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mara-xx217 · 3 years

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The Monster’ Favorite (3): Fun with Mr. Puddles Part 2 Feat. Ghostie! [can read here on AO3 or under the cut!]

Part One

You Wanted MORE...

Curiosity

Parings: The Clown/Reader/Ghostface

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Swearing, Humiliation, Degradation, Non-Con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Filming/Photography, Deep Throat, Threesome, Knife Play, Breath Play

Mr. Puddles decides that you're too cute to let go, so he decides to take you home! Little does he know, an uninvited guest makes himself at home and offers an interesting proposal.

It didn’t take long for the Clown to sacrifice the remaining survivors in the trial. They tried to put up a fight, but when Jeffery Hawks wants someone dead, they fucking die. The Entity can do with only three sacrifices this round, right? He’s always been a diligent killer and deserves to indulge a little for once.

He has you slung over his shoulder, completely limp and snoring and dead to the world around you. You were drooling all over his Mr. Puddles getup, but it was a small price to pay to have some fun. Once he brings you back to his small caravan, you’ll get to see what a good time really is.

The Clown steps up on to his makeshift home and enters. It’s cramp, smells like cheap liquor and piss, and messy as hell, but it’s his little shithole, and no one could say otherwise. He tosses your limp body onto the partially broken bed situated in a far corner. You bounce up comically, but don’t awaken, just snore and curl in on yourself slightly.

You look pretty cute, with dried blood and cum on your face. Still topless, but you have those daisy dukes on that show just the right amount of the curve of your ass. He can see a red handprint peeking out from under your partially exposed panties. He gives the fat of your ass a squeeze. Soft and pliable, just how he likes it. Not too much, but more than enough to watch bounce and jiggle when he fucks you silly. He’s already hard thinking about it.

The Clown shuffles over to the vanity sitting against the wall opposite of the bed. He grabs a bottle sitting on it and chugs half of it quickly. He inspects his reflection in the cracked mirror. Looking good, Mr. Puddles! He chuckles to himself. He always did like his alter ego. Thinking of how he face fucked you with this dumb costume on riled him up even more. Maybe he should use him more?

Click!

What the-?! The Clown quickly turns around, chucking the bottle towards the unknown sound. Someone’s got a lot of nerve coming in his domain..! He’s gonna kill them with his bare hands, then fuck you senseless!

“Woah, there! Not expecting company there, bozo?” A snide, condescending voice remarked. There’s only one lil punk that has a camera that would and could sneak up on the Clown like that.

“What do ya want, Ghostfreak? Can’t ya see that I have company?” He gestures to your passed out form, still completely knocked out from the tonic he used earlier.

“Yeeeah, ‘bout that… I saw what you were doing- big fan, by the way- and thought it’d be a good idea to capture it on film! You know, for posterity’s sake…” Ghostface holds up both a camera and a camcorder to the Clowns face.

The Clown gave him a dirty look, though it couldn’t be seen under the mascot head. It pissed him off that this stalker freak just waltz up to his place like he owned the joint and just did whatever the fuck he wanted, but…

“Record it for posterity’s sake, eh?” He looked at your helpless, half naked form. He usually doesn’t like sharing his toys, especially when they are as slutty and soft as you are, but there was something tantalizing about Ghostface’s offer. Taking pictures and recording this encounter would be fun, and he could relive it as many times as he likes… And knowing that this freak has it too, meant that you’d be forever marked as a slut that fucks whatever killer comes her way…

“…I want copies.”

“‘Course! Hell, I’m gonna make copies for every damn person in the Entity’s realm! Think it can be a worthwhile enterprise! So, what do ya say?” He jostled the Clowns' side with his elbow. He’s really pushing it, but hey, he said that he’s gonna have fun, so might as well go all the way, right? And the prospect of your fellow survivors seeing you get railed by a killer and enjoying yourself pretty much sealed the deal. They’ll never trust you again. And you’d come crawling back, eventually.

“Eh, fuck it. Why not? Always wanted to make my own porno, anyways.” He shrugged, rolling up the sleeves of his Mr. Puddles getup.

“Sweet! This is gonna be awesome! I wanna get in on the action, too! But, uh, you get first dibs on whatever, ‘course.” Ghostface said excitedly, bouncing from foot to foot while clutching his cameras to his chest. Ugh, he’s a damn nuisance, but whatever. It’ll be interesting sharing you between the two of them. It’ll certainly make for entertaining viewing…

“Ugh, quit actin like a pussy and get yer shit set up already.” The Clown growled impatiently. His cock is painfully hard and he wants to fuck you, already. Though, he should grab more of that tonic for when you wake up. Need to keep you all doped up and willing for this to work, after all.

Ghostface got his tech in order, turning on the camcorder and filming your sleeping face. It was so cute! He couldn’t help but to pinch your cheeks. You grumble in protest, but do nothing else. Off to the side, the Clown grabbed another tonic, especially for you. You truly are one lucky girl.

Setting the bottle on a nearby end table, The Clown pushed you so you were now laying on your back, large breasts now exposed fully.He massages one, then the other, flicking a finger over one of your nipples. You groan groggily. Ghostface makes sure to get a good angle on your face twisting up in arousal and confusion.

The Clown kept toying with your breasts for a moment, watching your nipples perk up from the stimulation. He slid the elephant head up slightly to take one of your rosy buds in his mouth, sucking and rolling it between his teeth. You arch your back and moan softly in response. A leather clad hand smooths down your thigh, then back up, then down again. You began to shift uncomfortably, becoming sensitive to all the intimate contact. You were beginning to wake up. Perfect.

A hot, wet tongue licked a stripe from the valley of your breasts to your navel, dipping and swirling circles into your belly button. You squirm and jolt awake suddenly, squeaking from the intense ticklish feeling. Ghostface steps back and makes sure he captures the moment in its entirety.

You blink, bleary eyed and completely disoriented. Head still reeling from the Clown’s drug, you tried to run the sleep from your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Well, well! Look who finally decided to wake up and join in on the fun!” A gruff voice barked over you. You had no idea what they were talking about, or who it was, for that matter. Just that your face aches like hell and you feel oddly wet in weird places… Wait, what’s that red light..?

“Here, girly! You look like you could use a drink!” Before you could even contemplate what was being offered, liquid was being poured all over your face. Sputtering and coughing, you tried to cover your face with one of your hands, but it only ended up splashing all over your exposed torso. Still, some got in your mouth (and other orifices) and you suddenly felt deja vu. Didn’t this just happen..?

The bottle was pressed firmly to your lips and you were forced to down the rest of it. It was that familiar sickly sweet taste that burned like cheap alcohol. You partially choke on it, some of the offending liquid gushed out of your nose. Now, that fucking hurts-… Oh. Oh shit. You blink drowsily. Damn, did it just get really hot all the sudden..?

“Wow, that shit works good! You’re gonna have to make me some, at some point!” It’s a different voice. Softer. Smoother. Somehow, more predatory. The heat pools between your legs. You begin to squirm.

“Mmm, is hot…” You mumble, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead. Your skin feels tingly and over sensitive. A gloved hand stroked your cheek. It's cool and you chase the fleeting sensation. Someone overhead you chuckles softly. It makes your skin crawl pleasantly.

“Feeling good, darlin?” The gruff voice purred. There was pink… A pink elephant… Hey, you remember that! Well, sort of, anyways. It’s all a blur, but you remember feeling really good. You want to feel that again. That, and much much more.

“Mm-Mr. Puddles..? Wha-?” There is laughter above you again. You pout.

“Holy shit, you’re too cute baby~” a voice cooed from the shadows, the hand on your cheek going to pinch it. No, wait. Not in the shadows, just someone wearing dark clothing and a familiar white mask…

The bed dips dramatically as Mr. Puddles moves to kneel between your legs. You looked down, blankly watching him pull out a knife. It gleams sharply in the dim light of the caravan. It looks rusty.

“Mmm, knife play. My favorite~” The masked man said, brushing stray locks of hair from your face. He needs to make sure he gets all your wonderful reactions. This is going to be one of his favorite works yet.

A hole is ripped in the crotch of your pants and your panties, leaving your most intimate bits exposed to the cool air. You shiver, excitement tightening in your core. Hands roughly grip the swell of your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. They pull you down a ways, closer to the pink mascot. Your pussy twitches in anticipation.

“Hmm~ You work on her down there, I work on her up here?” The squeak of leather fingers entering your mouth turned you on. You started to suck and lick the prodding fingers. You liked the texture of the leather on your tongue. You imagined what they would feel like in your cunt…

“Sounds good to me, Ghostfreak.” A calloused finger ran up and down your wet slit, causing your hips to buck involuntarily. Your moan was muffled by the fingers fucking your mouth.

Black leather chased the slippery appendage in your mouth, rolling it between long, slender fingers that occasionally reached down past your gag reflex, practically throat fucking you. You gag and drool all over them.

Between your legs, a finger dips into your wet folds, toying with your entrance. Teasing you. You moan loudly, desperately needing more stimulation. Legs trembling, you spread them further, trying to encourage more contact.

You look up into the camcorder Ghostface has trained on your face. You aren’t sure what’s happening anymore, but you feel good and seeing that camera makes you even hornier. You don’t know why, but you want to put on a good show and please the two men fondling you. Finally, you get to be the good slut you always wanted to be. The thought makes you giddy.

You paw at the tent in Ghostface’s pants. You really want a hard cock in your mouth, right now. He chuckled lowly and loosens his belt, allowing you to free his cock. It practically smacks you in the nose, allowing you to inhale his natural musk. You bury your face in it. The smell makes your mouth water and your head spin. Running his hand through your hair, Ghostface guides your face against his dick, poking the tip against your lips. You hungrily open your mouth and stick your tongue out, allowing him to set the pace to his liking. It’s deep, rough, and fast. Just how you like it.

A rough hand squeezed the fat of your thigh as a finger slowly fucked your twitching cunt. It was thick and textured and it dragged against you deliciously. It’s been too long since you’ve been fucked… A sharp slap to your thigh makes you cry out, the cock in your mouth causing you to choke on it. Tears prick your eyes. Ghostface coos about how adorable you are with a mouth full of dick and eyes full of tears. You squeeze the finger inside your pussy. A second one was added in response. You rock your hips against them. You feel so warm it’s unbearable.

Ghostface makes sure to divide his attention between filming him face fucking you and the Clown fingering you. Your reactions were too perfect. If only he had multiple camcorders… He grabs the camera and hands it to the Clown. “Here, why not-nggh!- take a few pics?” He suggested, plunging his cock as deep down your throat as humanly possible. He was genuinely impressed with how deep you could take it. Ghostface gave you a playful slap on the cheek as you struggled to breathe.

“Hnn, good idea.” The Clown took a few artsy photos of you choking on Ghostface’s cock, making sure to get your tear, snot, and spit covered face in every shot. There is still crusty blood in and around your nose. It only adds to the beauty of the photos. He also took a few of him fingering your pussy, admiring how you visibly gripped his fingers tightly. Your probably gonna be the best fuck of his life, and he’s gonna have it all on video. He sets the camera to the side and focuses on getting you off. Normally, he wouldn’t care about prep, but you're a special catch. You are a treat that needs to be savored accordingly.

It doesn’t take much to finish you off. You’re hypersensitive, and the drug that the Clown forced you to drink only hightened your senses, causing every little rub, bump, and nudge in and around your pussy to cause you to see stars. Having two thick fingers knuckle deep in you sopping wet cunt while being face fucked was too much. Too intense. You're going to cum. You’re going to cum really fucking hard! Oh, oh shit-!

With a muffled groan, you came. Hard. You nearly go cross eyed as you felt your orgasm wash over you. The cock in your mouth was removed, allowing you to finally catch your breath while also moaning freely. Your legs shook violently as the fingers inside of you coaxed you through your high. You lay back, mouth agape and staring at the ceiling. It was the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. You were panting heavily, desperately trying to catch your breath. Ghostface gets a good shot of your cunt twitching around the Clown’s fingers.

“Come on! Let’s switch!” Ghostface giggled, manically hopping from foot to foot. “I wanna do something… interesting~” He takes out his hunting knife, showing it excitedly to his co conspirator. “Won’t put my cock in her or anything, just wanna play with her a bit.”

The Clown shrugged. “Sure, go for it. Just don’t kill ‘er. Won’t be any fun if the Entity takes her away.” Ghostface jumps up excitedly, shuffling out of the way so the Clown can take his place near your face, cock already rubbing your cheek. The camcorder is traded off so Ghostface has two free hands. You shudder slightly. Ghostface hops onto the bed and crawls between your legs, caressing your thighs with his gloves fingers. They tremble uncontrollably.

The smooth texture of leather glides over your sensitive folds, gathering your slick on his fingers. He admires the way it shines on his gloves. Circling your entrance, he inserts two fingers to the knuckle, causing you to gasp and lurch forward slightly. A thick dick is shoved into your mouth, already causing you to gag slightly. You vaguely remember the taste of it.

It was difficult to keep up with both the fingers pumping in and out of you and the cock currently fucking your throat. The tempo of both quickly picked up, causing you to go slightly crossed eyed. You could barely breathe out of your nose from how much it was swollen and clotted with dried blood and cum. You attempt to gasp for air every time the cock was pulled from your mouth, but once you do, it’s shoved deeper in, causing you to choke and splutter. The fingers inside you were deep enough to bump your cervix and they hooked harshly on your sweet spot. You reflexively kick out, flailing and trying to push the pink mascot off your face. It only made the two killers laugh and go even harder. You try to scream, but it only comes out as an awkward, wet throat noise. You squeeze your eyes shut. It’s beginning to become too much!

Without warning, both the two fingers in your aching cunt and the dick in your mouth are yanked out with a wet pop! You jump at the sudden actions, whining at the loss fullness in both your aching holes. You feel so damn hot, it’s painful. Something needs to happen, or else you’re either gonna go crazy or die.

Something cool grazed your thigh. Jumping slightly, you sit up enough to look down at the masked killer between your legs. Ghostface is lightly grazing your thick thigh with the tip of his blade, causing you to shiver. He presses down just enough so you can really feel it. You bite back a moan.

“You wanna feel real good, babe?” The blade dances across your skin, light enough not to break the skin but just hard enough to leave a light, red trail in its wake. Shit, you do wanna feel good…

You nod repeatedly, focusing solely on the dark eyes of the masked killer before you. You don’t really notice how the camcorder is trained perfectly on the two of you, capturing the moment perfectly.

Ghostface leans forward. “Yeah? Tell me, babe. Tell me how good you wanna feel.” He purred, pressing down enough to break skin. The sting goes straight between your legs, making you groan.

“I-I wanna feel real good! I want you t-to fuck me hard! I wanna be f-filled with c-c-cum a-and, an-nd-!” You find speaking difficult. Your jaw is stiff and aches, and the throbbing between your legs is almost unbearable. You can’t think straight, and just wish you were being spit roasted at this point so you don’t have to think anymore. Your mind is muddled and you feel like something isn’t quite right but you don’t really care to find out why. You just want to feel good.

Ghostface chuckles, moving his mask to the side slightly, revealing his mouth. He leans forward and kisses you, not giving you much time to react before his tongue is in your mouth. Your eyes flutter shut, kissing back clumsily. There was too much teeth and he was being aggressive and selfish with how he dominated your mouth, but you don’t care. When was the last time you were kissed ? You can’t remember…

Your legs stung from the marks he was leaving with his knife. A little nick here. A long line there. A deeper poke here. All over your thighs, and then they moved to your navel, then to your chest. Little cut and deeper lines crisscrossed your body, leaving tiny droplets of red here, there, everywhere. It was exciting. You didn’t know if he was going to kill you or not. You wouldn’t necessarily mind if he did. He broke off the kiss, both of you panting slightly from loss of air. He looked into your dazed eyes and smirked. He repositioned his mask and went to stand up. You watch him absentmindedly. You are really horny, now…

“She’s all yours, big guy!” Ghostface chirped, patting the Clown on the shoulder. The Clown scoffed.

“Quit actin like we’re pals, cause we ain’t.” He shoved the camcorder back into Ghostface’s hands. He pouts a little and mutters a soft rude under his breath.

A rough hand grabs your ankle and pulls you toward the edge of the bed. Fingers rub your sensitive bundle of nerves at an uneven pace. You twitch.

“So, girly, ya ready for my cock?” Something deep inside of you twitches.

“Mmm, yeah… I want it…” You moan, wiggling your hips from side to side.

“Heh heh, say ‘I want Mr. Puddles to fuck my pussy.’” Both the killers giggle like immature children. The obnoxious pink elephant costume was too much to take seriously. And there was something entertaining about fucking such a hottie in a ridiculous outfit. He bet it would make good viewing after the fact.

You squirm a little, feeling embarrassed about the request. But you really need to be fucked, and your arousal triumphs over your dignity. “I-I… want M-Mr. P-P-Puddles to fuck m-my pussy…” You mumble softly. For some reason, you just became hyper aware that he was, indeed, wearing a bright pink elephant costume. You couldn’t look at him. Why is that bothering you now?

“Eh? Come on, darlin! Speak up so we can both hear you!” Ghostface tries to conceal his laughter, but fails miserably. You shrink down into the bed, hiding your face in your hair. “Say, ‘Mr. Puddles, please fuck my slutty little pussy!’”

Tears began to sting your eyes. You sniffle, trying to ignore the twisting of your stomach. This is probably the most embarrassing thing someone has ever asked of you. You take a deep breath, but falter, unsure if you could really do it.

“Oh, well, if yer not gonna say it, then I guess I won’t do it after all…” Fingers stopped rubbing your clit and he got up like he actually was going to stop. You quickly sit up. Shit! No, wait..!

“W-wait! I-I want Mr. Puddles to fuck me! I need Mr. Puddles to fuck me! P-please..! Make me your slut! I want you to fill me w-with your cum! So p-please, fuck my sluttly little pussy Mr. Puddles… please..?” You squeak out the final line, embarrassed beyond believe and really fucking horny. You didn’t think you’d be turned on by being humiliated but hey, you guess you learn something new every day.

Both the men roar with laughter. The Clown is nearly in tears, a coughing fit breaking up his laughter. Ghostface is almost on the ground pissing himself laughing. Yeah, this is gonna be his favorite work yet.

“That’s all you had to say, baby girl!” Your hips are grabbed and yanked forward. A thick, veiny cock is shoved inside of you with no warning. You scream loudly.

It’s way too big for you. Despite all the prep that was done to you, you feel like you're about to tear. You gasp for air as tears stream down your face. It’s so deep, you can feel it hit your stomach. The pace is brutally fast to the point that you can’t even begin to keep up with it. You struggle for air in between thrusts, finally sobering up from the Clown’s horrible concoction. What the fuck are you even doing? Why did you think this was a good idea..?

Your entire body bounces violently with each harsh thrust, the grip on your hips sure to leave bruises. If you're even left alive long enough for them to form. A partially gloved hand grabs your breast, squeezing it tightly. You screw your eyes shut and try to muffle your cries behind your hands. Your nipple is pinched and twisted hard. Your attempt to squirm away in vain.

“You look beautiful jiggling and bouncing around like that, babe! You're gonna have a real future in this biz once we’re done with this vid!” Ghostface laughed, zeroing in on your pained expression. Wait, did he say vid? When they’re done with this vid… What? What the fuck?!

Your eyes snap open as you looked at Ghostface and yes, that is a camera and he’s been recording all of this how the fuck did you not notice what the fu-

You don’t have time to contemplate what is happening to you anymore. Somehow, the Clown is going even faster and deeper than he was before. You feel sick. Fucking sick. The bulbous head of his cock is slamming into your cervix, almost dragging your uterus along with it. Or so it feels. It hurts like hell and you’re sure that there is a bulge in your gut from the enormous cock ravaging your insides and you feel like your going to fucking cum oh shit oh fuck nonononono-!

Black stars blot your vision as you feel your climax rush over you. A large hand presses sharply against the dick shaped bump on your lower abdomen. The Clown’s thrusts are becoming erratic and his cock is throbbing against your convulsing walls. You thrash wildly at the feeling of being too fucking full, of the unbearable pressure inside your pussy that feels like it’s going to split it in half oh my fucking God I’m going to die fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck-

Your legs are thrown over broad shoulders, knees practically touching your chest as the large killer completely pins you under his hefty body. It’s cramped, bordering on painful how your muscles are stretched to the limit with his gross gut on you, and his cock is peeking into your womb- OH FUCK IT HURTS FUCK I’M STILL CUMMING NONONONONONO- It’s painful how the tip of his cock tears open your cervix. Nothing should ever be that deep, but it's going deeper still. You can’t get away, no matter how much you struggle or cry or beg. It hurts, you feel sick, you feel like you're going to die, and yet… You can’t stop cumming…

The Clown couldn’t last long with how tight you were gripping him. You asked nicely for Mr. Puddles to cum in you, and he believes that all good little girls should get what they want. He wraps a broad hand around your throat and squeezes. Your pussy grips him even harder, like the good little slut you are. “Alright, baby girl. Here-nggh- it comes~” He pants, eating up how red you're getting from arousal and lack of air. God damn, you look so cute while you're getting your brains fucked out. Maybe he can find a way to keep you when this is all over? You try to push him off with weak arms, but you’re completely at the large man’s mercy and he rushes to reach his climax. The hand around your neck tightens, and you begin to black out. You barely hear the sudden shout of the Clown as he reaches his end. You certainly felt it, however. Hot, thick cum gushes inside your deepest point. It feels wrong. Disgusting. Burns. You feel like you're going to vomit. Pass out. Die from asphyxiation. God help you, because you milk that killer’s cock for all its worth, and cum once again, yourself. Clear fluid trickles from around the Clowns cock, staining his already ruined costume. He laughs. He coughs. He releases your neck, allowing you to take a much needed breath. He grabs you and sets you on his lap. You rest your head on his shoulder, weak and overstimulated. His cock is slowly pulled from your ruined cunt. And slammed back in, hard.

It all begins to blur together. You no longer can keep up with the brutal fucking you’re subjected too. The Clown doesn’t slow even a little, despite having just cummed. His cum lubricates your already soaking wet pussy even more, aiding in making you more receptive to his dick. The noises your pussy is making are obscene. You would be mortified, but you feel so damn overwhelmed and good that you couldn’t care less. Every few thrusts, you orgasm. You really don’t want to feel good anymore. It hurts every time you cum, but you can’t stop. You’re not sure if it hurts to feel good, or that hurting is what is making you feel good, anymore. You just want it to be over…

While your pussy is ravaged, you feel something smooth prod at your ass. Turning your head, your body bouncing wildly on the Clown’s cock, you see Ghostface circling your puckered hole with a finger. Oh God… Please, no… don’t… I can’t… You beg to something, anything, hell, to the fucking Entity, for this to stop. You're gonna seriously be fucked to death at this point. You try to open your mouth and plead with the stalker to have mercy on you. That you can’t take anymore. That you’ll literally do anything else, just not that. Anything else but that. Before you can get even a single syllable out, a silver blade is shoved in your open mouth, causing you to freeze. It's pressed flat against your tongue and you can taste a familiar metallic twang. The two killers laugh at your deer in the headlights reaction.

“She musta really love that blade of yers, Ghostfreak! Her pussy’s squeezin me even harder, now!” The Clown laughed, slapping you on the ass. Hard. You nearly bite down on the knife in your mouth. Nearly. You began to hyperventilate through your open mouth, tears flowing freely down your face. The finger at your ass presses in slowly. You try to clench and keep it out, but it’s no use. You're going to get gangbanged whether you want it or not. You can either submit and just wait for it to be over, or fight it and get absolutely brutalized by the two killers. It wasn’t a real debate. You went with the former.

You go limp, relaxing as much as you possibly could, given the circumstances. Something was said about you being a good girl or whatever, but you didn’t listen. You just turned your ears off. It’ll be over soon. They’ll kill me and it’ll all be over… One finger, then two, then three were added, moving in time with the Clown’s thrusts. It hurts, stretching you more than you’ve ever been stretched before, but is easy to ignore. The cock that was pressed to your loosened hole, however, not so much.

It’s shoved in with no warning and caused you to scream at the top of your lungs. You thought you were full, before, but oh how wrong you were. Ghostface may not be as ridiculously thick as the Clown, but God damn it was deep and you're sure you’re bleeding. There was no coordination between the two killers. They both moved how they liked, as deep as they liked, and as fast as they liked. The blade in your mouth is pressed against the inside of your cheek, poking and grazing it with each wild, uneven thrust. You cried. You screamed. You came. They laughed. They called you horrible names. They slapped, bit, and cut you. They filmed you. You screamed and screamed, and screamed until you were hoarse and could barely make a sound. You could feel those two cocks rubbing against one another against your thin walls. You hate how good it makes you feel. How the knife you're licking and sucking on like a third cock is making you drool. You hate that you like how they call you a slut. A filthy whore. Daddy’s good girl. Their personal little cum dump. It makes you squeeze their cocks and moan for more. More!

The two killers fuck you, and cum in you, and fuck you, and cum in you. Again, and again, and again. You lost track of how many loads you took over the course of this threesome, though you weren’t exactly keeping score. You felt bloated and disgusting from all the cum that dripped from your pussy and ass with each thrust. You moan for more. Moan for Daddy’s cum. Moan for Mr. Puddles to pleasepleaseplease fill you with his cum and impregnate you! “F-Fu-uck m-m-me-e-e ha-a-arde-e-er-r-r..!” They obliged you, of course. Laughing and hollering and praising you for being their good slut. You smile. You’re good. So good…

Positions are changed. Photos are taken and you pose and smile and look so damn cute and happy, covered in cum and blood and dick. You hope that you get to watch the finished product. You bet it’s gonna be the best porno anyone’s ever seen. You’re spit roasted, You have two cocks jammed in the same hole. You're bathed in cum. Sticky. Ruined. You’re fucking ruined. No one will want you now. Hell, you won’t want anyone else, anymore. No one will be able to make you feel like this. You’re forever marked as a slut that will fuck the monsters that has not only murdered her countless times, but murdered her friends, too. The other survivors may never completely know the truth, but you will. And so will the other killers. And you’ll never live that shame down. Ghostface will make sure of that.

They use you until they grew spent and bored. Ghostface wanted to kill you, but the Clown suggested that they should just throw you out of the realm. Let you be found by someone, or something else. “Now, that’s a good idea! Why didn’t I think of that!” The Clown rolled his eyes. God, he can’t stand that freak. But, he certainly had fun, so he can’t complain too much, he supposed. Your battered, cum-stained body is hauled out of the Clown’s caravan. He was just going to toss you outside the boundary of his realm, when he realized that the trial hadn’t technically ended, yet. He smirks. Finding the hatch, he tosses your limp body into it. It closes and the match is finally over. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen to you on the other side, and he really doesn’t care. All he hopes is that you remember this trial as fondly as he will.

“Hey, Ghostfreak! When’s the porno gonna be ready?”

“Before you know it, partner.”

“Yer really fuckin pushin it…”

#dead by daylight #dbd #ghostface x reader #the clown x reader #dbd ghostface #dbd clown #the monsters' favorite

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spoookymuulders · 4 years

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my friends are leaving the party (but i’m down for one more drink)

read it on ao3 here word count: 2,632 summary: you meet a handsome stranger at the bar one night. notes: hello friends!! this is my first attempt at anything avengers-related even though i've been watching the movies since iron man came out??? this is also my first attempt with a reader-insert!! this is after endgame, though (clearly) i've changed up steve's ending a lil bit!! enjoy! <3

It’s a girls night out - at the insistence of one of your very best friends - and you would rather be anywhere else but this bar. Well. Almost anywhere else. You close your eyes for a moment, thinking back to Wednesday night. You’ve been having a shitty week, and walking into your apartment to find your boyfriend butt-ass naked on the couch with your roommate had really been the icing on the cake.

You shake yourself a little, pushing your hair back and putting on a smile as the bartender walks past. He completely ignores you and your smile falls flat as you cross your arms on the bar and rest your forehead on them for a moment. Tonight is supposed to be fun, you remind yourself. Fun . Your friends took you out tonight so you could have a good night and forget about Joshua for a few hours.

You’re vaguely aware of someone occupying the stool beside you, but you ignore them, lifting your head slowly and eyeing the bartender as he comes back your way. You’re ignored again in favor of the new guy next to you, and you press your lips together as the bartender eagerly takes his order. He finally turns to you and you ask for another round of drinks, rolling your eyes as he gives a half-assed response and turns back around.

“Rough night?” Asks the guy beside you. You glance at him, determined to be annoyed with him, but those sparkly blue eyes and that warm smile throw you off completely.

“Rough week.” You say after a minute. He nods, and you take him in for a moment, tipping your head thoughtfully. Something about him is familiar, but you can’t quite place what it is. “My friends wanted to take me out but I don’t particularly wanna be here.”

He hums thoughtfully, nodding his thanks when the bartender sets a beer in front of him. He takes a slow pull, watching you in the mirror behind the bar, and you feel suddenly naked. You shift in your seat, glancing over your shoulder at the booth full of your friends as the bartender sends a waitress over with the drinks. Your phone buzzes in your pocket suddenly and you dig it out. A handful of texts from the groupchat, all along the lines of who’s the blond and are you about to get laid?!

Shaking your head, you shove your phone back into your pocket and turn to your unexpected companion, surprised to find him looking right at you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You say slowly, unsure of what else to do or say. He chuckles, taking another slow sip of his beer before turning his stool to face you properly.

“Why’s your week been so rough?” He asks. You blink - not exactly where you were expecting this conversation to go, but nobody else has asked, so why the hell not?

“Work sucks. I’m stuck in this shitty dead-end job and everywhere else I’ve applied either won’t call me back or requires way more experience than I have.” You sigh. “And on top of that, I came home Wednesday night and found my boyfriend with another girl.” He whistles once, long and low.

“You want me to beat him up?” He asks, and you laugh, surprised at both the joke and yourself. You’ve been in such a shitty mood this week, it feels good to laugh.

“That’s not even the worst part.” You tell him. He raises a brow, and you continue. “I found him totally naked, on my couch with my roommate. Her underwear was flying towards the door as I opened it.” He whistles again, and you nod. “What about you, you look about as miserable as I feel.” He hums thoughtfully, and you can see the wheels turning in his brain as he tries to decide what exactly he wants to say.

“Friend of mine died recently.” He says finally. “Although.. We weren’t exactly friends. I respected him, but we almost never got along or saw eye-to-eye.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” You say, and some bold part of you reaches out and touches his arm gently. He hums again, glancing at you, and you offer a small smile. He gives one in return, and you draw your hand back slowly. “I’m Y/N.”

“Steve.”

****

You’ve been sitting and talking with Steve for at least an hour when your friends finally come over. Michelle tugs at the end of your ponytail lightly, then rests her chin on your shoulder, stepping back when you excuse yourself and turn around.

“We’re gonna take off.” She says, peeking around you at Steve. “D’you need a ride?”

“Uh. No. No, I’m good.” You tell her, glancing over your shoulder and giving Steve a small smile. He tips his bottle in a greeting to the rest of your group as you turn back. Michelle nods and pulls you into a hug.

“Call me when you get home, okay?” She whispers in your ear, “And get some!” You laugh, pushing at her shoulders as she plants a kiss on your cheek and steps away. You wave to the other girls and watch them shuffle along out of the bar, then turn back to Steve.

“I’m not keeping you, am I?” He asks. You shake your head quickly.

“No! No, not at all. They’re probably gonna go home and drink more.” You assure him. “I’m good here.” He nods, smiling a little as you put your chin in your hand. “Plus, I don’t have work tomorrow, so.” He nods again, watching as you twist a lock of hair around your finger absentmindedly. You fall back into an easy conversation, and after what feels like only a few minutes (but in reality is a couple of hours), the bartender is shouting about last call. You check your phone, eyes widening slightly at the time - 2:45 AM.

Steve closes out his tab, insisting on paying for your drinks as well, and you slide off your stool, making sure you have everything before following him outside. Goosebumps rise on your skin as you step into the chilly fall evening, and you suppress a shiver. Steve notices, though, and drapes his leather jacket around your shoulders. You smile up at him and hum a thank you, sliding your arms through the sleeves and reveling in the warmth, the scent of leather and woodsmoke and lavender overwhelming you for a moment as you meander along the street.

“Do you need a ride home?” He asks suddenly, looking down at you. You glance up at him, suddenly reluctant to leave him, and shake your head.

“I only live a couple blocks away.” You say. He hums and nods, and though he doesn’t ask, you can tell he plans on walking you home. You wander for a while, pausing outside a 24-hour pizzeria and peering in through the windows for a moment before slipping inside. Steve trails behind you, watching as you order two slices of cheese pizza. The clerk behind the counter hands you two impossibly large slices on paper plates and you pass one to Steve, paying before scurrying back outside. You wander again for a while before perching on the curb, adjusting your skirt beneath yourself as you sit.

Steve settles beside you, the two of you nibbling at your slices silently, taking in the hustle and bustle of the city - that’s one thing you’ve always loved about New York, even before you’d moved here. Even now, at three in the morning, cars are going by, people are wandering, talking on their phones, chowing down on bar food they managed to sneak out before last call.

“How long have you lived in New York?” Steve asks suddenly, and you realize you’ve been staring around. You shake yourself a little, humming as you think.

“Ten years now.” You tell him. “I moved right after my twentieth birthday. What about you?”

“Mm. Lived here pretty much my whole life.” He says. “I spent a few years in England, but I always dreamed about coming back.” You nod, nibbling at the crust of your pizza.

“What’d you do in England?”

“I was in the army.”

“In England?”

“‘S where they sent me.” He shrugs, and you squint at him for a moment, but you decide to let it go. You hop to your feet, dusting your hands off and tossing your plate into a trash can nearby. Steve does the same, falling into step beside you again, and you begin to make your way home. You come to a stop outside your building, leaning against the wall for a moment and looking up at him. You fight with yourself internally before making a split-second decision.

“D’you wanna come up?” You ask. He watches you, tips his head thoughtfully.

“Are you sure?” He asks, “I wouldn’t wanna intrude-”

“Steve, who are you gonna intrude on? It’s just me. My roommate doesn’t live here anymore.” You say. He laughs at that, light and warm and hearty, and you can’t help the smile that lights on your own lips. He nods finally, and you smile wider, turning to lead him inside and upstairs.

****

You sleep together, but you don’t sleep together. You’ve been up all night already, but even when you get inside you find that you’re not particularly tired. Instead, you toe off your shoes and tell Steve to make himself at home. He hovers in the doorway, watching for a minute as your cat rubs between your legs and you pause long enough to tug your tights off before flopping onto your bed. He chuckles, removing his own shoes and padding further in.

“You can sit down somewhere.” You giggle, propping yourself up on your elbows and watching him. “Seriously. Nosferatu won’t bite. He’s a big baby.”

“Nosferatu?” He repeats, setting his jacket on the arm of the couch and crouching down to let the cat sniff at his fingers.

“Nosferatu.” You confirm, smiling when Nosferatu rubs up against Steve’s hand. He smiles, giving the cat a few gentle strokes before coming to sit beside you. You crawl further up your bed and lean against the headboard, drawing your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them as he shifts to face you.

You chatter for a while, and at some point you disappear into your bathroom and return a few minutes later in a t-shirt-and-shorts pajama set, tying your hair up into a bun. Steve has scooted up to lean against your headboard as well, having abandoned his button-down, and he looks much more comfortable and at home in just a t-shirt and his jeans. You settle beside him, drawing your legs up and leaning against him lightly.

“Tell me something about you that nobody else knows.” You say softly. He hums, settling his arm around your legs lightly and drawing his finger along your shin absently. You put your chin on your fists, watching him as he thinks, and you admire the way the fairy lights catch on his hair and in his eyes, the shadows they cast along his cheekbones and jawline.

“I’ve always wanted a tattoo.” He murmurs. You smile, brushing your fingers through his hair lightly. “I’ve been thinking about getting one lately.”

“What would you get?” You ask softly. He tips his head up, watches the ceiling for a moment as he thinks.

“Something for my mom.” He says finally. “She was incredible. One of the kindest people I ever met.” You nod, leaning your head against his shoulder. “What about you?”

“What, tattoos? I have a couple.” You tell him. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“No, something about you that nobody else knows.” He says. You giggle quietly, watching the world outside your window for a moment as you think.

“I’m not actually allergic to peanuts.” You say finally. “I tell everyone I am ‘cause I don’t like peanut butter, and it’s easier than having to defend why I don’t like it.” Steve laughs again, the sound making your heart flutter, and you laugh too, tucking yourself a little closer.

The two of you sit together for a while longer, talking softly and getting to know each other better by the minute, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep, curled up against the headboard and leaning against this guy that you met just a few hours ago, and you’re happy .

You wake the next morning having scooted down to lay on the mattress properly, and there’s an arm around your waist and a solid chest against your back, and you burrow back into the warmth behind you for a moment before remembering last night. A glance over your shoulder confirms that Steve is still here, and you smile lazily before shifting away slowly, being careful not to wake him.

Having successfully wormed your way out of bed, you grab your phone and pad to the kitchen, popping a K-Cup into your Keurig and setting a mug under it. It spits coffee out as you unlock your phone, surprised to see the number of messages from your friends. You frown thoughtfully, reading through all of them quickly and growing more confused with each one.

Michelle UM DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU WENT HOME WITH LAST NIGHT

Sophie Y/N!!! Y/N ANSWER ME NOW

Claire Dude holy shit.

You frown thoughtfully, texting Claire back a few question marks. She responds with a link to a tweet and you tap it, setting your phone down to prep your coffee while the tweet loads. You turn back, sipping at your caffeine and scoop your phone up - and promptly choke on the coffee as you read the tweet. Setting your mug down, you hurry back to your bedroom, where Steve is sitting up slowly and stifling a yawn. Before he can even say good morning, you’re clambering onto the bed and shoving the phone at him

“You’re Captain America ?!”

He blinks at you a few times, and you feel a little bad for attacking him with this barely thirty seconds after he’s woken up, but holy shit! He takes the phone from you, rubbing at his eyes as he squints at the screen, and you shift your weight anxiously at the foot of the bed. The tweet is from a news outlet and reads America’s Sweetheart? Captain America Spotted With Mystery Woman. It’s accompanied by a photo of you and Steve leaving the bar last night (this morning), you looking smaller than ever in his leather jacket and smiling up at him. He looks up at you and smiles sheepishly, passing the phone back. You take it, acutely aware of the way your hands are shaking, and Steve clears his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask, still completely baffled by this bombshell he’s just dropped on you.

“You didn’t treat me like a superhero.” He says simply, shrugging his broad shoulders. “It was nice not to be.. Put up on a pedestal for once.” You watch him for a moment, take him in - his rumpled t-shirt, his sleepy eyes, and some serious bedhead - and you decide that there’s no way in hell you could possibly be mad at him. If you were a superhero and met someone who didn’t know who the hell you were, you’d do the same thing. You crawl further up the bed and settle yourself in his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders. He sets his hands on your waist lightly, watching you, and you give him a small smile.

“What do you want for breakfast?” You ask, and it’s almost painfully domestic. It is all Steve Rogers has ever wanted, and he smiles at you like you’ve put the sun in the sky.

#mine*#avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers x y/n

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jadeile-writes · 4 years

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Fanfic Progress Update 71

Hello, u guise~ It’s Saturday, so let’s do a progress update. Stay tuned to the end of this post for a spoiler-y glimpse into the next chapter of Adventure gone Mini AND a lil random oneshot.

Current WIPs:

Adventure gone Mini

Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / The Minish Cap

Summary: Sidon is given his very own Sheikah Slate, the first replica Purah has managed to make, and sets out to travel with Link with the intention of registering warp points for convenient travel in the future. However, when a malfunction shrinks them down to the size of bugs, and they meet little people called the Minish, they have to change their plans from “fun adventuring” to “getting out of this mess”. Not that those two have to exclude one another. Link/Sidon.

Progress: Chapter 40 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 17th of June. Chapter 41 is half written and the scheduled posting date is 15th of July.

I post a new chapter every three weeks on Wednesdays. These updates always include a sneak-peek for the next chapter, slowly getting longer over the three weeks waiting period.

—–

Experiment in Romance

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary (temporary): Husk’s afterlife takes an odd turn when a drunk Alastor knocks on his door and has no intention of going to his own room for the night. It only gets weirder from there, leaving Husk with a most unexpected arrangement with the Radio Demon. Either it’ll be the best decision in his afterlife, or he’s simply out to break his own damn heart dealing with the fickle asshole. Radiohusk.

Progress: Chapters 1 and 2 are done, though I will need to check them out to see if they’re still good to go, as it’s been a while. Chapter 3 has been started, but the same applies. I’m tentatively bringing this one up here now that I’m dropping That Month, but we shall see if this becomes the project I’ll work on next or not. No progress; didn’t have much time to write this week. Hoping to get started next week.

—–

Hah! Our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: This is not a stand-alone story! This is a oneshot/drabble collection in the universe of “Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife”. Read the main story before bothering with this one.

I decided to give my readers a chance to throw Radiohusk prompts at me, and had the Afterlife-verse as an option to set the stories in. Everyone liked that, so this fic is now a thing. Enjoy the extra mischief from these two dorks!

Progress: Chapter 21 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 3rd of June. Chapter 22 hasn’t been started, but the scheduled posting date is 10th of July. A sneak-peek will be posted on Thursday.

I have 15 prompts left.

This fic receives a new chapter every Friday.

—–

Complete Trust

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary (temporary): Alastor always smiles. Except that sometimes, very rarely, he doesn’t. When you get to witness that, you know you’re special. Radiohusk-ish. Might tag as just friendship. Or both.

Progress: I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, but held onto it, indecisive on whether to post it here with the other drabbles or to actually publish it on AO3/ffnet for once. I’ve decided to publish. So, it’ll come out on 7th of July (Tuesday).

—–

Other WIPs I’m not currently working on but intend to get back to someday:

PoE Drabbles (Pillars of Eternity)

DC Drabbles (Justice League)

Diaphanous Relations (Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s books)

That month of the year (Hazbin Hotel)

—–

That’s it for the WIPs! Here are the promised sneak-peeks into Adventure gone Mini and the Hazbin oneshot (Note: the text may end up slightly different in the fic itself due to more editing happening before publishing). Enjoy!

Mini

"I give you my tentative blessing to explore the shrine when you return, mister hero", Festari of the Abbey said once the children had been extracted from Link’s person and sent away. Again. This time Link wasn't actually expecting them to be truly gone; he liked to believe he learned from his mistakes most of the time. "However, we will have to have a serious talk about your conduct and carried weaponry when that time comes. I will not allow the shrine to be destroyed because of an unneeded exploration by a hero who isn't doing this for a purpose grander than simple curiosity. Are those acceptable terms for you?"

Link nodded eagerly. He didn't care if he had to carry a stick instead of a sword as long as he got to have an adventure. Besides, that was future Link's problem anyway. 'Fine by me. I will look forward to that.'

—–

Complete Trust

It was a well kept secret that Alastor did not, in fact, always smile like a lunatic.

Now, some might assume he stopped smiling in his sleep, which was actually not the case at all. Firstly, the fucker didn’t sleep very often. Secondly, when he did he usually did it by standing creepily in a corner, eyes open and glowing, sporting a wide creepy smile. Thirdly, the rare times he actually slept in a bed were done exclusively in the privacy of his own house, and only when nobody was around. So who fucking knew if he smiled then or not.

Some people might also think he’d drop the smile if he was spooked or scared or angry or some other emotion that caused normal people to stop smiling. Hah! As if. The motherfucker only changed the nuance of his smile instead of dropping it no matter what. It could get sharper when he was angry, small or forced when he was upset, fixed when he got surprised, sneer-like when he was disgusted, and so on.

So when did it actually drop?

—–

That’s it this time. See you next Saturday!

AO3 FFnet Purple Crayon Ko-fi Radiohusk Discord

#Fanfic progress update

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eddiekasp · 7 years

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Must Be a Better Word- Ch10

Love. There must be A better word. -Adam Gillon

OMG I’m so excited to share this next chapter since there are so many new It/Reddie fans on here after the movie came out!! And as always, sorry for not updating for a bit. I promise I’ll always be continuing this though!

My writing is also on ao3 if you wanna check it out there!

Richie’s room was perpetually messy. The floor could only be seen in small patches, the way sun peeks through leaves in a forest. The rest was covered by a thick sheet of clothing, candy wrappers, notes, papers from school dating back six years ago, comic books, video game boxes, and half-filled water bottles that crunched softly if stepped on.

Richie’s mother never bothered to tell her son to clean his room any more than she ever told him to brush his hair. She never bothered more than she bothered to do… well, anything really. And his father never looked up for long enough to notice. Because of this, the only one to even comment about his disorderly living space was Eddie.

Richie tried to clean up every time he knew Eddie was coming over. His bathroom, which was attached to the wall on the left side of his bed, had a trashcan in which Richie could quickly gather wrappers and bottles to toss into if needed. He could gather papers together into a haphazard pile to shove into the corner of his room. He could kick the sea of soiled shirts and pants into a crevice under the bed frame, and there was his hardwood flooring.

He often wondered to himself why he didn’t just do this daily. Somehow-- he truly could not give an explanation of how if he tried-- his room would return back to normal about an hour after each time his boyfriend would leave. He would toss the clothes into the middle of his room while searching for a particular pajama shirt to wear to bed, and somehow papers from the 5th Grade that he would have no reason to be touching would end up right on top of the clothes. There was no explanation for it.

Eddie could only stay out of the know for a couple weeks before Richie stopped cleaning his room in preparation for his arrival. When Eddie first walked in, he had to step gingerly on his tippy toes not to crunch on a chocolate wrapper or get his feet caught in the leg of a pair of jeans. He could see Richie’s curly locks remained unbrushed as well, sticking up left and right, as he sat on his (unmade) bed waiting for Eddie’s arrival.

“Sorry, Eds. I know it’s pretty gross. Stan would have a cow if he ever saw it, don’t you think?” Richie said comfortably, with a smile perking up the corners of his mouth. He admittedly felt a bit guilty, hoping Eddie would never have to see the full extent of the squalor Richie usually spent his time in, but Eddie didn’t mind, besides the fact of wanting to help out.

Eddie laughed too. “Yeah, definitely. Do you want me to help you clean up?”

Richie looked around his room, and raised his eyebrows. “I think that would be an all day project, my love. Maybe more than just one.”

Eddie sat down on Richie’s bed next to him, not bothering to take off his sneakers after seeing Richie had his own on. He crossed his knees under him. “I don’t really mind. We don’t have to if you… like it like this, though.” Richie laughed at the boy’s attempt to be subtle and spare his feelings. “God Eddie, you’re such a cutie, y’know that?” He broke into his Southern Belle voice. “You ain’t gotta help lil old me! Why, you’re just as sweet as sugar, sugar!” He fanned himself with a copy of The Great Gatsby that sat open on his bed, two pages in the middle nearly crumpled into balls.

Eddie smiled subtly, feeling heat burn softly in his face as Richie scooted behind him to sling his arms around Eddie’s front. Eddie looked around the room again. “I think if we actually cleaned everything, it might help you stay clean after. If we do it together we can go see Jurassic Park at the Aladdin after.”

Richie cheered at that idea before asking if Eddie could brush out his hair. He was lazy and the feeling of Eddie touching and running his fingers through his hair gave him butterflies. Eddie liked doing it too, so he grabbed a comb and slowly brushed out the dark mop on Richie’s head. It had grown out long by now, a bit past his ears, and tangled almost as quickly as it had been brushed. Eddie had to be watchful, as the red plastic comb bent and buckled under the pull of knots and tangles; he did not want the thing to snap in half. Eddie loved it though; it was effortlessly soft and always the perfect place to rest his hands. Richie quipped a couple times that Eddie was pulling his hair, so Eddie went slowly, needing to wet certain pieces in order for him to make any progress with the comb.

After his hair was detangled (and left with a bit of a strange appearance; some wet pieces hanging limply and dripping onto Richie’s dark blue sheets while others turned frizzy from repeated brushing), the first order of business was picking up all of the wrappers that were shoved under cabinets and into desk drawers. Eddie took a garbage bag and filled it, telling Richie to go take it out once it was repleted with potato chip bags and soda cans. While he was gone, Eddie began to pick up clothing and place them in piles.

He quickly organized them into lights and darks, but his heart sank as he saw Richie grab both piles together and sling them into one basket near the washing machines. Richie wondered out loud how he would find what to wear the next day, considering his drawers were nearly empty and the floor had been his personal walk-in closet for the last several months.

Eddie changed the sheets and made the bed while Richie began to clean out his desk drawers. Eddie soon sat down next to Richie to observe the contents in each drawer. “Oh my God, Rich, you always say you don’t have enough pens but there are like… dozens in here!”

It was usually Eddie’s job (by his own volition) to bring Richie any pens he had scavenged while in school, whether they be left on the desks from previous classes or kicked into the corner of hallways. Richie loved to doodle; he said that it helped him focus. During tests or while a teacher was lecturing, Richie would always have a piece of 3-hole punched college-ruled filler paper on the right side of his desk. His pen would work quickly, staining the sheet with lines of blue or red. Eddie even learned what his scribbles meant: if he made quick strokes up and down between the lines of the paper, he was having a bad day and was probably stressed. If the sheet filled up with tiny loops and swirls, he was having a good day.

Richie also had the same habit of doodling not only on his paper, but really any surface he could find. Desks, bathroom stall doors, pages of library books (much to the dismay of Ben and Mike), and his favorite, Eddie’s hands and arms. There was only so much he could fit on Eddie’s small baby blue inhaler, and the only thing that still remained was a small, faded black heart drawn in Sharpie that Eddie had never washed off.

But on his arms, the canvas space was far from limited. During Physics, which they sat together for in the back of the room, lunch, or times when they would sneak out of class (often to the auditorium when it was out of use, or the locker room), Richie would draw on Eddie’s small hands and fingers. Eddie did not mind, as long as he was able to wash it off before he came home and had his mother see the (often crude) images.

After a day of school, Richie would accompany Eddie to the bathroom near the back entrance so he could wash off smiley faces, swirls, dicks, stick figure men on trampolines that jumped when Eddie opened and closed his hand, and fancy S’s made out of straight lines. They littered Eddie’s pale skin almost daily, but Richie never thought they lost their humor. Eddie had to admit they were funny sometimes, too.

On days when Eddie would wear a long sleeve shirt to school, he’d allow Richie to write secret messages that could be easily hidden, usually to avoid smirks and nudges from the other Losers. Under his sweater sleeves were bubble letters reading “ILY” or RT+EK with a heart around it. During class, Eddie would shift his sleeve down slightly every five minutes, reading the small letters and feeling a blush creep all the way down to his chest. Those, he tried to preserve as long as possible. They were worth hiding from his mom and friends.

Because of all of this, though, Richie’s pens exhausted their supply of ink rapidly. Richie gasped at the nearly full box of black Bic pens that had been shoved to the back of his desk drawer months, perhaps even years, ago. They continued to go through his desk until it was nearly cleaned, and Eddie moved over to sit in front of Richie’s open closet door. He hung up clean shirts that had fallen off hangers and onto the floor, and piled up his shoe boxes (including one where Richie kept his secret stash of snacks, cigarettes, and condoms; Eddie made sure to put that with the rest of the boxes so it would be even more inconspicuous). Under a large sweatshirt he assumed could only be Went’s old college shirt, Eddie found another hair brush, a lighter, a really old pack of Gushers, and a marble notebook.

The corners of the cardboard cover were frayed, showing the brown underneath the peeling black and white pattern. The little asymmetrical spots of white that splattered on the cover were colored in with pink and yellow highlighter, and the white box in the middle had Richie’s name scribbled messily in the center. Eddie turned around to glance at Richie, who had laid out his newly found pens on the ground and was counting them, and hoped that he wouldn’t mind Eddie looking through the notebook.

As soon as Eddie opened the book, his heartbeat sped with each turn of the page. Richie’s scrawl of a handwriting filled each page, some short jokes that he was writing (with the addition of some sad ones: “I came home one day chewing gum I had bought at the gas station. I walk into the kitchen to say hi to my Mom, and she goes ‘your breath smells like Fireball!’ I just look at her and say, “Well, it’d just smell like cinnamon if you weren’t an alcoholic.’ Eddie almost wondered if that conversation had actually happened), lists of new voices he’d have to practice. Some pages had notes for school, about WWII or Of Mice and Men, while other pages had lists of assignments he had to complete with check marks written in red Sharpie, bleeding onto the next page. There were also some drawings in there, one of his beloved record player that sat on his desk (probably the only thing that he kept completely neat and organized in his room) or of the stuffed bear he always kept on the right side of his bed. Some graphic drawings as well; Eddie had to stifle a laugh. Richie was horny as ever, even in Middle School.

And then there were the dozens of pages about Eddie. Eddie’s eyes, lessened to small slits in intense concentration, read each word and scanned every line on the pages about him. He looked back to the front of the cover, the date written in the corner saying 1989. All the way back then? His stomach felt warm and fluttery, the way you feel after taking a shot of whiskey (not that Eddie would know) and his cheeks hurt from smiling for that long. Richie practiced his script lettering by repeatedly writing Eddie’s name. Nearly every line was filled; those that were not up to his satisfaction crossed out. One single “Eddie Tozier” mixed in with the countless other words, also crossed out. Seven pages later, a debate Richie had with himself over which side of the bed he and Eddie would sleep on respectively, who would make breakfast and who would clean up (the final decision was that they would alternate days; he had been correct about that all the way in 8th Grade). Eddie’s face was burning.

A couple of diary entries about days they had spent together intertwined with entries about Richie’s fear of telling people he liked boys besides just girls. Or how Eddie would never liked him back. Some writing about his troubles at home, especially with his mother, and one page filled with huge letting that screamed that he was “so gay”.

He stared at each page, turning the book back over to read everything from the beginning again slowly. He was taken out of his absorption of the pages in front of him when he felt Richie place a peck on the top of his shoulder before sitting down next to him. Eddie looked panicked, sure that Richie would get embarrassed of his findings and angry at Eddie for intruding, but instead Richie beamed vibrantly, the setting sun dancing and reflecting off his glasses through the window across the room.

He chuckled quietly. “You found that in there? That’s probably from like, what, four years ago?”

Eddie looked up at the taller boy sitting next to him. “You liked me… all the way back then?”

“Of course I did! How could I not have? I liked you the first day I met you.”

Eddie leaned up to kiss Richie, a feeling that felt, by now, familiar but still made him red in the cheeks each time. He supposed he liked him all the way back then, too.

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