss diva.
Hiiii I was wondering if you could make some black and white/goth/grunge dividers? Something like skull/bones, barbed wire, nails, etc? I think your other dividers are so so cute and I’d love to use some in my posts!!! 🖤🤍
Black and White Goth/Grunge
I hope you enjoy them 🖤🤍
Please credit @pixopix, likes and reblogs are appreciated!
feat. Billy Loomis & Stu Macher
ᯓ★ Who’s scared of a little blood? Certainly not these ghostfaces.
warnings! : NSFW 18+, fem!reader, canon divergence, ghostface!reader, violence, murder, very long intro whoops, groping (consensual), a lot of blood, unsanitary sex, sexual acts with blood, licking at wounds, they are not as concerned about their wounds as they should be, unrealistic wounds, dirty talk, wound fingering (I WARNED YOU), vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, blood as lube, unsafe sex, blowjob, deepthroating, cum swallowing, spitroasting, billy x stu action, you go to paris wink wink, creampie
ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3
“Fuck you both!”
The door slams shut, the faint sound of Randy shouting and banging on it muffled, and you take that as your cue to boast your acting chops until the final confrontation.
“Sid?” You run your hands over your temple, the fake blood staining your fingertips. “The fuck happened?”
She cries out your name, running over to you and kneeling as you wince. “You’re alive!”
You let your eyes flutter open, just enough to meet hers. They were wide with shock and bloodshot from her tears. You know that look. You’ve seen it before. It’s the same one she gave Billy when she thought he was dead. And just like that, the power shifts. You fight back a smirk, knowing you have her in the palm of your hand.
“I—I thought they got you,” Sidney whispers, hand brushing over your fake wound with shaking fingers. She’s too amped up to notice there’s no actual cut present. “There was so much blood…”
You lean into her touch, giving her a weak, trembling smile. “I don’t know what happened. He just…came out of nowhere. I tried to fight back. Didn’t do much good.”
She swallows hard. Her eyes dart back to the door where Randy is still banging. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
You nod, wincing dramatically as you push yourself up. Every move is calculated, every flinch carefully rehearsed. You let her help you to your feet. She’s too distracted, too emotional to notice the knife tucked just under your shirt, itching to spill some blood.
Sidney grabs your hand, guiding you toward the kitchen. “Come on, we have to get out of here.” She brandishes her gun, and your eyes narrow. “We might have a chance.”
Before you can get any further, a loud thunk sounds from the top of the staircase.
Sidney gasps. “Billy!”
Billy is hunched over the railing, clutching his fake wound as he stumbles down the stairs, Sidney abandoning your side to rush over to him.
“I thought—”
“I’m fine.” He brushes her off with a pat on the shoulder. “Gotta get help.”
You chuckle weakly. “Knew you couldn’t be put down that easily.”
As he passes, heading towards the door, you share a silent smirk and a dark glint of excitement lights in his eyes.
Randy is still banging on the door, shouting to be let in.
“Wait!” Sidney stops Billy with a hand on his chest. “It’s not safe.”
Billy pauses for a moment. “It’s okay. Give me the gun.”
Sidney hesitates, her hand clenching tighter around the gun as her eyes dart down to the weapon and back up to Billy.
“Do it, Sid,” you coax, rubbing your hand on her arm. “You trust him, right?”
Sidney swallows hard, then nods, shaky hand outstretched with the gun. Billy snatches it and opens the door, met with Randy who has shock plastered all over his face.
He rushes in, grabbing Billy by the shirt. “Dude, you gotta help me. Stu’s gone mad.”
Billy pauses. His eyes light up with a vicious gleam, and you know it’s finally time for the big reveal.
“We all go a little mad sometimes.”
He points the gun at Randy’s head and fires.
Randy falls to the floor with a thud as Billy laughs. “Anthony Perkins. Psycho.”
Sidney looks absolutely shell shocked, hands quivering as she frantically surveys the scene, looking for an escape.
You continue playing your part. “Sid, the kitchen!” She tugs you through the house, but you’re both stopped as you run into Stu’s chest. He grabs you out of Sidney’s hands and pulls you to his chest, smirking into your neck.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His hands wander your body shamelessly as Sidney stares in shock, her eyes flicking between the two guys as she finally puts the pieces together.
You gasp as Stu squeezes your breast and you try your hardest not to lean into his touch—the touch that you desperately missed when you all were planning out this murdering spree.
Sidney narrows her eyes. “Let her go, you fucking asshole!”
Billy comes in behind Sidney, flaunting the gun as he blocks the entryway. The plan was in motion. She had nowhere to go.
“Sid…” you start, keeping your voice low and hesitant. But seeing her terrified face has you blowing your cover. You giggle, a smile forming across your lips. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
You reach your hands back and fiddle with Stu’s pockets to the voice changer.
Sidney looks at you, confused and cautious. “What are you doing?”
You raise the compact phone to your lips, clicking the button to activate it. “Dropping the act.”
She stares at you, her face slowly twisting from confusion to horror. “No…”
You take a step closer. “Yeah.”
Billy’s laugh echoes throughout the room as Stu’s grin widens.
Sidney backs up toward the island, trying to put some distance between herself and the three of you, to no avail. Her eyes dart around the kitchen. “Why? Why would you—?”
“Why?” You tilt your head. “Because watching you run around like a clueless final girl has been hilarious. But mostly?” You shrug. “Because I wanted in on the fun. And Billy and Stu…well, let’s just say we all realized we don’t mind sharing.”
Sidney's eyes widen as she stumbles back in disbelief, shaking her head. “You’re messing with me.”
You grin wider. Billy chuckles darkly, stepping closer to her.
“She’s not lying, Sid. Pretty good actress, huh? Almost had me fooled until I saw the complete joy on her face after getting all messy from Himbry’s blood.”
Stu bounces on his heels, unable to contain his excitement.
“Yeah, she’s awesome, Sid! I mean—plot twist, right? Two killers is something, but a third? And it’s a hot chick? Totally insane!”
You glance at him with an amused smirk. “Told you I’d be a fun addition.”
Billy eyes you with that intense, half-possessed stare of his. “You really sold the whole ‘concerned friend’ thing. Even had me wondering whose side you were on for a second. Real. Impressive.”
“Why, thank you. I’ve always wanted to be a scene-stealer.” You give a playful little bow.
Sidney looks between the three of you and her face drains of color, betrayal written in every line. “I trusted you,” she says to you, her voice cracking. “You were my friend.”
You shrug, almost sympathetically. “I know. That’s what made it so easy.”
“You’re psychos!” She sneers. She reaches behind her to grab a knife, unbeknownst to the three of you who are too occupied with your premature celebration.
Stu cackles, coming up behind you and resting his head atop yours. “Hear that, babe?” He lowers his head, licking your neck and stopping at your ear. “We're psychos!”
Billy leans against the doorframe, cocking his head and giving you a nod, one that tells you that he’s giving you the go-ahead. “You know how the story ends, Sid. Only this time, we made a few edits.”
“Fuck you!” Sidney lunges at you, taking you by surprise which allows her to slice at your arm that you held up in defense.
The blade cuts deep, a sharp, white-hot pain flaring up your arm. Blood blossoms instantly, warm and sticky, but adrenaline dulls most of the pain.
You scream with rage, lashing out with your own knife. The metal flashes in the light, catching her side, just enough to make her stumble back with a grunt.
“You fucking bitch! You’re dead, you hear me?” you snarl.
Stu steps in with a crazed laugh, still too high on the moment to register danger. “Whoa—Sid’s got claws! Let’s see what else she can do!” he grins, moving toward her—only to catch a wild elbow to the jaw that sends him reeling back into the kitchen island. He hits the marble edge with a sickening crack, groaning as he slides down, dazed and bleeding.
“Stu!” Billy’s voice cuts through the chaos, but you nor Sidney pay them any attention.
Instead Sidney charges you again, but this time you’re prepared. You sidestep, twisting your injured arm behind you and driving your knee into her stomach. She doubles over with a breathless wheeze but grabs your wrist as you try to bring the knife down, managing to slice a shallow cut at your stomach before you’re able to tear the knife out of her grasp and toss it across the room.
“You’re not gonna win this,” she hisses, coughing up some blood into your face.
Before you can answer, Billy is suddenly behind her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her backward. She screams, thrashing in his grip. He slams her into the wall, pinning her arms.
“Hold her!” you snap, limping toward them, every step slick with the blood that has trailed down your arm and onto the floor.
“Got her,” Billy grunts through clenched teeth, his face inches from hers. “Say goodnight, Sid.”
You stop just short of her, panting, injured arm holding at your stomach while the other grips the knife with a trembling hand. Blood drips from your fingers, making your grasp slippery. Sidney glares up at you, defiant even now.
“You could’ve just died quiet,” you mutter, eyes flicking down to the knife in your hand.
“Go to hell,” she spits.
You smile thinly. “Already there.” You raise the blade.
“Time to rewrite this ending.”
And bring it down.
The knife slices cleanly across her throat, blood spurting out and hitting you in the face. You laugh as Billy releases her and her body collapses below you in an unflattering heap, crimson blood pooling around her and staining your shoes.
“Holy fuck,” you hear him utter.
The next thing you know, Billy is kissing you.
His hand holds the back of your head with an iron grip, forcing you to remain in his embrace. He presses himself against you, and you feel the hardness of his cock rub against your stomach as his tongue enters your mouth. The unmistakable metallic taste of blood invades your senses and fuels you on, your hands tightly gripping his shirt. Blood from your wound stains the white material, soaking it further but you pay it little mind.
Billy pulls away, and you get a look at the blood that smears his face that was transferred from you. He swipes at some on your cheek with his thumb and sucks on it, all without breaking eye contact. You inhale deeply, the sight stirring up a fire in your gut.
“Yeah? You like all the blood?” Billy pulls you forward with your injured arm, holding it up as he watches the blood drip down it from your cut. Leaning forward, he licks at the dribbling liquid from elbow to forearm, catching most of the flowing blood. You bite back a moan as you keep your eyes trained on Billy, who licks at your skin like a dog who hasn’t drank in days.
“Get’s me all excited, too,” he murmurs against your skin.
Your fingers curl into his shirt as you pull him forward, capturing your lips with his again. Taking the lead this time, you push your tongue into his mouth, shoving more of the blood on your lips into his. He groans and hikes up one of your legs to rest around his waist, pushing you forward until your back hits the wall.
You kiss with vigor, breathing each other in with no care in the world, as if there isn’t a dead body right below your feet. Billy’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling your lower half closer to him so that his clothed cock can grind against your own arousal. His fingers brush against your sliced side, and you inhale sharply, the touch sending shockwaves through your system.
“Touch it,” you moan against his lips between kisses. “My stomach.” Your body is on fire, arousal burning brightly and coursing through your veins.
Billy laughs sharply, and his grin widens as you mewl and arch into him when his fingers ghost over your wound again.
“Dirty girl,” he whispers in his ear. “Knew you’d be perfect for this.”
His lips drop to your neck, where he begins to kiss and suck at the skin, no doubt leaving hickeys in his wake. His fingers begin to poke and prod at the wound, as if testing your reactions before fully committing. You gasp and melt into him, your hips bucking into his hardened member the more he plays with the injured skin.
You yelp and clutch onto him as his fingers finally penetrate the wound. He pistons them carefully, feeling around with purpose, acting as if he were fingering your pussy. You hear the squelching of the blood and instead of grossing you out, it only turns you on more.
Stu groans from behind Billy, finally coming to. “You doing freaky shit without me?” You crane your neck around as he begins to pull himself up using the kitchen island for stability. He rubs at the back of his head and you notice the blood on his palm as he does so. There’s blood dripping down his face and neck, coming from his nose, most likely broken from Sidney’s elbow earlier.
He blinks seeing you two across the room, looking seconds away from stripping all your clothes off and fucking.
Hearing his voice, Billy shifts to turn towards Stu, and the movement exposes the way his fingers are sunken into your stomach wound.
Stu’s jaw drops just a little in awe at the sight. “Oh hell yeah.”
Stu comes up behind Billy grabbing on his waist and watching the steady flow of blood pool out of you as Billy’s fingers. By the way his hands tighten around Bill’s waist, you’re almost positive that he’s already hard and making it Billy’s problem. The thought has you giggling to yourself.
“Aw man,” Stu pouts, watching you and Billy grind against each other. Billy’s fingers are still occupied with your stomach. “I’m feeling a little left out here. I wanna finger her too.”
Billy rolls his eyes. “You can finger her pussy, dude,” he says without skipping a beat.
“Oh.” Stu giggles. “Right.”
He kneels down and pulls your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop. A soft squeak escapes from you as the cool air hits you unexpectedly, and your walls flutter as Stu’s fingers trail over your pussy.
“You’re so wet.” He begins to tease your entrance, his long fingers brushing along it before retreating. You whine at the loss, both him and Billy smirking. You soak his fingers when he finally pushes them back inside of you, curling up and hitting spots that have you mewling.
“Fuck,” you moan, your voice pitching higher and your breath coming out in hitched inhales. Billy smirks, aware of that being your tell when you’re about to cum.
“Shit, Stu.” Billy carries on with fingering your wound, his cock jumping at each gasp when they hit a new spot. “Pull my pants down, man.”
You whine when Stu’s fingers leave you, preventing your orgasm with it. He hastily undoes Billy’s jeans, pulling them down alongside his underwear. His cock springs free, the throbbing tip hitting your stomach.
“All nice and ready for you,” Stu says. His fingers spread open your pussy lips and your walls flutter as if begging to be filled.
“Fuck yeah,” Billy grunts. His bloodied fingers leave your wound and wrap around his cock, lubing himself up with your blood. Your chest heaves with need at the sight, your body unconsciously arching into his touch.
He lines yourself up with your entrance, seconds away from entering you before Stu pushes him back with a hand.
“Wait, wait!”
Billy huffs and mutters out a quick what now as Stu bends over and licks along your slit, blood on his tongue from his nosebleed acting as an additional lubricant for your already aroused entrance. Your hand flies down to tug at his hair, holding him securely in place as his tongue fucks into you.
“There we go.” He pulls away, his face covered in your juices and smeared blood. “Let’s get you into position.”
His large hand sprawls across the back of your neck, and he grips you as he turns you around and bends you over, face to him and your ass out to Billy. You settle on your knees and you’re eye level with his boner that strains against the front of his jeans.
You glance up at him, seeing his maniacal grin widen and his cock jump as he stares down at you, a hungry gleam in his eye.
“Now she’s ready.”
Billy laughs, rolling his eyes playfully. “Thanks man.”
His hands tighten around your waist and you gasp as he spears his cock into you, the force of it shoving your face straight into Stu’s bulge.
“Shit,” Stu groans. His hand reaches for the nape of your neck, pushing you against him. He fumbles with his belt for a bit as he manhandles you, subtly grinding his bulge into your cheek, the rough denim scratching at your skin.
Your breath comes out in short huffs as Billy ruts into you, the blood allowing him to easily slide inside of your aching pussy. Your walls stretch around him, tightening around his member as he buries himself inside of you.
“Open wide,” Stu quips, giving you no time to prepare as he shoves his cock inside of your mouth.
You cough around his cock, tears welling in your eyes as he begins thrusting mercilessly. His head flies back with a groan. “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”
From behind you, Billy’s rhythm remains as sturdy as ever, each hard thrust shoving you further down onto Stu’s cock.
He palms a handful of your ass before piping up. “Seeing you fight like that—” his words are interrupted by grunts as he fucks deep into you. “Looking all hot while covered in blood, God, I wanted to take you right then.”
You let out a faint moan of appreciation, unable to do anything more as you gag on Stu’s cock shoved down your throat.
“Keep making her do that, dude,” Stu says, his voice laced with pleasure, “feels real good around me.”
Billy continues to ramble. “When you stabbed Himbry, almost came in my pants.” He chuckles, remembering the way you brazenly killed the man, not a single bone of remorse to be found, but rather newfound excitement and exhilaration exuding from your figure.
“Yeah,” Stu chuckles, chiming in. “I definitely creamed them when you gutted Steve.”
You roll your eyes and Stu’s hold on you finally loosens slightly as he talks, allowing you to let up for air. “Glad I could add to your spank bank.”
You’re pulled back onto Stu’s cock, gagging around the long member as he fills every crevice of your mouth. “Babe, you are the spank bank.”
Billy huffs in amusement, his hands tightening around you as he shifts to get a better angle, pushing your stomach down and arching your ass up more. The new angle has him fucking you even deeper than before, and you moan around Stu.
“Stu, man, you’re dripping all over her.” You don’t even realize what Billy means until you feel another drop of blood land in your scalp, courtesy of Stu’s nosebleed.
“Oh shit.” Stu apologizes, but the mirth in his tone tells you that he’s anything but.
“No, don’t need to do that.” Billy responds, acting as if the apology was meant for him instead of you. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “It’s hot.”
Both guys thrust into you harder, spurned on by their brief conversation.
“Come here,” Billy says, and you feel the both of them leaning in over you.
Suddenly you hear the wet, sloppy sounds of Billy and Stu making out above you, a new wave of heat surging through your body as your pussy clenches at the sound. You wish you could see them, but each of them has an iron grip on you, preventing you from moving an inch.
As they each groan into the kiss, you feel Stu’s cock throb harshly in your mouth. You breathe in deeply through your nose, allowing yourself some semblance of air before deep throating his cock, trying your best to ignore your gag reflex.
Stu’s hips jerk irregularly, and the next thing you know you’re practically choking on his cum as he releases into you without warning, thick spurts entering your mouth. You swallow it in small amounts, but the taste of it continues to linger.
When they finally part, Stu giggles. “You taste like blood, man.”
“Nah,” Billy replies, “that’s from you.”
Your pussy squeezes tighter around Billy, enough so that he notices it this time. “I think she liked that too,” he points out, tone dripping with an air of smugness.
“Oh really?” Stu teases. His hands bury themselves into your scalp, pulling you off his cock and hoisting you up off the ground. Your frontside is practically soaked in the blood from the carnage around you, put you pay it little mind.
“Want a taste?” Stu asks, grinning widely, his teeth stained red from the blood.
You nod immediately, whimpers caught in your throat as Billy ruts into you from behind.
“Damn.” Billy winces in mock sympathy. “Doesn’t seem like she really wants it that much. Sorry, man.”
“Please!” You finally cry out. “I want to taste it.”
“There we go!” Billy shouts, slapping your ass as you gasp. “Kiss her, Stu.”
Stu obeys, tugging you towards him and slamming his lips against yours. The smell is familiar from when Billy kisses you earlier, but the heat of his kiss is different than the one with Stu’s. Stu is playful with it, his tongue flicking out to tease rather than to prove a point. He slides it into your mouth, probing the bloody appendage all around. You suck on it, relishing in the metallic taste of the blood. It invades all your senses, bringing you a type of pleasure you never really knew existed until this very moment.
As you and Stu battle with your tongues, blood and cum being passed between each other, you feel as Billy’s hand begins to coil around your front, leading all the way up to your stomach. A rush of heat floods your system as you bring one of your hands over it, almost as if to lead him to exactly where you want it to end up.
His fingers delicately trace the sliced skin of your open wound, so gently it almost feels as though he’s mocking you. Your hand hovers over his, following the movement so closely as if you were doing it yourself.
When his fingers finally enter it, you feel as though you’ve entered heaven, and you never want to leave. Practically all of your orifices are filled, each experiencing a different kind of pleasure that you’ve never had before.
With only a couple more thrusts your long awaited orgasm finally hits you, sending you over the edge with a shattered moan into Stu’s mouth. Your hands tangle themselves into Stu’s messy, blood-soaked hair and your body goes weak as you feel your juices rush out of you, soaking Billy’s cock.
Your legs go limp as you continue to cum, both men holding you up as they continue their ministrations.
Reaching down to tug on Stu’s cock, having already hardened again after his first orgasm, you feel yourself clench weakly around Billy’s member that continues rutting into you. Both actions are enough to make them each cum, a startled gasp leaving you as they fill you up with their releases.
Billy fucks you through his orgasm, the loud squelching courtesy of the blood and cum mixture filling the room.
When he finally lets go of you, fingers removing themselves from your wound and hands unlatching from their death grip on your waist, you pant heavily as you pull away from the two of them. You collapse onto the ground, uncaring about the pools of blood that will no doubt stain your bottom. You’re already covered head to toe in blood, a mix of your own, Stu’s and Sidney’s—what’s a little more?
Sidney’s body lays unmoving, eyes unblinking and skin paler than it was minutes ago.
Stu collapses next to you, holding a hand up to his nose. “Man, it’s really starting to hurt now,” he whimpers, wincing with every touch.
You give him a feeble yet comforting pat to the knee, your other hand holding onto your wounded side. “Tell me about it,” you mutter to yourself.
Billy is quiet, drawing his pants back up and sucking some blood off of his fingers, surveying the bloodied scene before him. He hums thoughtfully, smiling to himself.
He kneels down on the other side of you. “Beautiful handiwork,” he muses in your ear. “We’ve got a true artist in our midst.”
You chuckle weakly, your voice rasping from its earlier intrusions. “What now?”
Billy gives you a smirk that’s all wrapped up in confidence and amusement.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Bitches be so mad when you find the COD men hot. "Stop sexualizing them" oh like you hoes do to every woman character? Yeah, I'd fuck the whole 141 squad they're fictional babe. I'm down to fuck Killer Croc they aren't special.
⋆˚꩜｡summary: we love sniffing eddie's balls, that's it
⋆˚꩜｡tags/tw: explicit content (minors do not interact, you're not welcome) est. relationship, no y/n, gross!reader?, musk kink, ball worship, sloppy blowjob, masturbation/fingering (f!reader), cum play, dom/sub dynamics (if you squint real hard), soft!eddie (lemme know if i missed anything!)
⋆˚꩜｡wordcount: 2.1k+
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: so there's a bunch of gross!eddie stuff out there, but i really needed some self indulgent (semi) gross!reader stuff, so here we are (i'm sorry not sorry for making you all go through this)
If there was one thing Eddie Munson was familiar with, it was how exhausting and discouraging it could be when people looked at you differently after you told them what you were interested in.
Which is exactly why, when you quietly asked if you could sniff him, he did his absolute best to keep his face neutral and not give away just how confused it was. It wasn’t like he’d put on cologne that morning. He wasn’t trying out a new soap, either. As far as he knew, he smelled exactly like he always did.
The TV hummed softly in the background, filling the otherwise quiet trailer. The two of you were sprawled across the couch – well., you were. Eddie was sitting like a normal person, while you had somehow managed to claim every single cushion and half of his lap in the process.
“Uh…” he said, sounding far less casual than he had intended. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, baby.”
The faint furrow between Eddie’s eyebrows only deepened when you quietly climbed off the couch and knelt in front of him, your knees pressing into the cold linoleum floor. He didn’t dare comment on it, though.
Warm amber light spilled from the kitchen into the living room, catching in your already glimmering eyes when you lifted them to his. Your hands came to rest gently on his knees.
The crease between his eyebrows softened, giving way to a look that was still confused but far gentler than before. He felt your fingers twitch against him before they slowly trail higher along his thighs until they found the zipper of his jeans.
Eddie’s heart rate spikes as your hands continued twitching in anticipation, pulling down his zipper and tugging his pants down. He blinks down at you, his thoughts slowly turning into mush the more you tug down his pants. He then inhales sharply when your deftly hands reach for the elastic band of his boxers, curling your fingers into the fabric and pulling it down. The warm trailer air felt cool against his exposed skin, sending a shiver down his spine.
He can’t tear his eyes away from you as your face comes level with his soft cock, completely transfixed by the sight of you burying your nose in his trimmed balls. The faint scent of sweat mingles with the musky aroma of his skin, creating a heady fragrance that fills your nostrils. You breathe it in deeply, your mind turning into mush by the primal and raw essence that was so uniquely Eddie.
The crease between Eddie’s eyebrows returns, and a sharp breath escapes him when you nuzzle closer, the warmth of your breath sending a shiver racing across his silky skin, tracing delicate patterns that make his balls tighten slowly. The sensation leaves his fingers curling tightly against the couch cushion beside him.
Then, with a confidence that steals the air of his lungs, you rest your cheek against the underside of his cock and draw in a slow breath. The familiar scent of him settles around you – clean skin, traces of soap, and something unmistakably Eddie beneath it all.
Eddie wasn’t the first boyfriend you’d ever had, nor the first guy you’d been involved with, but he was the first one who genuinely seemed to care about his hygiene. Daily showers, the occasional spritz of cologne, and a level of self-maintenance that never went unnoticed. How could you not be obsessed with him?
His cock twitches against your face, betraying his nervous anticipation. For now, though, you ignore it, content to linger exactly where you are, committing every detail of the moment to memory.
“You always smell so good, Eds,” you hum against his skin, sounding soft and content. Your eyebrows knit together ever so slightly as you nuzzle closer, eyelashes fluttering when you draw in another slow breath.
Eddie’s breath hitches as your lips trail feather-light kisses along his hardening length. Each touch sends tiny sparks of pleasure racing through his veins, stoking the fire burning low in his belly. When you reach his balls, lavishing them with tender pecks, he can’t hold back a low groan.
Your fingers dance across the silky skin of his sack, exploring and caressing. The dual sensation of your lips and hands working in tandem is maddening, driving him to the brink of desperation. His cock throbs urgently, now fully hard, aching for more direct attention. But he doesn’t dare voice the plea lodged in his throat – not yet. He needs to see how far you’ll take this teasing exploration.
Your eyes are glossy with anticipation as they trail up to his face, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses his features. Your lips continue to brush soft kisses against the sensitive skin of his cock, lingering just enough to make his breath hitch again. Slowly, you part your lips, wetting them with a swipe of your tongue before lowering your mouth back to his balls. Spit glistens against his skin as you pull away, your gaze never quite leaving his as you bring your lips back to him, this time giving him a delicate yet determined suck.
He’s so captivated by the sight of you – so enraptured by his scent and his taste, your pupils are blown wide and cheeks warm with arousal against his sack. Eddie’s hips twitch upwards, seeking more of that delicious friction you teased him with. His cock juts out proudly, flushed an angry red and leaking with pre-cum. He’s aching, desperate for you to just do something, but holds himself back, wanting to prolong this moment you for as long as you needed.
Eddie lets his head fall back against the couch for a brief moment before straightening up again, unable to keep his eyes off you for long. His curls shift with the sudden movement, and his chest rises and falls with a slightly uneven rhythm. Slowly, he brings a ringed hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his brows pulling together as he looks down at you. “You’re killing me here.”
“’M sorry, Eds,” you mumble with a small, shy smile tugging at your lips before pressing another kiss to his cock.
He lets out a shaky breath when he notices the way your eyes turn glossy, almost as though you were getting drunk on his scent alone. The sight sends a warmth curling low in his chest that spreads all the way down to his feet.
Your fingers twitch against him before drifting across the base of his cock, slow and absent-minded. Then you lean in again, pressing another sloppy kiss to him, your attention fixed entirely on him.
Eddie lets out a shaky breath when he notices the glazed, almost dreamy look in your eyes, like you’re getting drunk on nothing more than him. You rest your head against his thigh and slowly open your lips to take him into your mouth, the wet heat engulfing his sensitive tip. A deep, guttural moan rumbles from his chest at the sensation, his lips twitching and accidentally pushing more of his length past your lips.
“Sorry, baby,” he breathes out, dragging his free hand through his messy curls.
You hum as your tongue swirls around him, lapping at the milky pearl of pre-cum beading at his slit. Each lazy suck and pull sends jolts of pleasure shooting down his spine as he tangles his fingers in your hair, gripping lightly but not urging you to quicken your pace.
You shift awkwardly between his legs, almost wincing at the uncomfortable pool of arousal that started to seep into your panties. Reaching for him, you trail your free hand across the couch until your fingers find his, quietly threading them together as you take him deeper into your mouth with a deep sigh leaving your nostrils.
“You’re taking me so well, baby. So good f’me, hm?”
The grip on your hair tightens just slightly with your lips stretched taut around his girth, fighting the urge to thrust into the velvety confinement of your mouth. With a broken moan, he arches into you, chasing the pleasure without shoving more of his cock into your throat. The coil of tension in his lower belly winds tighter with each pass of your mouth, threatening to snap at any moment.
Eddie watches, transfixed, as you let go of his hand to trail it down your body until it disappears beneath your — his, actually — oversized shirt. The sight of you touching yourself, lost in the pleasure of his cock, is almost too much for him to bear. You slowly circle your clit a few times before you trail lower until your fingertips find your sloppy slit. The obscene squelch of your fingers dipping into your messy cunt fills the living room, mingling with the lewd pops and slurps and sighs of your mouth on his cock.
“Are you–” he groans and closes his eyes for a split second. “Jesus, baby. Are you fucking yourself?”
God, you looked so pretty like this – cheeks warm, your eyes glossy as they stares up at him, your hair slightly dishevelled from the absentminded grip he still had on your hair, drool and affirmative whimpers trickling down on his sack while you desperately fingered yourself. You’re so high on his smell and heavy cock, you grind down on your hand until your velvety walls flutter around your fingers.
Eddie lets go of your hair, petting the crown of your head as his thighs twitch under your face while he lets you work his cock in lazy yet greedy sucks and licks.
“Fuck, baby. I’m– I’m about to cum,” he manages to groan out. “Where do you want me, sweetheart?”
You maintain your pace for a few sucks more before you gently pull your head back, breathless from having him down your throat while your fingers continue pumping desperately in and out of your sloppy cunt. Your glossy eyes are still glued to his when your hand wraps softly around his cock. Your fingers look so small around him while you lazily jerk him off.
Eddie doesn’t last long at the vision of you between his twitching legs, one hand tightly wrapped around him while the other still thrusted desperately into yourself, expectant eyes looking back at him and drool pooling under your cheek and onto his thigh.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” he moans out desperately, refusing to close his eyes as he watches each milky white spurt he gave you painting your face until your nose and chin is dripping with his cum.
You straighten yourself up just a little bit and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to catch the last few ropes of cum and swallowing it down. You place soft kisses against his overstimulated and already softening cock as you let go of him.
But what really gets him is how you remove your sodden fingers out of your pussy and lick them clean, before wiping off his seed from your nose and chin, and bring your cum tainted fingers back into your cunt.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he groans out almost painfully, his sensitive cock twitching at the sight of you fucking yourself and pushing his cum deep into your pussy. “Look at you; so beautiful and desperate. Are you gonna cum f’me, hm?”
“Fuck, Eddie. I’m–” you cut yourself off as high-pitched whine escapes from your lips.
You don’t dare to look away from him, eyes wide and shiny with desperation, as low curses fall out of your swollen lips when the heat in your lower stomach begins to become too much. Your slick walls clench hard around your fingers, almost hard enough to halt your movements when you finally push yourself over the edge.
With one last high-pitched whimper, you fall back onto his lap, nose brushing against his cock while you try to take deep breaths. His hand finds your hair again, softly brushing strands away from your eyes.
“Pretty baby likes sniffing my cock, hm?” Eddie purrs, his chest still heaving heavily. You blink shyly and hide your face against his cock. “C’mon baby, don’t be shy now.”
His ringed fingers trail down your face until they come to rest beneath your chin. Gently, he tilts your head back, the tip of your nose brushing against his cock as he guides your gaze upwards until your eyes meet his once more.
“You know you could’ve asked me for this sooner, right?” he whispers as his fingers brush down your face.
“I-I didn’t know if you’d be up for it,” you whisper back.
Eddie’s dark brown eyes glimmer with affection as he looks down at you. A soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips, warm and impossibly fond.
“I want everything that you want,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on your face. “I love you.”
The confession makes heat bloom across your cheeks. Unable to hold his gaze for long, you hide your face against his thigh again.
“I love you too, Eds,” you mumble, your words muffled against him.
description: Eddie Munson has been a regular at your coffee shop for four months before either of you finally exchange names. After that, it's easy conversations and the sort of harmless crush you swear you'll eventually get over. Meanwhile, your sorority house becomes the target of increasingly disturbing phone calls. You just never think any of it has anything to do with the sweet guy who calls you 'sweetheart' every morning at seven.
pairing: ghostface!eddie x reader (fem!reader)
tags: ghostface!eddie munson, college au, sorority girl!(ish)reader, alt!reader, obsessive!eddie, stalker!eddie, dark romance, possessive!eddie, yandere vibes, knifeplay, fear and attraction, the mask STAYS ON, dead dove, if crazy why boyfriend shaped
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!! (like fr). stalking, home invasion, coercive behavior, CNC themes, power imbalance, murder, dead dove
WC: 8.4k
A/N: hi <3 friendly reminder that this is a Scream-inspired work of fiction. i am certainly not endorsing any of the behaviors depicted here in real life (w/o consent, ofc). if you're here because you enjoy horror and fictional men who desperately need to be institutionalized, you're in the right place.
reblogs are always appreciated <33
xoxoxoxoxo enjoy, my loves :)
The bell jingles softly overhead, drawing your attention from the carafe you were filling to the front door. Your usual regular comes in every day at the same time: 7 a.m. sharp, yet you have never once caught his name.
It wasn’t that you didn’t care; you always remembered people's names when they introduced themselves. But this customer, in particular, always made you feel a certain way.
Tall, broad shoulders, dark curly hair, tattoos, big dark-amber doe eyes, and always adorned in various band tees and metal accessories; you couldn’t help but be awestruck whenever he came in.
Asking for his name was difficult when you could barely peel your eyes off of him to make his coffee or give him his change.
And, not to mention, he always greeted you the same way, which even after four months of seeing him made your stomach flutter all the same.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said casually, gliding over to the counter and resting his elbows on the glass.
“Hey, you,” you replied. ‘Hey you?’ What am I, a fucking idiot? “What can I do ya for?”
He pointed across the counter. "Didn't pin you for a Kappa Delta girl."
Your eyes followed his hand down to the faded green letters stretched across your chest, and you groaned dramatically.
"Oh, God, don't remind me."
"So you are?"
"Unfortunately."
A laugh rumbled out of him. "Unfortunately?"
"My grandmother was one. My mom was one. My older sister was one. Legacy status and all that." You shrugged. "Plus they have alumni connections that could basically hand me internships after graduation, so..."
"So you sold your soul."
"I leased it," you corrected. "There's a difference."
He barked another laugh, head tipping back just enough for the silver chain around his neck to catch the morning light. "I knew there had to be a catch."
You folded your arms across the counter, narrowing your eyes playfully. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
He looked at you for a second. Not glanced, looked.
"I don't know," he admitted. "You don't exactly scream sorority girl."
Your lips twitched. "What do I scream?"
His eyes wandered for a moment, taking in the long black nails, the silver hoops decorating your nose, the tiny bat charm hanging from your necklace, and the faint outline of tattoos disappearing beneath your sleeves.
"You look like you'd bully frat boys for fun."
"I do."
"I believe it."
"I've made three cry."
His grin got even bigger. "I definitely believe it."
You busied yourself finishing his drink, trying very hard not to think about the fact that he'd apparently been paying enough attention to have an opinion about you at all.
You slid the cup onto the counter. "That'll be four eighty-six."
His hand instinctively went to his back pocket, then his front, then his jacket. The smile slowly disappeared from his face.
"...You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
"What?"
"My wallet."
He patted himself down again like it might magically appear. "I left it at home."
He let out a breath through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I can run back and—"
You waved him off before he could finish. "It's fine."
"No, it's not."
"It is."
He looked unconvinced. You leaned your elbows on the counter.
"The owner of this place is some rich schmuck who spends six months out of the year in the Bahamas and has never once noticed if inventory's off by a cup of coffee."
"I still don't want you getting in trouble."
"I won't."
"You sure?"
You smiled.
"I've accidentally made the wrong drink three times this week."
"You?"
"I'm shockingly incompetent."
"I don't buy that for a second."
"You shouldn't."
A quiet laugh escaped him as you nudged the cup another inch toward him. "Take it."
For a second, he just looked at you. Then he picked it up carefully. "Thanks... sweetheart."
You pretended that didn't make your stomach flip. As he turned to leave, he paused, looking back over his shoulder. "You know..."
"What?"
"I've been coming here every morning for four months."
"Mhm."
"You've never asked my name."
You blinked. "...Huh."
"And I just realized I've never asked yours, either."
A sheepish smile spread across your face. "I guess we're both terrible at introductions."
"I guess we are."
You reached across the counter and plucked the cup back out of his hand before he could protest.
"What're you doing?"
"Fixing it."
You uncapped your Sharpie and quickly wrote something on the side before handing it back. He looked down. Instead of his order, there was your first name, and underneath it, your phone number.
His eyes flicked back up to yours. You suddenly became very interested in the espresso machine behind you.
"So..." you mumbled. "Now you know mine."
A slow smile spread across his face, softer than the cocky little grin he'd walked in with. He looked back down at the cup one more time before meeting your eyes again.
"Eddie."
"What?"
"My name."
You couldn't help smiling. "It's nice to finally meet you, Eddie."
He wrapped one hand around the warm cup, still looking at the writing on the side.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I think it is."
The common room smelled faintly of vanilla candles and expensive perfume, with a hint of whatever pumpkin spice disaster someone had burned in the kitchen that afternoon.
You were tucked into the corner of the oversized sectional with your legs folded beneath you, a dog-eared paperback resting comfortably in your lap. It was one of the only quiet places on campus, at least in theory.
In reality, there were six girls gathered around the coffee table barely ten feet away, and they had absolutely no concept of indoor voices.
"Oh my God, did you see his face?" one of them laughed, nearly spilling her drink. "I genuinely thought he was gonna cry."
Another girl snorted. "He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole."
Your eyes stayed fixed on the page. You'd gotten remarkably good at pretending not to listen.
"I still can't believe we made him stand outside with that sign."
"And then nobody even talked to him."
"I did."
The group collectively turned toward Madison, who looked far too pleased with herself.
"You did not."
"I swear."
"What'd you say?"
She took a sip from her cup with a little smirk. "He asked me if I wanted to get coffee sometime."
Someone immediately burst out laughing. "No, he didn't."
"He absolutely did."
"And?"
"I said yes."
A chorus of dramatic gasps erupted around the room. "You are such a liar."
"I'm serious."
"So you're actually going?"
Madison's smile widened into something that made your stomach turn. "Oh, absolutely."
You looked up from your book for the first time. She continued casually, like she was discussing the weather.
"I'm gonna tell him to meet me at Romano's Friday night."
Someone else caught on instantly. "Oh, my God."
"And then?"
"I'm not showing up."
Another girl laughed.
"No, no. Better." Madison leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm gonna have Tyler and Jake there recording him waiting."
The room exploded into laughter. "We'll post it."
"That's so evil."
"It's hilarious."
"He seriously thought he had a chance."
Someone chimed in from the armchair. "Didn't you guys dump a trash can on him during hazing?"
"That was different."
"We also shaved his eyebrows."
"You did not."
"Just one."
More laughter.
You slowly closed your book. The sound wasn't loud, but it was enough to draw a few eyes toward you.
"What?" Madison asked.
You looked at her for a second before speaking. "Don't do that."
She blinked.
"...Do what?"
"The date."
Her expression immediately soured with amusement.
"It's just a joke."
"No, it's not."
"He'll get over it."
You slipped your bookmark between the pages. "He asked because he likes you."
"No," Madison scoffed. "He asked because I'm hot."
"And he thinks you're nice."
That earned another round of laughter. "Oh, sweetheart."
You ignored it. "If you don't want to go, don't go."
"I don't."
"Then tell him no."
Madison rolled her eyes. "Where's the fun in that?"
You looked at her for another long second. "I don't know."
Your voice stayed perfectly calm. "I've just never thought humiliating someone for liking me sounded particularly entertaining."
Another girl shrugged. "You're too nice."
"I don't think that's what this is."
Madison leaned back against the couch. "God, you're such a grandma."
You smiled faintly. "I've been called worse."
Someone changed the subject almost immediately, conversation moving on to parties and outfits and football games, but your attention had already drifted, and you looked back down at your book.
The words blurred together. You couldn't stop thinking about the poor freshman with one eyebrow, standing outside some restaurant waiting for a girl who was never planning on showing up.
By the time you came downstairs that afternoon, the entire house was buzzing. Not with excitement, but with gossip.
The television mounted above the fireplace was muted, some reality show flickering silently across the screen while half a dozen girls occupied every available couch and armchair, coffees in hand and phones practically glued to their palms.
You'd barely made it three steps into the common room before you heard Madison's name.
"...I'm telling you, he actually waited almost forty minutes."
Another girl burst into laughter. "No, he did not."
"He absolutely did."
You quietly crossed toward the kitchen, hoping to escape unnoticed. No such luck.
"Did you hear about that freshman?" someone asked from behind you.
You looked over your shoulder. "No."
"The one Madison was talking to."
"Oh."
You already had a bad feeling. A blonde sitting cross-legged on the sofa practically bounced with excitement. "So apparently she texted him to meet her at Romano's last night."
You didn't say anything.
"Poor idiot actually showed up with flowers."
Your stomach sank while another voice chimed in. "Not flowers."
"A single rose."
"Oh my God, that's even worse."
The room dissolved into giggles while You stayed quiet.
"He waited forever," another girl continued. "Then his pledge masters showed up."
"They told him Madison was waiting downstairs."
"In the basement."
You slowly lowered the mug you'd been reaching for. "...Romano's has a basement?"
"It rents out the lower level for parties."
Someone snorted. "They took him down there and made him chug like half a bottle of vodka."
"No, it was whiskey."
"I heard it was tequila."
"They made him eat dog food."
"They shaved his head."
"They wrote all over him with Sharpie."
"I heard they made him call his mom drunk and then run across the freeway."
The details changed with every person who spoke, each version somehow becoming more ridiculous than the last, but the laughter never stopped.
The point wasn't what had happened; the point was that everyone thought it was funny.
One girl looked up from her phone. "I heard his name's Gareth."
Another shrugged. "Whatever it is, he's definitely dropping."
Madison herself wandered into the room a moment later, completely unfazed, grabbing a yogurt from the refrigerator as if they were discussing the weather instead of another human being.
The second she sat down, someone asked, "Did he actually bring you flowers?"
She grinned. "Apparently."
The room erupted again.
You stared at her, and she noticed, staring right back. "What?"
"You knew he was going to."
"So?"
"So you still sent him there."
Madison looked genuinely confused by your expression. "It was a joke."
"No," you said quietly. "It wasn't."
She rolled her eyes. "He's a frat pledge. They'll haze him either way."
"That doesn't mean you had to help."
"Oh, my God." She laughed through the words. "Are you actually feeling bad for him?"
You looked around the room; nobody else seemed bothered. Some of them were still laughing. One girl was already recounting the story over FaceTime to somebody else.
Finally, you looked back at Madison. "I just think if someone asks you on a date and you're not interested..." You shrugged, "...you could just say no."
For a brief second, nobody said anything. Then Madison smirked. "You are so weird."
Another girl nodded. "Seriously."
You looked down at your coffee for a moment before forcing a small grin onto your face, one that had become second nature over the years.
"Whatever," you said with a little shrug. "I won't be “weird” once I bring you all free pastries after work."
That immediately changed the mood. Madison gasped dramatically. "Are we talking muffins or those chocolate croissants?"
"The croissants."
"I take everything back."
Another girl pointed at you from across the room. "See? This is why we keep you around."
"For my sparkling personality?"
"No."
"The day-old baked goods."
A couple of them laughed, the conversation effortlessly drifting away from Gareth and onto weekend plans, football games, and who was wearing what to Saturday night's mixer. You let them; it was easier.
You'd long since figured out that there wasn't much point in arguing. They'd laugh, call you sensitive, tell you to lighten up, and move on without giving it another thought.
So instead, you simply grabbed your bag from beside the stairs, waved over your shoulder, and headed for work. The walk into town did little to shake the conversation from your head.
You found yourself thinking about the boy you'd never met, sitting alone at Romano's with flowers in his hand, probably checking the door every few minutes with that tiny flicker of hope that somebody was actually going to show up.
The image lingered even as you unlocked the café and tied your apron around your waist.
Your afternoon shifts were usually uneventful.
A handful of students hiding behind laptops, professors grading papers over americanos, the occasional frazzled parent trying to wrangle a screaming toddler with a blueberry scone.
Which was exactly why, barely an hour into your shift, the familiar jingle above the front door made your head snap up.
You blinked. For a second, you genuinely thought you'd imagined him.
Eddie stood just inside the entrance, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, curls a little windblown from outside.
He looked around the café until his eyes landed on yours; a slow smile spread across his face.
"Well, this is new."
You couldn't help smiling back. "It is."
He wandered over to the counter, looking around theatrically. "I was beginning to think they kept you in a little cabinet overnight and only took you out at seven in the morning."
You laughed. "Nope."
"So you're actually a real person."
"Allegedly."
"Huh."
He rested his elbows on the counter. "I kinda liked the mysterious coffee cryptid theory better."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be."
He glanced up at the menu before looking right back at you. "So... this is your afternoon shift?"
You nodded. "Covering for somebody."
"I almost didn't come in."
"No?"
"Nah."
He smiled to himself. "Glad I did now."
You leaned against the espresso machine, folding your arms as he dug around in his pockets for cash. "So."
"So?" he echoed.
You gave him a pointed look. "You never called."
His hand froze for a fraction of a second before he let out a quiet, guilty laugh. "...Yeah."
"'Yeah?'"
"I know."
"I gave you my number and everything."
"I noticed."
"And then?"
"And then..." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely apologetic. "I had a really long night."
You raised an eyebrow. "That's the excuse we're going with?"
"No, that's the truth."
The teasing smile faded just enough that you immediately felt bad for pushing.
He looked down at the countertop, absentmindedly tracing one of the little scratches in the laminate with his thumb.
"One of my friends ended up in the hospital."
Your expression softened. "Oh."
"Some asshole fraternity hazing."
You didn't say anything.
"He got hurt pretty bad."
The words landed in your chest like a stone.
You'd spent all afternoon trying not to think about Gareth, trying to convince yourself that maybe the stories had been exaggerated through the campus rumor mill. Suddenly you weren't so sure.
Eddie exhaled through his nose. "I was there until like three in the morning."
"Is he okay?"
"He will be." His jaw tightened. "He's tough."
You nodded quietly. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged, but it wasn't convincing. "It sucks."
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then he shook himself out of it with a tired smile. "On the bright side, he's done with all that now."
"What do you mean?"
"He's dropping."
"Dropping?"
"The fraternity."
You nodded once. "Oh."
"He was only doing it because he thought that's what college was supposed to be."
"And now?"
Eddie smiled, though this one looked considerably more genuine. "Now he's transferring over to ours."
You blinked. "You have a fraternity?"
He looked almost offended. "I know. Shocking."
"I definitely didn't pin you for that type."
He laughed. "That's exactly what I said about your sorority."
"Touché."
"Ours isn't..." He searched for the right word. "One of the big campus ones."
"The terrifying Greek Row mansions?"
He nodded. "Yeah, definitely not that."
"So what is it?"
He shrugged. "A couple of guys living in a run-down house that desperately needs a new roof."
"Very prestigious."
"Extremely."
"I'm assuming there are matching sweaters."
"Oh, absolutely not."
"No little hand signs?"
"The only sign we’ll have is Gareth flipping everybody off when they make him do dishes."
You couldn't help laughing. "And people voluntarily join this organization?"
"Barely."
"What do you even do?"
He smiled. "Band practice in the basement. Movie nights. Cookouts when we can afford burgers instead of hot dogs. Other…stuff."
"So..."
"So?"
"It isn't really a fraternity."
His grin spread wider. "No."
"It sounds like a bunch of guys who accidentally signed a lease together."
"You’d be correct."
"I knew it."
He leaned against the counter, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "We've got a house, we've got letters on the front, we've got paperwork with the university."
"And?"
"And mostly we just look after each other."
Something about the way he said it made your heart ache. Your thoughts drifted back to Gareth, to whispered conversations and laughter echoing through the sorority house that afternoon.
Without thinking, you smiled softly. "I think I like yours better."
Then, with impeccable timing, the espresso machine behind you let out a deafening hiss that made both of you jump. You burst into laughter, and Eddie looked at the machine.
"I think it disagrees."
"I think it's jealous."
"Of me?"
"No."
"The hot dogs."
He looked deeply offended. "They're actually pretty good."
"I don't believe that for a second."
"Come over sometime and find out."
The words came out so naturally that neither of you acknowledged them for a beat. Then his eyes widened ever so slightly, as did your own.
He cleared his throat. "I mean..."
You smiled despite yourself. "I know what you meant."
The next week settled into something dangerously close to a routine.
Every morning at seven on the dot, the bell above the café door would jingle, and Eddie would stroll in with his curls still a little messy from sleep and some new band shirt you'd inevitably spend the next five minutes trying not to stare at.
Some mornings he'd stay for all of three minutes, grabbing his coffee before rushing off to class.
Other mornings he'd linger against the counter while you cleaned the espresso machine or restocked cups, making conversation about whatever happened to cross his mind.
Professors he couldn't stand, the guitar amp that had decided to die on him over the weekend, a stray cat that had apparently moved into the back porch of his fraternity house and now refused to leave.
You learned he always picked the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms first. He learned you read at the counter whenever business was slow. You discovered he couldn't pronounce the name of the French pastry on the menu to save his life and would instead point at it with complete confidence until you handed it over.
And every single morning, without fail, he'd greet you exactly the same.
"Mornin', sweetheart."
By Friday, you had unfortunately reached the point where hearing it from anybody else would probably feel wrong.
He still hadn't asked you on a date, and you still hadn't asked him. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in rushing whatever this was.
It was comfortable, easy. Enough so that you found yourself smiling whenever you looked up and saw him walking through the door.
Which was exactly why, hours later, sitting barefoot on one of the stools in the sorority kitchen with a mug of tea and a textbook open in front of you, the sharp ring of the landline nearly made you spill it.
The house phone almost never rang; everyone had cell phones. For a second, nobody moved.
Then one of the girls shouted from upstairs, "Can somebody get that?"
You sighed, slid off the stool, and wandered over. "Hello?"
Nothing, just soft static. You frowned. "...Hello?"
Then a man's voice, low and calm. "Madison there?"
You glanced toward the staircase. "Yeah. Hold on."
"Thanks."
Something about it felt...odd. Not threatening, just strange.
His voice was too even, too measured, almost like he was deliberately trying not to sound recognizable.
You covered the receiver with your hand. "Madison!"
A moment later she came clattering downstairs in fuzzy slippers and an oversized sweatshirt. "For me?"
"So he says."
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "If it's Tyler, tell him I'm busy."
You handed her the phone anyway. She tucked it between her shoulder and ear and wandered toward the hallway, disappearing around the corner.
You could still hear the occasional muffled sound of her voice, but not enough to make out words.
You returned to your tea. Barely thirty seconds passed.
Then, "What the fuck?"
Her voice echoed down the hallway. A moment later, Madison stormed back into the kitchen, looking thoroughly annoyed, hanging up the receiver hard enough that it rattled against the wall.
"What happened?" another girl asked from the doorway.
Madison crossed her arms. "Some creep."
"What creep?"
"I don't know."
She looked genuinely irritated. "He kept asking what I was wearing."
A chorus of disgust immediately followed. "Ew."
"What a freak."
"He knew my name."
One of the girls frowned. "Maybe it was Tyler messing with you."
"It wasn't Tyler."
"How do you know?"
"I know Tyler's voice."
Another girl leaned against the counter. "So what'd he say?"
Madison mimicked a deeper voice. "'What color shirt are you wearing, Madison?'" She rolled her eyes dramatically. "I told him to fuck off."
Someone laughed nervously. "Probably just some drunk guy."
"Probably."
Madison grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "But seriously,” she shivered, "It was creepy."
The conversation moved on almost as quickly as it'd started. By the time everyone drifted back upstairs, the phone call had already become another funny little story to tell over drinks.
You looked over at the silent receiver still hanging on the kitchen wall. For reasons you couldn't explain, you couldn't shake the feeling that the voice on the other end hadn't sounded drunk at all.
If anything, it had sounded patient.
By ten-thirty, the house had emptied almost completely. Doors had slammed, music had drifted down the front steps, and the collective cloud of perfume and hairspray had finally dissipated enough for the place to feel like it could breathe again.
You'd declined the mixer without much thought.
The excuse had been homework. The reality was that spending your Friday night curled up on the couch with tea and a book sounded infinitely more appealing than making awkward conversation with finance majors wearing pastel polos.
The old grandfather clock in the foyer chimed once, then silence settled back over the house. You turned another page before the landline rang. The sound made you jump hard enough to nearly drop your mug.
You glanced toward the hallway. Once. Twice. Three rings. With nobody else home, you finally stood and crossed the hardwood floor.
"Hello?"
A brief pause of staticky silence. Then, "Hi."
The same voice. Low, calm, almost pleasant. You frowned ever so slightly.
"...Hi."
"I was hoping somebody would answer."
"You've got somebody."
A quiet chuckle. "I guess I do."
You rested your shoulder against the wall. "Can I help you?"
"I was looking for Madison."
"They're all out."
"Oh." The disappointment sounded almost genuine. "When will they be back?"
You hesitated. "I'm... not really sure."
"That's okay." Another brief silence. "You stayed home?"
You blinked. "Yeah."
"Homework?"
"...Something like that."
"You don't seem like the mixer type."
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself. "I guess not."
"You'd rather read."
Your smile vanished as you looked down at the paperback still sitting open on the couch.
"...Lucky guess."
"I suppose." His voice remained perfectly even. Comfortable, like talking to somebody over late-night radio.
"What're you reading?"
You glanced toward the cover. "'Rebecca.'"
"I've always liked that one."
"You've read it?"
"I've read lots of things."
"Hm."
"You sound surprised."
"A little."
"I disappoint you?"
"No."
You laughed softly. "I just wasn't expecting literary recommendations from mysterious men calling sorority houses."
Another quiet laugh. "Fair enough."
The conversation drifted for another minute. Movies. Coffee. The weather. Nothing strange, nothing threatening.
And yet something about it continued to make the hairs on your arms stand up. You couldn't have explained why.
Headlights suddenly swept across the front windows. Outside came the unmistakable sound of half a dozen girls talking over one another before the front door burst open.
Laughter. Music still playing from somebody's phone. Someone yelling that they'd lost a shoe.
You looked toward the foyer. "They're back."
"Already?"
"Looks like it."
The voice was quiet for a moment. Then, "Madison came home in the black heels, right?"
Your stomach tightened as you slowly turned toward the front windows. You couldn't see anyone outside. "...Yeah."
"The silver dress looked nice on her."
Your grip on the receiver tightened almost painfully. How...
The girls continued piling into the foyer, completely oblivious.
Madison stumbled in near the back of the group, kicking off exactly the pair of black heels he'd just described.
Your pulse began to climb, while the voice remained calm. "Could you hand her the phone?"
For one impossible second, you just stood there, your brain trying desperately to make sense of it.
Maybe he'd seen them leave. Maybe he'd driven by. Maybe...
Madison noticed you standing there. "For me?"
You looked from her... to the receiver in your hand... then nodded slowly. "I think so."
She rolled her eyes dramatically and took it. "Hello?"
You watched her expression change almost instantly; the smug annoyance disappeared. "What?"
Silence. Her face lost color. "No, that's not funny." Another pause.
The room around her was still loud with drunken conversation, nobody paying much attention, but Madison wasn't listening to any of it anymore. Her fingers tightened around the receiver.
"Who is this?"
Silence. Then whatever was said next made her visibly stiffen. "No."
Another pause. "I said no." Her voice had become quieter. Not angry anymore, but scared. You took an unconscious step toward her.
Madison swallowed. "...How do you know that?"
Nothing. Her breathing changed, and the color drained completely from her face. "Stop it."
Another pause. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, "Please stop."
The laughter in the foyer had finally begun to die down as people were starting to notice. One of the girls frowned.
"Mads?"
Madison didn't answer. She was staring at the floor now, eyes wide and unfocused.
Then, without another word, she slowly lowered the receiver back onto its cradle and the line clicked dead.
Nobody spoke for several seconds. Finally, someone forced a laugh. "...Who was it?"
Madison didn't look up; her voice came out barely audible. "I..."
She swallowed hard. "I don't know."
Then she looked at you. Not annoyed, not embarrassed, but terrified. And for the first time since you'd met her, there wasn't a trace of arrogance left on her face.
Madison was still staring at the phone like it had personally offended her, one hand wrapped tightly around the edge of the kitchen counter.
Ashley was the first to break the silence. "...Madison?"
She didn't answer. "Madison, what did he say?"
Another girl laughed uneasily, the sound forced and far too loud. "Please don't tell me you actually got freaked out by some loser prank caller."
Madison slowly looked up. "He..." She swallowed. "He knew what I was wearing."
The room went quiet.
Ashley frowned. "What?"
"He described my dress."
Someone scoffed immediately. "He probably saw you leave."
"No." Madison shook her head. "He described it after I got home."
Another girl chimed in. "Maybe somebody from the mixer followed you guys back."
Madison wasn't listening anymore. "He knew I changed my shoes."
"What?"
"The heels."
Her breathing had become noticeably uneven. "He told me I came home in the black heels. The ones I kept in my purse to walk home in.”
A couple of girls exchanged uncertain looks. Still, nobody seemed genuinely concerned, until Madison spoke again.
"He asked me if I liked my room."
Your stomach sank. "What do you mean?"
Madison looked toward the staircase without realizing she'd done it. "He asked if I liked the poster over my bed. He asked if I still slept with my closet door open."
Nobody laughed this time. Madison's voice was barely audible now. "And then..."
She looked like she didn't even want to repeat it. "He said the window sticks when you try to close it all the way."
You felt every hair on the back of your neck stand up.
Madison suddenly lurched toward the front door, fumbling with the deadbolt before checking it once. Twice. Three times. Then she checked the handle anyway.
Ashley followed after her. "Madison—"
She was already moving toward the kitchen windows, yanking the curtains shut before checking those locks too. Then the back door. Then another window.
One of the girls nervously laughed. "Jesus Christ."
Madison ignored her completely. She was already halfway toward the foyer windows.
Ashley finally caught her wrist. "Hey."
Madison looked at her with genuinely panicked eyes. "What if somebody was watching us?"
Ashley glanced around at everyone else before lowering her voice. "Mads... think about it."
She didn't answer.
"The Pi Kap boys."
Madison frowned. "What?"
"They're messing with you."
Another girl immediately nodded. "Oh my God, obviously."
Ashley crossed her arms. "You dumped that drink on that guy tonight."
"So?"
"So now his buddies are probably trying to freak you out."
Someone else chimed in. "They probably had somebody parked outside the house."
"They know where you live."
"They've all been here for parties."
"And your room's literally been on your Instagram."
"They know what your room looks like."
"They know your outfits."
"They know what shoes you wear."
"They probably saw you come home."
The explanation settled over the room almost instantly; relief was contagious. Another girl laughed.
"Honestly? That's kind of a good prank."
Madison didn't laugh, but Ashley squeezed her shoulder. "It's just some pissed-off frat guys."
"They're trying to scare you because of it."
"They're assholes."
"But that's all it is."
For a long moment, Madison stood perfectly still. Then, slowly...
"...You think so?"
Ashley smiled. "I know so."
Another girl chimed in from the couch. "They're just trying to get in your head."
"And judging by this little performance..." She gestured vaguely toward the six different locks Madison had just checked. "...it's working."
A couple of people laughed again, tentatively this time. Madison finally managed a weak smile.
"Yeah."
Ashley nudged her toward the stairs. "Go to bed."
"I'm serious. Sleep it off. Tomorrow you'll realize it was some sophomore with too much time on his hands."
Eventually, Madison nodded and headed upstairs. The conversations slowly resumed. Music started playing from somebody's phone again.
Someone ordered late-night pizza. Within ten minutes, the atmosphere had almost completely recovered.
You lingered in the kitchen a little longer than everyone else, and your eyes drifted to the front window.
The curtains were drawn, and you couldn't see outside. For some reason...
You couldn't shake the feeling that someone might still be looking in anyway.
Sleep never really settled in after the phone call.
You'd drifted off eventually, more from exhaustion than anything else, but it wasn't restful.
Every creak of the old house seemed louder than usual, every shifting pipe enough to tug you halfway back to consciousness.
By the time you finally opened your eyes again, the room was dark enough that you had to squint to make out the red numbers glowing on your alarm clock.
2:43 a.m.
You let out a quiet sigh, pushed your blankets aside, and shuffled toward the door, still half asleep. The hallway was almost completely dark.
Only the tiny stained-glass lamp at the end of the corridor cast enough light to keep you from bumping into the walls, throwing patches of muted color across the hardwood floor.
You rubbed at your eyes and headed toward the bathroom as the floorboards creaked softly beneath your feet.
Halfway there, another one answered. Not yours.
You stopped. Silence.
You frowned, listening. Nothing, probably one of the girls getting water.
You took another cautious step. And suddenly a figure dressed entirely in black stepped out from the darkness at the opposite end of the hallway, and you froze.
Your brain didn't even have time to process what you were looking at.
A black hood. Long robe. The pale, impossibly familiar ghost mask catching just enough light to make the empty eyes seem alive. Every instinct in your body screamed.
The figure moved, fast.
A gloved hand shot toward you. You stumbled backward on pure instinct, your shoulder striking the wall as a strangled gasp caught in your throat before it could become a scream.
Then, another black-clad figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It caught the first one by the shoulder and shoved him sideways with surprising force.
Not enough to knock him over, but just enough to stop him.
The two stood there for the briefest second. The taller one turned his masked face toward the other and made one sharp, impatient motion with his hand.
Not at you, but past you, toward the end of the hallway. Toward Madison's room.
The second figure hesitated, and the first one pointed again, harder this time. Even through the costume, there was something unmistakably authoritative in the gesture.
The shorter figure looked back at you one last time before reluctantly turning away.
Without a word, he disappeared down the hall.
The taller figure lingered just long enough for his mask to turn toward you. You couldn't see his face. Couldn't see his eyes.
But for one impossible second, you had the overwhelming sensation that he was studying you.
Then he reached back and quietly pushed your bedroom door farther open behind you, almost expectantly. Your legs moved before your mind did, and you stumbled backward into your room.
The second your heel crossed the threshold, the masked figure swung the door shut behind them, leaving the two of you alone in your bedroom.
The room suddenly felt impossibly small, illuminated only by the pale wash of moonlight slipping through the curtains.
Your pulse hammered so violently in your ears that it almost drowned out everything else, but not quite.
Downstairs, something crashed. A scream, another one, then running, then silence.
You stared at the figure standing only a few feet away from you, every instinct screaming at you to run, to fight, to do something, but your feet wouldn't cooperate.
The black robe barely moved as they shifted their weight. The knife in their hand remained pointed toward the floor.
Not raised, not threatening, but just... there.
You swallowed hard. "What... what do you want?"
The white mask stared back at you without expression. When the voice finally came, it wasn't a voice at all.
It crackled through an electronic distortion, flattened into something mechanical and impossible to place, every trace of age or identity stripped away.
"I'm sorry."
The words were so unexpected that they almost didn't register.
You blinked. "...What?"
Another scream echoed somewhere else in the house, farther away this time. The figure didn't so much as flinch.
"I'm sorry," the altered voice repeated quietly. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
Your hand found the edge of your desk behind you. "What are you talking about?"
Then the mask tilted ever so slightly. "You're the last one."
Your blood ran cold. "No..."
"You are."
"No."
"I'm sorry."
You shook your head before you even realized you were doing it. "No, they're all here. They're upstairs. They're—"
"They're gone."
The electronic filter couldn't hide the strange heaviness behind the words.
There was no laughter. No theatrical gloating. No excitement. Just something that sounded dangerously close to regret.
You stared at him, unable to breathe. "No..."
The figure remained perfectly still. "I didn't want you to find out this way."
Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "...Who are you?"
Silence. The only answer was another distant bang somewhere in the house, followed by complete stillness.
Your eyes filled before you could stop them.
"Please."
The masked figure lowered their head for just a second. "I can't."
"You know me."
Another silence. Then, softly, "Yeah."
The admission hit harder than any threat could have.
Your fingers tightened around the edge of the desk. "...Do I know you?"
The mask didn't move. The voice changer crackled faintly before the reply came.
"You do."
Every instinct begged you to ask another question. To demand a name. To make them pull the mask off. Instead, all that came out was a trembling—
"...Why me?"
The figure looked at you for what felt like an eternity. When they finally spoke, the words were almost gentle. "Because you were never supposed to be part of this."
The apology hung in the room between you. Outside, somewhere beyond your bedroom walls, the old house sat in perfect silence.
He stood perfectly still. The knife remained pointed toward the floor, hanging loosely from his gloved hand, as if he'd forgotten it was even there.
Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "...You keep saying you're sorry."
The mask tilted. "I am."
"Then why are you here?"
The distorted speaker crackled softly before he answered. "I don't know."
It wasn't the response you expected. "I thought I did."
Another pause.
"I had a plan."
He gave a quiet, humorless laugh that sounded even stranger through the electronic filter.
"A really good one."
Your fingers were still gripping the edge of your desk so tightly they hurt. "What plan?"
"You weren't supposed to matter."
The words were matter-of-fact, almost clinical.
"You were supposed to be..." He searched for the word. "Adjacent."
The mask turned toward your bookshelf. "Pretty girl."
Toward your desk. "Good grades."
Toward the discarded sorority sweatshirt hanging over your chair. "Legacy."
"I figured I'd have you all figured out in a week."
You couldn't bring yourself to respond. Instead, he continued talking almost to himself.
"But then you were kind. You let me walk away without paying."
Your stomach sank. Wait…
"You looked at me like there wasn't something wrong with me."
The voice changer hid his real voice, but not the strange sincerity underneath it.
"You laughed at my jokes."
"You remembered my order."
It can’t be…
"You started setting aside the blueberry muffins before I even asked."
Realization hit you like a freight train.
Your mouth went dry. "I was just being nice."
"I know." Another quiet laugh. "That was the problem."
He took one slow step across the room. Not toward you, just... wandering.
Looking at your shelves, your records, the dog-eared paperbacks stacked on your dresser.
"I kept waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to disappoint me."
His head tilted slightly. "You never did."
Your pulse hammered painfully against your ribs.
"So then I started wondering if maybe I was wrong."
"About what?"
"About people."
The silence that followed felt heavier than anything he'd said so far.
"When Madison humiliated Gareth..." He stopped. "...you told her not to."
You stared. "...How do you know that?"
Another tiny crackle from the speaker. "I know lots of things."
"You sat in the corner pretending to read while everybody laughed."
"You left early."
"You looked guilty."
"You always look down when you're upset."
Your breathing became noticeably shallower.
He wasn't speaking like someone who'd watched you once; he was speaking like someone who'd watched you a hundred times. A thousand.
"You don't understand," he continued quietly. "I had everything figured out."
"The people who thought they could hurt whoever they wanted."
"The people who laughed."
"The people who'd never had anyone tell them no."
"They made sense."
"You..." Another soft laugh. "...you didn't."
You could hear your own heartbeat.
"So I started paying attention."
"You read in the park on Tuesdays."
"You always buy the same black pens because you hate blue ink."
"You leave the ends of your sandwiches."
"You hum when you mop the café floors."
You felt physically ill. He wasn't bragging; that was somehow the most terrifying part. He sounded fond, as if he were reminiscing.
"I kept telling myself I'd stop."
"I didn't."
"I kept telling myself you weren't real."
"I'd go home and think, she's pretending."
"Nobody's actually like that."
He looked directly at you. "And then you were."
Your eyes stung. "Please stop."
He ignored the plea. "I thought it would make this easier."
"This?"
"Killing you." The words landed with horrifying simplicity.
"I told myself if I watched long enough I'd find something."
"Something fake."
"Something ugly."
"Something selfish."
Another pause.
"I couldn't."
He lowered his head ever so slightly. "You were supposed to be easy."
His grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the knife at his side. "You were supposed to fit with the rest."
"You were supposed to laugh with them."
"You were supposed to become one of them."
"You weren't."
The electronic distortion crackled again. "And now you're making this so much harder than it was supposed to be."
You couldn't stop the tears now. "I don’t even know you that well.”
"No."
"But I know you." His head lifted again. "And that's the really unfair part."
Then, so quietly you almost didn't hear it, "I think if we'd met differently..."
The sentence never finished. Instead, he looked away, almost angry with himself for saying it at all.
When he spoke again, the softness was gone; only something fractured remained.
"I spent weeks trying to convince myself obsession isn't the same thing as caring." The mask turned back toward you. "I still don't know if I believe that."
He stood there in the moonlight, impossibly still. The voice changer hid his identity. The mask hid his face. But you knew who it was, mask on or not. Eddie.
His name echoed in your mind, heavy and final, twisting something deep in your gut. You should have screamed. You should have lunged for the window, the phone, anything.
Instead, your body stayed rooted, trembling against the desk as the Ghostface figure, Eddie, some broken part of you already whispered—stood bathed in the thin moonlight slicing through your curtains.
He took another slow step.
The knife still dangled from his gloved fingers like an afterthought, but his head tilted with that unnerving curiosity, like he was memorizing the way your chest heaved with every shallow breath.
"You keep saying you're sorry," you whispered again, voice cracking.
"I am." The distortion made it sound almost gentle. "But I can't stop now. Not when you're looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you see me." He was closer now.
Close enough that the black fabric of his robe brushed your bare knee where your sleep shorts had ridden up. "Like maybe you could want this too. Even if you shouldn't."
Your pulse roared in your ears. Fear coiled tight in your stomach, but underneath it—god, underneath it—something hotter flickered.
The way he'd watched you. The way he knew you. The confession of weeks, months, of him orbiting your life like a shadow you never noticed.
It should have repulsed you. It did. But it also made your skin prickle, your thighs press together without thinking.
"I don't—" The lie died on your tongue as his free hand rose, gloved fingers ghosting along your jaw.
Not gripping, not yet. Just tracing, reverent, like you were something sacred he was about to defile.
"You do," he murmured, echoing his earlier words. The knife lifted slowly, the flat of the blade pressing cool against the side of your neck. Not cutting. Just resting there, a promise.
Your breath hitched sharply.
"I can see it. That little shake in your voice. The way your nipples are hard under that shirt even though you're scared shitless."
A low, distorted chuckle. "Pretty girl... always so fucking kind. Always pretending you don't feel it."
He stepped fully into your space, the mask inches from your face.
You could smell him—faint leather, weed, that metallic tang of whatever madness drove him. His body heat bled through the robe, solid and real against you.
"Tell me to leave," he said suddenly, voice dropping. The knife traced lower, down your collarbone, catching on the thin strap of your tank top. "Say it. Say 'get out,' and I'll try. I'll really fucking try."
Your lips parted, but no sound came. His gloved thumb brushed your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part them further.
"That's what I thought." The knife slipped under the strap and flicked; sharp, precise. The fabric gave way with a whisper.
Cool air hit your skin as one breast spilled free. He groaned, the sound raw even through the mask. "Fuck... look at you."
You gasped as his hand cupped you roughly, thumb circling your nipple in a way that made your back arch despite yourself. Terror and heat twisted together, impossible to separate. "Please..."
"Please what?" He leaned in, the mask's nose brushing your cheek. The knife dragged lightly down your sternum, not breaking skin, just teasing the panic that made you clench.
"Please stop? Or please keep going? Be honest, sweetheart. I've watched you long enough to know when you're lying."
His other hand slid down your body, shoving between your thighs without warning. Two thick fingers pressed against the damp seam of your shorts, rubbing slow and firm.
You whimpered, hips jerking forward involuntarily. Shame burned your face even as slick heat flooded you.
"See?" That fractured laugh again. "You're soaking for the monster who came to kill you. My sweet, perfect girl... always surprising me."
He pushed you back onto the desk with sudden force, scattering papers and pens. The knife clattered beside you as he used both hands to yank your shorts down your legs, leaving you bare from the waist down.
You tried to close your thighs; he forced them open wider, dropping to his knees between them like a man at prayer.
The mask stayed on (of course it did). But you felt his breath hot through the fabric as he leaned in, inhaling you like a drug. It lifted slightly, not enough to see his face, but enough to assist him.
"Been dreaming about this," he rasped. His tongue, warm, real, and eager, dragged up your slit in one long, filthy stroke.
You cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase on the desk. He didn't tease; he devoured. Licking and sucking at your clit with desperate hunger, his now un-gloved hands pinning your thighs apart as you squirmed and moaned.
Every flick of his tongue pulled another broken sound from you. Fear made everything sharper—the edge of the knife still within reach, the threat of who he was—but the pleasure was drowning it, wave after wave as he ate you like a man starved. Like he'd been waiting lifetimes for the taste of you.
"That's it," he growled against your cunt, voice rough and filthy. "Ride my face, baby. Use me. I killed for less. I'd die for this."
Your hands tangled in the hood of his robe, pulling him closer despite everything. Your hips rolled, chasing the building pressure.
He moaned into you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. One finger pushed inside you, then two, curling just right while his mouth worked your clit without mercy.
You came hard, thighs shaking around his masked head, a sob tearing from your throat as pleasure crashed through the terror. He didn't stop. He licked you through it, gentler now, almost worshipful, until you were twitching and oversensitive.
When he finally rose, he towered over you, unzipping the robe with one hand while the other picked up the knife again. His cock sprang free, heavy, flushed, already leaking.
He fisted himself slowly, stroking as he looked down at you spread out and ruined on your desk.
"Still scared?" he asked, almost tenderly.
The tip of the knife traced your inner thigh, leaving faint red lines that didn't quite break skin.
You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks even as your pussy fluttered around nothing, aching for more.
"Good." He stepped between your legs, rubbing his cock through your folds. "Because I'm not done with you. Not even close."
He pushed in with one slow, relentless thrust, stretching you open around his thickness. The mask hovered above you as he bottomed out, a broken groan leaving his mouth.
"Fuck... so tight. So fucking good." He started moving, deep and punishing, one hand braced beside your head with the knife still clutched tight. "You're mine now. Say it."
You gasped with every thrust, the desk creaking beneath you. "I’m yours—"
"Louder." His hips snapped harder, dragging perfectly inside you. "Tell the man who you’re scared of that you're dripping for his cock anyway."
"I'm yours," you moaned louder, legs wrapping around his waist despite the fear still clawing at your chest.
The blade pressed to your throat again as he fucked you harder, the danger and the pleasure twisting into something addictive, something insane.
He laughed wild and unhinged, something almost Eddie, and leaned down until the mask was pressed to your ear.
"Good girl. Now cum on my cock while I decide if I'm still gonna kill you after... or if I'm keeping you forever."
The choice, you realized through the haze of overwhelming sensation, had never really been yours to begin with.
And some shattered part of you didn't want it to be.
description: eddie munson teaches you the fine art of not giving a fuck. it starts with skipping class and smoking behind the park, escalates to trespassing, shoplifting, and ends… well, somewhere between a "stolen pool" and your first....
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, corruption, slow burn, friends to lovers, reader insert, grunge romance, slight angst, hurt/comfort but like eddie style, based on the song "teenage dirtbag" (duh), shoulder nudges as a love language, resident freak encourages delinquency, eddie doing dumb shit to make you laugh, stealing rich people's pools, shoplifting but make it cute, lowkey voyeurism, "worth the wait"
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!!, PiV, unprotected (what's new), smoking, drinking, mention of parental alcohol abuse, bullying
WC: 6.8k
A/N: requested by @ggdawgg HOPE U ENJOY BESTIE!!!
pumping out fics to distract me from crashing out and texting this man😀 also, i thought the dividers would be fitting LMAO
reblogs are always appreciated <33
enjoy loves xoxo
By the time you were old enough to understand what people were saying when they lowered their voices as you walked by, they'd already made up their minds about you anyway.
Your father had disappeared when you were seven. Some people said he ran off with another woman somewhere down in Indianapolis, others insisted he'd gotten himself arrested, and there was even an old rumor floating around The Hideout that he'd wound up dead in a ditch halfway across the state.
Your mother never corrected anyone. Most days she couldn't remember what she'd told one person from the next, usually too busy sitting on the front porch with a cigarette hanging from her lips and something stronger than beer hidden in a paper bag at her feet.
As the years passed, she became less "that poor woman whose husband left" and more "the drunk over on Maple."
Kids snickered when she stumbled through the grocery store. Adults looked away when she nodded off at church picnics. The police knew your address without needing directions.
By association, everyone knew you too.
It didn't seem to matter that you always said yes when Mrs. Henderson needed help carrying groceries to her car, or that you babysat Dustin Henderson for practically nothing because you knew they couldn't afford much more.
It didn't matter that you stayed after class to help clean paintbrushes in art or volunteered at bake sales or smiled politely at teachers who looked at you with barely concealed pity.
You ironed your own clothes because your mother wouldn't. You packed your own lunches. You left early enough every morning to stop and make sure she hadn't fallen asleep with the stove on or a cigarette lit. You did everything in your power to prove you weren't her.
Still, every time attendance got called, somebody found a reason to laugh. "There she is."
"Bet her mom's plastered already."
"My dad says their electric got shut off again."
"I heard she steals."
The funny thing was, you never actually defended yourself anymore.
You'd tried when you were younger. Tried explaining, tried arguing, tried insisting they were wrong, only to discover that people who enjoyed believing the worst about someone rarely changed their minds because of facts.
So eventually you just kept your head down, smile, take your notes, go to work after school, come home, repeat. It was easier that way.
Or at least it had been until one Tuesday afternoon when Tommy Hagan decided the cafeteria was a suitable stage and announced to half the room, "Wonder who her mom will sleep with next. My money's on Carver's dad. He's always had an infatuation with the less fortunate."
The laughter came exactly when expected, almost comforting in its consistency. You looked down at your tray, swallowed hard enough that your throat hurt, and simply kept walking.
No comeback. No tears. No scene. Just another Tuesday. You were halfway to the table by yourself when somebody else spoke instead.
"Damn."
The voice was lazy, amused in that way that always made it impossible to tell if Eddie Munson was joking or dead serious.
"What an asshole."
Tommy rolled his eyes. "Mind your business, freak."
Eddie looked around theatrically before pointing at himself. "Me? I thought I was minding it just fine."
A couple chuckles scattered through the room. Tommy scoffed and walked away with his little entourage, deciding it wasn't worth getting into another screaming match with Hawkins High's resident freak.
You figured that was the end of it. It wasn't.
The next day you sat down at your usual empty table near the windows, unpacked your lunch, and had barely taken one bite before someone dropped onto the bench across from you with all the grace of a falling tree.
You looked up. Messy curls and a grin that looked entirely too comfortable on someone who was supposedly as intimidating as everyone insisted. "Hey."
"...Hi."
He pointed across the cafeteria with his carton of milk. "That guy's still an asshole."
Despite yourself, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "I've noticed."
"I heard what he said yesterday."
"So did everybody."
"Doesn't make him less of an asshole."
You shrugged and peeled the corner off your napkin without really thinking about it. "People say stuff."
"They say stuff about me too."
You let out a tiny laugh through your nose. "Yeah, but you're Eddie Munson."
"So?"
"So... you don't seem to care."
He leaned back, studying you for a second before giving the smallest shake of his head. "Nah."
The answer came so quickly you almost believed it. He reached over and stole one of your fries before you could protest. "I care a lot."
Your eyebrows shot up.
"I just figured if everyone already thinks I'm Satan reincarnated, I might as well give 'em something interesting to gossip about."
That earned a real laugh, quiet but unmistakable. For a second, he just looked at you, then he smiled too. "There it is."
"What?"
"I've seen you around for like... two years? First time I've seen you produce a real smile."
Your face immediately warmed. "I smile."
"Nope. Not like that."
"I do."
"Haven't seen it."
"Maybe you're not looking."
"Nah, sweetheart." He popped the stolen fry into his mouth and pointed at you like he'd solved some impossible equation. "I think you've just been trying way too hard to convince everybody you're not who they already decided you are."
You looked down at your lunch again. "...Maybe."
Then, almost casually, he shrugged. "For what it's worth..."
You glanced back up.
"I don't think you've gotta convince me."
It became something of an unspoken routine after that. Nothing dramatic, nothing anybody else would've noticed if they were looking in from the outside.
Eddie would throw himself into the seat across from you at lunch like he'd been doing it his whole life, steal a handful of fries or half your dessert if you happened to bring one, complain about whichever teacher had irritated him that day, and somehow manage to make you laugh at least once before the bell rang.
He never asked to walk you home, never pried. Never asked about your mother or why your sleeves always smelled faintly of laundry detergent, or why you looked perpetually exhausted by first period.
He just... sat with you. It was strange, really. Most people in Hawkins saw you as a cautionary tale. Eddie looked at you like you were actually a person.
A week later, after another particularly bad evening of listening to your mother cry over somebody who had been gone for nearly ten years, you found yourself doing what had quietly become your own ugly little habit.
You waited until she finally passed out on the couch. Walked three blocks with your jacket pulled tight around yourself. Slipped behind the abandoned picnic shelter at the park where nobody could see you from the road.
Then, after checking over your shoulder twice despite knowing there was nobody around, you dug into your pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
You hated them. You hated the smell. You hated the taste. You hated the way your fingers smelled after.
Every single drag made your chest ache and your eyes water. But for five minutes, all you had to think about was breathing in and breathing out, nothing else.
The lighter clicked as the end began to glow orange. You leaned back against one of the support beams, staring out into the empty darkness beyond the playground.
"You know those'll kill you."
Your entire body jerked so violently you nearly dropped the cigarette.
You whipped around to find Eddie standing a few feet away with both hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, looking almost apologetic.
"Oh, my God!"
"Sorry."
"You scared the shit out of me."
"I gathered."
Your face immediately flushed as you instinctively tucked the cigarette behind your back.
For a second, he just looked at you before reaching into his own jacket pocket and pulling out a pack.
"...Really?" He held it up, "I feel like we're past pretending."
Your shoulders relaxed just enough to pull your own hand back into view. He wandered over and leaned against the wooden railing beside you, taking a drag before looking out over the empty park.
"I always figured you hated me."
Your eyebrows pulled together. "What?"
"You look at me like I'm contagious."
"I don't."
"You kinda do."
"No, I..." You laughed quietly to yourself. "I just thought you thought I was pathetic."
He turned so fast he looked genuinely confused. "Why the hell would I think that?"
You shrugged. "'Cause everybody does."
He stared at you for another second before huffing out a laugh through his nose. "Jesus."
"What?"
"You really believe that, don't you?"
You didn't answer, so he looked back out into the darkness. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why do you care so much what these assholes think?"
You looked down at the cigarette between your fingers. "I don't."
"Bullshit."
"I don't."
"You apologize when people bump into you."
"...So?"
"You help every old lady in Hawkins carry groceries. You volunteer for school shit nobody wants to do."
You sighed. "So?"
"So, none of it's for you."
Your jaw tightened. "I'm just trying to prove that I'm not..."
He finished it for you. "...your mom."
You stared at the ground. "My dad left."
He nodded once. "I know."
"I just..." You swallowed. "I keep thinking if I can just be good enough then eventually people will realize I'm not gonna end up like her."
Eddie actually laughed, not meanly, more out of disbelief.
You frowned. "What's funny?"
"They won't. They already decided who you are."
You looked over at him.
"They've had your whole life to change their minds. They haven't."
You hated how quickly tears threatened your eyes. "So what am I supposed to do?"
He looked over at you like the answer was obvious. "Fuck 'em."
You blinked. "What?"
"Fuck. Them."
"Eddie—"
"No, seriously." He flicked ash onto the pavement. "You could cure cancer tomorrow, and half this town would still whisper about your drunk mom."
You stayed quiet.
"You could save somebody's life. You could become valedictorian. You could go to church every Sunday. And Tommy Hagan's still gonna call you trailer trash because it makes him feel better about himself."
You stared out into the empty darkness.
"So stop trying."
Your eyebrows knit together. "...Stop trying?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"That's terrible advice."
"It is."
"You know it is."
"I do." Another tiny smile tugged at his mouth. "But tell me I'm wrong."
You couldn't. Because somewhere deep down, in the place you tried very hard not to look at, you knew he wasn't.
He turned to face you fully now. "You spend every damn day trying to prove to people who don't care that you're worth something."
His expression softened just a fraction. "They don't get to decide that."
He nudged your shoulder with his. "You know what I'd do?"
"What?"
"I'd give 'em something to actually bitch about."
You looked at him like he'd grown another head.
"I'm serious, “ he grinned. "Skip class."
"No."
"Steal a stop sign."
"No."
"Spray paint Principal Higgins' parking spot."
"Eddie."
"I'm brainstorming."
Despite yourself, a laugh escaped, and he pointed at you immediately. "See? You’re considering it!"
You rolled your eyes. "You're a bad influence."
He smiled wider. "Nah."
He bumped your shoulder again. "I just think life's a hell of a lot easier when you stop begging people to like you."
You looked back down at the cigarette between your fingers. Then quietly asked, "And if they hate me?"
His answer came so fast it almost overlapped the question. "They already do."
You frowned, and he shrugged. "So you might as well have some fun."
By the time you got home that night, your mother's bedroom door was shut. You didn't bother checking if she was asleep; you already knew she was.
The television droned quietly from the living room, throwing blue light across the peeling wallpaper while an empty bottle sat on its side where she'd left it earlier in the evening.
You stood there for a second, keys still dangling loosely from your fingertips, looking at the familiar scene with the same detached exhaustion you'd carried for years before quietly setting your bag down and making your way toward your room.
You should've done your homework. Should've packed your lunch. Should've folded the load of laundry that had been sitting in the dryer since yesterday. Instead, you sat on the edge of your bed and stared at your bedroom window.
"So stop trying."
The words refused to leave your head. You'd spent so much of your life worrying about what people thought of you that the idea of simply... not caring felt impossible.
You almost laughed when you got to the picnic shelter and found him already there.
Eddie was sitting on top of one of the weathered tables with one boot planted on the bench beneath him, lazily flipping a guitar pick between his fingers like he'd been expecting you all along.
The second he noticed you, the corner of his mouth curled upward. "I was beginning to think you were responsible."
"I am responsible."
"Ah. My mistake."
You rolled your eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Hanging out."
"By yourself?"
"For about..." he checked an imaginary watch on his wrist. "...forty-seven minutes."
"That's kind of sad."
"It is."
You stood there awkwardly for another second before shoving your hands into your jacket pockets. "So..."
"So,” then he suddenly hopped down from the table. "Wanna commit a crime?"
You blinked. "...Excuse me?"
He pointed dramatically toward the road. "Nothing huge."
"Eddie."
"Nothing illegal-illegal."
"Eddie."
"Victimless." He grinned, "Mostly."
You stared at him, and he stared back. "...I'm kidding."
You visibly relaxed.
Then he added, "Unless you say yes."
"I am not committing a crime."
He shrugged. "Suit yourself."
He started walking anyway. Curiosity got the better of you after about twenty feet.
"...Where are you going?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "Benny's."
"The diner?"
"The abandoned diner."
"It's closed."
"Very observant."
"Eddie."
"What?"
"We can't just..."
He raised an eyebrow. "...Walk inside?"
"Yes."
"Sure we can."
"No, we can't."
"We absolutely can."
"No."
He looked at you for a second before smiling that stupid smile again. "You comin' or what, sweetheart?"
You should've gone home; you knew that. You knew it with absolute certainty. Instead, after one quick glance up and down the empty road...you followed him.
The chain-link fence surrounding the old property had long since been bent out of shape in one corner, creating an opening just wide enough to squeeze through if you turned sideways.
Eddie slipped through first with practiced ease before holding the fence open for you with an exaggerated little bow.
"M'lady."
"This is trespassing."
"It absolutely is."
He didn't even sound concerned. You ducked through anyway.
The parking lot was cracked apart with weeds growing through the pavement, faded yellow lines barely visible beneath years of neglect. The old sign still hung crookedly above the building, half the letters missing, while dark windows reflected only the moonlight overhead.
You suddenly became very aware of how quiet everything was.
"Eddie..."
"Hm?"
"What if somebody sees us?"
"They'll think we're teenagers."
"We are teenagers."
"Exactly."
He reached the side entrance and gave the handle a tug. Locked.
He frowned dramatically. "Foiled."
A second later, he leaned down, reached beneath a loose cinder block, and triumphantly pulled out a rusty spare key.
Your jaw dropped. "Eddie."
"What?"
"How did you know that was there?"
He slid it into the lock. "I have my secrets."
The door creaked open with enough noise to make you physically cringe.
Dust floated lazily through the beams of moonlight pouring in through broken windows while overturned stools still rested upside down on counters exactly where they'd been left years before. Everything smelled faintly of mildew and old coffee.
You looked around slowly. "This is..."
"Kinda cool?"
"Kinda creepy."
"I'll take that."
The two of you wandered quietly through the empty diner, your fingers ghosting over chipped countertops and faded booths, every little sound seeming amplified in the silence.
You paused in front of one of the old menus still bolted to the counter.
Cheeseburger. $2.15. Coffee. 40¢.
You smiled to yourself. Then all the lights overhead suddenly flickered.
You froze. "Eddie."
No answer. "Eddie?" Silence.
You slowly turned, and he was gone.
"...Eddie."
A low voice echoed somewhere deeper inside the kitchen. "You should not have entered this place..."
You immediately covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.
"...for many years..." The voice dropped lower. "...the spirit of Benjamin has wandered these halls..."
You rounded the corner to find Eddie standing half-hidden behind the old serving window with both hands raised dramatically in the air, eyes rolled upward in what had to be the worst ghost impression ever performed by a human being.
"...searching eternally..."
His voice deepened another octave. "...for the teenager who last desecrated this place."
You snorted. He continued anyway. "...many have entered..."
He slowly pointed toward an old stain on the floor. "...none have survived..."
Your shoulders were already shaking. He took one giant theatrical step forward. "...except Gary."
You blinked. "...Who's Gary?"
He pointed randomly toward an overturned booth. "I don't know, some virgin, probably."
Another pause. "He seems alright."
That was it. A laugh burst out of you so suddenly and so loudly that it echoed through the entire empty building, the kind that made your stomach hurt.
When you finally caught your breath enough to look back at him, Eddie wasn't talking anymore.
He was just standing there with his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, looking at you with the tiniest smile you'd ever seen on him.
"What?"
He shook his head once. "Nothing."
"What?"
"I just..." He looked down at the floor before letting out a quiet little laugh. "I don't think anybody's made you laugh in a really long time."
The smile faded from your face, replaced by something softer.
"...No."
He nodded as if he'd already known the answer. Then he looked around the abandoned diner before grabbing an old salt shaker off one of the tables and setting it carefully on top of the jukebox.
You frowned. "What are you doing?"
He looked back with complete seriousness. "Leaving evidence."
Your eyes widened. "Eddie."
"Gotta keep 'em guessing, hon."
Looking back on it later, you wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the exact moment things started getting out of hand. There wasn't some grand declaration, no dramatic pact.
No night where you suddenly decided to become a completely different person. It happened the way sunsets happened, so slowly you didn't notice until it was already dark.
The first "crime" had been wandering through Benny's abandoned diner and leaving a saltshaker on the jukebox as “proof of entry”.
Then it was climbing onto the roof of Hawkins High after midnight just to watch the stars because Eddie insisted they looked better from up there.
Then it was buying one gas station soda and sharing it because neither of you had enough money for two. Then it was skipping the last period on Fridays because "Coach barely takes attendance anyway."
Then somehow...
You found yourself sitting on top of Skull Rock with your legs dangling over the edge, a warm beer balanced between your knees while Eddie attempted to explain why Black Sabbath was objectively superior to every other band in existence.
"I don't think objective means what you think it means."
"It absolutely does."
"No."
"It does when I'm right."
"You are impossible."
"I'm also correct."
You took another sip and immediately grimaced. "This tastes disgusting."
He looked genuinely offended. "It's beer."
"It's awful."
"You'll acquire the taste."
"I don't want to."
"You will."
"I won't."
Three weeks later, you'd stolen half of his can before he'd even asked. The scary part wasn't that you were changing; it was how easy it was.
One Saturday afternoon the two of you wandered aimlessly through Starcourt with exactly eleven dollars between you, neither of you intending to buy anything because neither of you could afford to.
You drifted through little novelty shops, picking up snow globes and cheap plastic rings and tiny stuffed animals before putting them back exactly where they belonged.
Eddie stopped in front of a rack of ridiculous keychains. He picked up one shaped like a tiny rubber chicken. Held it up, looked at you, looked back at the keychain, then quietly slipped it into his jacket pocket with all the subtlety of someone hiding a television.
Your eyes widened. "Eddie."
"What?"
"You just stole that."
"I did no such thing."
"I watched you."
"You have no proof."
"I literally saw it."
He leaned in conspiratorially. "Allegedly."
Five minutes later, he casually dropped the little rubber chicken into your hands while pretending to examine baseball caps. "For you."
You looked down at it. "...Why?"
He shrugged. "It looked stupid."
You laughed. "I love him."
"I knew you would."
The next store over, your eyes landed on an embarrassingly ugly pair of fuzzy six-sided dice hanging from a rotating display. Purple. Covered in silver glitter. Absolutely hideous.
You looked around once, twice. Your heart hammered so loudly you were convinced everybody could hear it. Then your hand darted out almost involuntarily before shoving them into your pocket. You practically speed-walked out of the store.
By the time Eddie caught up with you outside, your face was bright red.
He stared. "...Did you?"
You silently pulled the fuzzy dice from your jacket. For exactly three seconds, he looked completely speechless. Then he started laughing so hard he had to lean against the side of the building.
"You committed a felony for ugly fuzzy dice."
"I know."
"They're hideous."
"I know."
"I love them."
You shoved them into his chest. "They're yours."
His smile softened almost immediately. "For me?"
"They looked like something you'd hang in the van."
He looked down at them, then back at you, then quietly looped them around his fingers. "They're the nicest thing anybody's ever stolen for me."
From then on, it became something of a game. Nothing valuable and certainly nothing useful. Just tiny, ridiculous little things.
A plastic dinosaur. A guitar pick with flames on it. A novelty lighter that barely worked. A little ceramic gnome. An ugly pin with a smiling hot dog on it. Cheap friendship bracelets. A pair of sunglasses with one cracked lens.
Each one ending up in the other's pocket with no explanation beyond, "Saw it. Thought of you."
It wasn't about having things; neither of you really had anything. It was about choosing something absurd and deciding that it belonged to the other person.
The biggest offense came a month later. You and Eddie sat in the grass across from the Hawkins water tower while he shook a can of black spray paint absentmindedly.
He looked at it, then at the tower, then at you, then back at the tower. "...Terrible idea."
"Horrible."
"We absolutely shouldn't."
"Nope."
Silence.
"...Wanna?"
You looked at the water tower, looked back at him. Thought about every report card you'd brought home. Every teacher you'd smiled politely at. Every grocery bag you'd carried for strangers. Every time someone had looked at your mother's face and decided they knew yours too.
Then you looked back at Eddie. "...Yeah."
The climb was terrifying; your knees shook the entire way up. Halfway up, you almost turned around. So, when he noticed your hesitation, he reached down, grabbed your hand without saying a word, and helped pull you onto the platform.
Your breathing hadn't settled by the time he handed you the spray can. "You do it."
Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. "No."
"You should."
"I can't."
"Sure you can."
"I've never spray-painted anything."
"So make it memorable."
You looked over the sleeping town stretched out beneath you. Every little house. Every little street. Every little person who thought they already knew exactly how your story ended.
Your thumb pressed down as the black paint hissed into the cool night air. In embarrassingly uneven letters, you wrote exactly two words.
FUCK 'EM.
You stared at it. Then immediately covered your mouth with both hands as laughter escaped you. Not because it was particularly funny, but because it felt impossible.
Eddie looked at the words, then started laughing too. The kind that echoed into the darkness. When the laughter finally died down, he bumped your shoulder with his.
Quietly, almost fondly. "I like you a lot better like this."
You looked over. "...Like what?"
He smiled at the town below. "The version of you that isn't apologizing for existing."
One day, Eddie's shoulder would brush yours, and you'd think nothing of it. Next, you'd find yourself looking around the cafeteria for him before you even realized you were doing it. Then suddenly every stupid thing he did became inexplicably funny.
Every time he walked into a room, your eyes followed him without permission. Every time he leaned over your shoulder to point something out in a comic book or hand you the lighter or steal your cigarette, your brain seemed to short-circuit for reasons you couldn't quite explain.
You tried very hard not to think about it. Mostly because it was Eddie; everybody knew Eddie flirted with everyone.
Everybody knew Eddie called half the female population of Hawkins "sweetheart." Everybody knew Eddie was just... Eddie.
Besides, you had more important things to worry about than some embarrassingly obvious crush.
Which was exactly what you were trying to tell yourself while staring at him instead of paying attention to whatever story he was currently in the middle of telling.
He stopped midsentence. "...Hello?"
Your eyes blinked. "Hm?"
"I lost you."
"I was listening."
"You absolutely were not."
"I was."
"What did I just say?"
You looked at him confidently. "...Something profound."
He burst out laughing. "Sweetheart, I was talking about Wayne accidentally super-gluing his fingers together."
"See? Profound."
He shook his head. "You are hopeless." The unfortunate part was that he wasn't entirely wrong.
By the time Founders Day rolled around, the rest of Hawkins seemed determined to spend the afternoon pretending the town was charming.
Children ran around with balloons tied to their wrists. Families wandered between food stands. Music drifted through the streets. Little American flags poked out of flower pots and storefront windows.
You and Eddie were approximately as interested as two stray cats.
Instead, the pair of you disappeared into the woods behind one of the nicer neighborhoods bordering town, settling beneath a cluster of trees, swapping what seemed like endless amounts of joints back and forth.
The conversation drifted lazily from one topic to another, interrupted every few minutes by laughter over absolutely nothing.
At some point, Eddie had ended up stretched out flat on his back beside you, one arm folded behind his head while the other lazily pointed up through the branches.
"I still think that cloud looks like Ozzy Osbourne."
You squinted. "...That's a squirrel."
"A very metal squirrel."
"It has ears."
"So does Ozzy."
"I don't think that's his defining characteristic."
He looked over at you. "I think you're judging me."
"I absolutely am."
He clutched dramatically at his chest. "How rude!"
The breeze pushed through the leaves overhead while somewhere in the distance fireworks cracked faintly against the afternoon sky. You rolled onto your side to look at him, but he was already looking at you.
Neither of you immediately looked away. Your stomach did something deeply inconvenient. So naturally… you blurted out the first ridiculous thing that came to mind.
"...Let's go swimming."
He looked around. "In...the forest?"
"No."
"Okay."
You pointed vaguely through the trees toward the expensive houses on Loc Norah beyond them.
"The rich people."
His eyebrows lifted. "The rich people?"
"They all have pools."
"They do."
"They're all at Founders Day."
"They probably are."
"So..." He slowly sat up. "...Are you suggesting we trespass?"
You smiled innocently. "No…I'm suggesting we very politely borrow their pool."
He stared at you for a long moment, then a grin spread slowly across his face. "Holy shit."
"What?"
"You've officially become the bad influence."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
"I think it's community service."
He laughed so hard he had to put his head in his hands. "Community service."
"They aren't using it."
"You are unbelievable."
"So are you coming or not?"
He stood up, brushing leaves off his jeans. "I'd follow you into active traffic at this point."
The neighborhood was eerily quiet. Massive houses sat empty beneath the afternoon sun, perfectly trimmed hedges lining pristine walkways that looked like nobody had ever actually walked on them.
You both crouched behind somebody's decorative bushes, trying very hard—and failing—not to laugh.
Eddie whispered, "We're gonna get arrested."
"No, we're not."
"We absolutely are."
"We're invisible."
"You are giggling."
"I'm whisper-giggling."
"That's somehow worse."
You covered your mouth, shoulders shaking anyway. Finally, you reached the backyard fence.
You looked at Eddie. "...Well?"
He vaulted over first before reaching a hand back for you. The second your feet hit the grass, the two of you looked around one last time before dissolving into another fit of laughter for absolutely no reason other than the absurdity of existing there.
Eddie looked over at the perfectly still water before glancing back at you. "So... now what?"
You shrugged. "I don't know."
"We didn't exactly think this through."
"No."
Then, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, you kicked your shoes off and sprinted across the backyard.
His eyebrows shot up. "Wait—" You didn't.
You reached the edge of the pool and jumped anyway, the splash echoing through the quiet neighborhood before your head broke back through the surface a second later, immediately pushing your soaked hair out of your face.
The first thing you saw was Eddie still standing exactly where you'd left him, staring at you in complete disbelief.
You grinned. "C'mon!"
"We are absolutely getting arrested."
"We're already trespassing."
"Fair point."
He looked around one last time before muttering, "Fuck it," kicking off his own boots and launching himself in after you.
The resulting wave soaked both of you, earning another uncontrollable fit of laughter as he surfaced, coughing dramatically and slicking his curls back out of his face.
"Oh, that's cold."
"It's the middle of July."
"It's still cold."
You rolled your eyes. "You're ridiculous."
"I've been told."
For the next ten minutes neither of you did much of anything besides drift lazily around the pool and make complete idiots of yourselves.
You splashed him, and he retaliated by creating a tidal wave large enough to drench your face. You accused him of attempted murder. He insisted it was self-defense.
At one point he disappeared entirely beneath the water only to grab your ankle a second later, making you shriek loud enough that both of you immediately froze and looked toward the dark house.
Nothing happened. The silence lasted exactly three seconds before the two of you were laughing all over again. Eventually the laughter faded on its own, and the water settled with it.
You floated onto your back, staring up at the stars beginning to appear overhead while distant music from the Founders Day fair drifted faintly through the trees.
For a little while, neither of you spoke. You were just... there. Weightless. Peaceful. You turned your head just enough to find Eddie floating only a few feet away, looking over at you instead of the sky.
"What?"
He smiled. "Nothin'."
"No, what?"
He shrugged. "I just don't think I've ever seen you look..."
He searched for the word. "...happy."
Your expression softened. "I don't think I have been."
He drifted a little closer without seeming to realize he was doing it. "So..."
"So?"
"I'm glad you're here."
Your stomach immediately betrayed you. "I'm glad you're here too."
The distance just seemed to disappear all on its own until your shoulders brushed beneath the water, creating tiny ripples that spread lazily across the otherwise still surface.
You looked at him. His curls were dripping into his eyes, his denim vest abandoned somewhere in the grass, his stupid rings catching little flashes of moonlight every time his hand skimmed through the water.
He looked back at you with that same familiar softness he'd somehow always reserved just for these quiet moments.
His voice came out barely louder than the water around you. "...Can I kiss you?"
Your ears turned pink. "I was kinda hoping you'd ask."
The kiss itself was awkward in the sweetest possible way, interrupted almost immediately by the fact that neither of you had accounted for the simple logistics of trying to kiss while floating.
You bumped noses. He accidentally laughed into your mouth. You both pulled back, laughing just as hard, trying again only to nearly lose your balance and send another wave sloshing between you.
"Oh, my God."
"I'm trying."
"I can tell."
"I'm doing my best here."
"You suck at this."
"I've literally never kissed you before."
"Fair."
He looked at you for another second before gently reaching up and brushing a wet strand of hair away from your face. Then, slower, he leaned in again.
Just the quiet press of his lips against yours while the water rocked softly around you and fireworks bloomed somewhere beyond the trees, hidden from view. When you finally pulled apart, you stayed close enough that your foreheads rested together.
Then Eddie let out the tiniest laugh. "So..."
The water lapped gently around your shoulders as you stayed close, foreheads still touching, breaths mingling with the faint chlorine scent and the distant pop of fireworks.
Eddie’s eyes were dark in the low light, that familiar mix of chaos and softness that always made your chest ache in the best way.
“So?” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.
His thumb brushed your jaw, slow and reverent, like he was still processing that this was real. “So… I’ve been wanting to do that for a stupid amount of time.”
“Yeah?” You tilted your head, letting your nose graze his. “Took you long enough, Munson.”
He huffed a laugh against your mouth and closed the distance again. This kiss was less clumsy, and more certain.
His hand slid into your wet hair, holding you steady as the water rocked you both. Your arms looped around his neck, bodies pressing closer beneath the surface, legs brushing in the cool depths.
Somewhere along the way, it turned hungry, tongues meeting in a slow, exploratory glide that sent heat pooling low in your belly despite the chill of the pool.
He tasted like summer and stolen moments, and when he nipped at your bottom lip, you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped you.
Eddie pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again, breathing hard. “Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”
You grinned, fingers tracing the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “Not yet.”
Another kiss, messier this time, laughter bubbling up between you as you both tried to stay afloat without completely tipping over. His hands roamed down your back, over your hips, pulling you flush against him.
You could feel him, half-hard already through his soaked jeans, and the realization made you bold. You rocked against him experimentally, earning a low groan that vibrated through his chest.
“Sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice rough. He glanced toward the dark house, then back at you, eyes gleaming with that reckless spark you loved. “You wanna do something really illegal?”
Your pulse jumped. “Define illegal.”
He jerked his head toward the cabana at the far end of the pool: a fancy little pool house with wide glass doors, loungers visible inside, probably some rich asshole’s private oasis.
“In there. With you. Right now.”
You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks even as excitement coiled tight in your core. “Yeah. I do.”
He kissed you once more, quick and fierce, then helped boost you out of the pool. You both dripped across the grass, giggling like idiots as you tried to stay quiet, shoes forgotten somewhere behind you.
The cabana door was unlocked, because of course it was in a neighborhood like this, and Eddie ushered you inside first, sliding the door shut behind him with a soft click.
A wide daybed took up most of one wall, piled with towels and cushions. Eddie turned to you, water still dripping from his curls, his expression suddenly softer.
“You sure?” he asked, voice low. “We can just make out. Or not. Whatever you want.”
You stepped closer, peeling your soaked shirt over your head and letting it drop with a wet slap.
“I’m sure. I mean, I haven’t, like, done it with anyone else before. But I’ve… you know.” Your voice dropped, a little shy but steady. “I know what I like.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “Shit. That’s… yeah. Okay. Fuck, that’s hot.” He reached for you, hands gentle on your waist as he walked you back toward the daybed. “Tell me what feels good, alright? We go slow.”
Clothes came off in a tangle of wet fabric and breathless laughs. Your shorts and underwear, his jeans sticking stubbornly until you both nearly fell over trying to help. Naked, he was all lean muscle and ink and those damn rings he didn’t even think to take off.
He laid you down on the soft cushions, hovering over you, kissing you deeply as his hand slid between your thighs.
You were already slick, and when his fingers found your clit, circling with surprising patience, you arched into him with a gasp. “Eddie—”
“Like that?” he murmured against your neck, kissing down to your collarbone. He took his time, learning you, adding a finger when you rocked against his hand and whispered for more.
The stretch was new but welcome, especially with the way he praised you in that wrecked voice, so good, so wet for me, fuck you’re perfect, until you were trembling on the edge.
When you finally tugged him up, legs wrapping around his hips, he looked at you reverently. “Still good?”
“Yeah. Want you inside me.”
He groaned, reaching down to line himself up. The first push was slow, careful, the blunt head of his cock stretching you open.
It burned a little, but you breathed through it, hands in his hair, urging him deeper.
“More,” you whispered, surprising even yourself with how steady you sounded. “I can take it.”
Eddie’s hips stuttered, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna ruin me.”
He sank in inch by inch, gentle but relentless, until he was buried to the hilt. You both stilled, foreheads pressed together again, breaths ragged.
“You okay?” he asked, voice strained.
You rolled your hips experimentally and moaned at the full feeling. “Move, Eddie. Please.”
So, he did. Slow, deep thrusts that built steadily, his mouth on yours, on your neck, whispering filthy-sweet things between kisses.
You surprised him again when you clenched around him deliberately, nails digging into his back, urging him faster.
The gentle rhythm shifted, turning hotter, needier. He hit that perfect spot inside you, and you cried out, legs tightening around him.
“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you,” he panted, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit. The pressure coiled tighter, and when it finally snapped, you came hard around him, pulling him over the edge with you.
Eddie buried his face in your neck, groaning your name as he spilled deep inside, hips jerking through the aftershocks.
For a long moment, you just held each other, hearts pounding, skin slick with pool water and sweat. He kissed your temple, lazy and soft. “Holy shit.”
You laughed breathlessly. “Yeah.”
Then, the backyard floodlights snapped on with a harsh buzz. Voices carried faintly from the house. “What the hell—?”
“Shit!” Eddie’s eyes went wide. You both scrambled up, grabbing clothes in a frantic tangle, still half-naked and laughing hysterically as you bolted for the door.
He yanked it open, you shoved his jeans at him mid-run, and the two of you sprinted across the grass toward the fence, wet footprints and discarded shirts left in your chaotic wake.
“Run, you beautiful criminal!” he wheezed between laughs, boosting you over the fence first.
You dropped to the other side, heart racing, adrenaline singing in your veins as he landed beside you. Hand in hand, still giggling like maniacs, you disappeared into the night, clothes askew, bodies buzzing, the stolen moment burning bright between you.
You'd never run so fast in your entire life.
The second somebody inside the house had shouted, every coherent thought in your brain had completely evaporated, replaced entirely by blind panic and the overwhelming instinct to get as far away from the expensive neighborhood as physically possible.
"Eddie!"
"I'm running!"
"I can see that!"
"Then why are you yelling my name?"
"Because I'm freaking out!"
"So am I!"
You were both laughing despite yourselves, tripping over roots and ducking beneath low branches as you tore through the woods with absolutely zero concern for where you were actually going.
Somewhere behind you, a dog barked.
You immediately grabbed Eddie's arm. "Oh, my God."
"It's fine."
"What if they're following us?"
"They're definitely following us."
"Eddie!"
"I'm kidding!"
"You are the least reassuring person alive!"
He reached back long enough to catch your hand, practically dragging you over a fallen log before the familiar outline of his van finally appeared through the trees.
"There she is," he breathed dramatically.
"My hero."
He fumbled with his keys, somehow dropping them twice before finally getting the door unlocked.
The second you both climbed inside, he slammed the doors shut, and the silence that followed seemed almost deafening.
You just sat there trying to catch your breath, exchanging one look before immediately dissolving into helpless laughter all over again.
"I cannot believe we just did that."
"I cannot believe we got caught."
"I cannot believe you said we were 'politely borrowing the pool.'"
"We were!"
"Eddie."
"We gave it back."
You laughed so hard your stomach hurt. He reached behind the driver's seat and blindly started digging through the pile of jackets, shirts, and miscellaneous clutter that permanently seemed to live in the back of the van.
Eventually, he triumphantly pulled out an old Hellfire shirt and tossed it into your lap. "It's clean."
You held it up skeptically. "...How clean?"
He paused. "...Cleaner than the floor."
"I'll take it."
You disappeared behind the open side door just long enough to tug it on before climbing back inside, the oversized sleeves swallowing your hands almost entirely.
The shirt smelled faintly of laundry detergent, weed, and whatever incense Eddie occasionally remembered to fumigate the van with after cyph sessions.
It was strangely comforting.
When you looked back over, he was already looking at you, and there was that stupid grin again.
"What?"
"Nothin'."
"Eddie."
"Nothin'."
"You keep looking at me."
"'Cause you're wearing my shirt."
"So?"
"So..." He rubbed the back of his neck with a laugh, suddenly looking far less confident than usual. "Looks nice."
Your face warmed immediately. "You think?"
"I know."
The adrenaline had started wearing off, replaced by something quieter. Something that suddenly made the cramped little van feel very small.
Eddie leaned back against the driver's seat, studying you with an expression that was almost disbelieving. Then he let out a quiet laugh to himself and shook his head.
"What?"
He looked at you again. "I've been wanting to kiss you for, like..." He paused dramatically, "...an embarrassingly long time."
You smiled. "I noticed."
"And now I finally can." His smile widened.
"...Yeah."
He reached over, tucking a strand of wet, messy hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness before pressing another quick kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally another soft one to your lips.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for just a second and muttered with a little laugh, "Fucking finally."
You couldn't help smiling. "Took you long enough."
He looked mock-offended. "Me?"
"Absolutely you."
He pointed at himself. "I was being respectful."
"You were being a coward."
He gasped dramatically. "I have a reputation to uphold."
"You have many things."
"And?"
"Coward is one of them."
He laughed, nudging your shoulder. "Yeah..."
His voice was quieter this time. "Worth the wait, though."
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No the ending to the season 2 of the pitt finale wasn't horrible, don't bomb the show because you dislike some things. It's not Grey's Anatomy, when will you hoes get that in your thick skulls.
Im so bored of the possessive "you're mine" bullshit in fanfics. Like, what happened to sharing is caring? Baby I'm not going to Paris I want a trip around the world.
A bitch is so lame when they're your friend and you comment under their post and they ignore it. Like i am not your fan get your ass over here right now.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Headcanon all you want duh you have freedom. But I need yall to stop making every gay relationship tiny sub twink and big bulging muscle mean scary dom. Whitaker and Robby do not fit those boxes man.
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