#stupid wedgie

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[prismartist]

SIMON BLACKQUILL I'LL KILL YOU. DO YOU THINK YOKAI ARE REAL OR NOT. PICK A SIDE.

[willowser]

Ik you posted that drabble of nerd bkg and reader getting back together but can we see the in between stage where he was trying and she wasnt having it 🤭 there smt about him being held accountable for his actions that i love LMAO

we can absolutely see this !! 😤✨️💕 you are god darn right you keep him accountable !

i think he tries that first time with his ridiculous "you don't know what you're talking about" spiel and you just shut the door in his face LOL like "are you seriously saying that to me right now ?" SLAM. GOODBYE.

after that i think he's seriously so stumped. he goes to that coffee shop to see you studying with todoroki and he can't even hide his shock, just stands there in line, watching, not casual at all. that time is a little hard !! bc you think maybe he's here to apologize for real and you just watch him, arms crossed as todoroki reads in his own little world, and then bakugou just leaves LOL bc he's a loser !!

after that, you're even more pissed LOL he catches you in the library bc you are actually there searching for a book and he turns down your aisle. and he opens his mouth to try and say something, but he can't 🥺 bc he doesn't know what to say !! and you notice and it's your turn to leave this time, storming right past him as he balls his hands into fists !!

the only time he manages to say something, it's: "will you just listen to me for one damn second ?" as he's practically chasing you across campus, and he HATES this, bc enough people saw what happened in the library that day and know all about it, and now they can see him clearly struggling to get your attention. but you just shake your head, hugging your books tighter to your chest before turning to stare down at him, one step higher than he is on the stairs.

"how about you tell mina and then she can just tell me later."

and the last thing is when he calls you 🥺 and he's not expecting you to pick up, but you do 🥺 and you're silent on the other end for so long that he wonders if maybe it's an accident, has him asking, "hello ? you there ?" and you just hum once 🥺 and tell him, "yeah, but not for long. just missed your voice." and then you hang up !! 🥺 cut him off !!

[fingertipsmp3]

Also I have managed to sunburn one arm and both knees 👍🏻

[yingreads]

ok im back and so ready to read fr and here's my reaction in memes :

edit. i broke tumblr tags bc it got too long and tumblr deleted my extra tags T_T i loved this so much i love the dynamics n everything it was sooo cute EUHEUHEUGUJN im gonna be rereading this . this was like a bajillion ounces of love and sillies and softness in a fic

( @ ) YEE TO THE...WHORE? ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა . . .

toji fushiguro & gn reader · farmers market · domestic fluff · hubby!toji · step-son!megumi · suggestive (his tiddies are out) · family bonding · crack fic

toji barely dressed appropriately when the time called for it. you never knew if this was something he did intentionally or if it was out of pure laziness, but when your three year old step-son picked up on his unusual habits of wearing flip flops out in minus ten degree weather, that was when he changed.

for the better, you weren't sure. his fashion style was still questionable, nonetheless, but megumi started copying him.

"eh hehe, loo'! papa 'nd i- matchin'!"

megumi is starting to acknowledge his fathers accent more and more as the months grew by. it was practically part of his vocabulary by now, and at one point, you had to tell your husband off for swearing so much around him.

when megumi glances up at you, there's something similar to delight in his eyes as he holds his balled fists up in the air to cheer. he quickly notices you are also dressed for the occasion and all the toddler can do is stare.

"p-pwetty..." is what he manages to come out with.

you give him a warm smile that conveys a simple 'thank you', but that fades when you look over at toji who walks into the room.

silence ensues rapidly. you couldn't believe your eyes.

"seriously, toji?"

"wha'? ya don't like the fit?"

you think its quite ridiculous how toji is trying to flirt in front of his three year old son right now, flexing the muscles on his biceps and swaying his hips that enhance the large silvery buckle on his belt.

megumi's head goes back and forth between you and him as you cover your face with your fingertips. your forehead twitches into a frown.

megumi demanded to dress up to the upcoming farmers market. it was a common occurrence that the three of you went into the city every month, but this time they were also holding a cowboy festival.

toji stood before you, confused. he wore black denim jeans underneath his creamy-coloured chaps with boots that had large spurs on the heels. moving up, he wore an open leather coat.

...... ...........

...........................

...

did you forget to mention that that was it? that was all he was wearing.

oh, and of course, a cowboy hat with a red bandanna tied loosely around his neck to top it off.

"you couldn't of...put something underneath that, toji? what is wrong with you?"

"what do ya mean?" he gives you a quick and subtle wink.

you point directly at his exposed chest. "this"

it took a lot of convincing yourself to tear your eyes away from his hairy chest and happy trail, but you were in the presence of your step-son. his son.

toji never dressed appropriately when the time called for it...

"megs seems to approve of it."

but when the toddler heard the mention of his name, he frowns and speaks up articulating a sassy tone.

"nuh uh, papa say he want to impress you with his pepperoni."

the heat in your cheeks makes its way to your chest and you burst out laughing after further silence. toji's mouth twitches and turns slightly downward, a bright hue of red saturating the apples of his cheeks as he hears your laugh resonate through the room.

"ah... bean, ya ain't gotta expose papa like that...?" he rubs the back of his neck, looking away from you, almost confounded.

you weren't impressed, but maybe you were... well, by how bold and utterly ridiculous he was. you wish he took something serious for once.

"so what? ya gonna let me go out like this?"

"hell no. put some clothes on, tart."

"wha is a t-tart?"

megumi peaks up and your body twitches in reaction. the same hand as before comes up to your face, sighing loudly this time. toji breaks out into a laughter. megumi then proceeds to attach himself to your leg like a leech.

"have some dignity here, for your son, please, toji. unless you want him blurting out about how massive your 'pepperoni' is at school."

toji's laugh fades as quickly as it comes. he stutters, a little flustered, before mumbling something underneath his breath. he tristfully walks out of the room again.

when you watch him leave, he pulls a wedgie from his jeans and all you can do is snicker while shaking your head.

you crouch down to little megumi's level. "what are you most excited for megs?"

"hmmm hmmmmmm" he taps his chin adjusting his cowboy hat. toji listens to your voices fade into the background until he closes the door to your shared room.

"are my nips really that big?"

he proceeds to take his coat off, standing in front of your body length mirror, a deadpan expression forming on his face. he unconsciously runs his tongue over the scar on his lip.

the mirror was large, but even then, it still couldn't fit his whole frame into the reflection. it's not like he needed to see his own face anyways when he was checking himself out in the mirror.

toji sighs, turning his body a fractional amount to flex the muscles on his back.

"should i stop working out chest? i thought they liked tha"

[biblio-smia]

shy shy shy

a little insecure tasm peter parker x reader, early stages of relationship

masterlist | requests are open!

buy me a ko-fi!

nerdy peter lovers rise

They were just glasses.

On, off. On, off. A clear reflection of Peter in the bathroom mirror, a few circles of color where his head and body would be.

Peter examines himself with the lenses on, pulls out a piece of his sweater that had gotten caught inside his plaid pajama pants. His hands run up through the damp hair that falls flat against his forehead in an attempt to give it a little volume but it's no use without his usual styling products. Peter slaps his palms on his cheeks, shakes his head and sends micro-drops of water sailing. He bounces in place, attempting to shake out the jitters his body has had trouble containing all day.

Peter pushes his contact lens case aside, gives himself one last glance over. He contemplates for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. Peter sighs as he pulls the lenses off again, cradling them in his hands and blowing air through his lips.

Metal frames, thick lenses.

Couldn't have that spider fixed his vision while he was at it?

Okay, Peter's vision wasn't that bad. Maybe he could survive without the frames Peter felt altered his appearance so drastically (or at least, reflected more accurately the type of person Peter was in his spare time). Peter with Contacts was cool and confident - scaled back from the confidence he had while he was in his suit, but not as pathetic as he was back in high school. Peter with Glasses? Yeah, that guy looked deserving of wedgies.

He reaches for his phone to check the time (and make sure he hasn't left you alone for too long), but can't make out what the white numbers say through his cracked screen.

Okay, maybe it is pretty bad.

Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.

Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.

Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.

It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.

"You wear glasses?"

Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.

"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.

You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.

You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.

Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.

"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.

"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.

You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.

"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.

"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.

"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."

"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.

"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.

"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.

You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.

You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.

But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.

Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.

You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.

"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.

Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.

"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.

"Tell me about it."

"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.

"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."

Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.

"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.

"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.

"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.

Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."

"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.

Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.

"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."

"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.

"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."

"I didn't know you were into that."

Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.

"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.

"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?

Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.

"Nuh-uh," you say, pulling Peter's hand back down. "Keep them on."

[joontroverted]

hate the way you smile

bully! baji keisuke x popular girl reader

fandom : tokyo revengers

word count : 5.5k

tags : he is a bully (only to you tbh), dubcon, panty kink, he gives you a wedgie lol, pussy eating, anal fingering (just a bit), exhibitionism, groping, stalking (kinda), they are in school for the only purpose of them wearing uniforms, but I've been kinda vague about that because I hate writing high school aus, so you can def imagine them to be in college, all characters are 18+ only

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, IF THESE TAGS DO NOT SUIT YOU, SCROLL

you're not a loser.

quite the contrary actually, you're very popular. 

you joined the school pretty late, which itself was not very common, causing everyone to ogle at you. and judging from the way they treat you, they liked what they saw.

your features and mannerisms captivated everyone, right from the way you walked into class to the little smile you gave after the introduction the teacher forced you into doing. that would've been called cringe on anyone else, but you pulled it off.

keisuke has been waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never does. 

yeah yeah, you were the shiny new thing when you first walked in. and then you got most of your answers correct in class, no matter when the teacher called on you. most of the answers, that is, because when you got an answer wrong and the teacher corrected you, keisuke finally felt vindicated. that would be the start of the chipping of your bright exterior. 

but no. instead you snorted (and God even your snort was cute) and rolled your eyes, muttering stupid before smacking yourself on the side of the head with the tip of your pencil. that had the class giggling, causing even the teacher to smile as she continued with the rest of the topic. 

what the hell? what was even funny about all this? 

(he watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, with a little lopsided smile on your face as you suddenly realized the rest of the class had heard you. you fanned yourself as if that would blow the embarrassment away somehow, and for just a second your eyes flitted up to his. he turned away immediately.)

"what do you think of the new girl."

“huh?” says mikey stupidly, his eyes trained on takemichi of all people. keisuke shares a look with draken, deciding to get to the bottom of whatever that is, later.

“she has a name, you know,” says draken, stretching, as the three of them are spread out on the bleachers. 

“what, d’you like her or something?”

“very funny,” he replies, rolling his eyes at keisuke. “emma thinks she's really pretty, and you know emma. she immediately went up to her and started chattering away and the next thing you know they have a bubble tea date planned. i think she even dragged takemichi's girl into it.”

“i don't think they're dating,” mikey’s head whips around, finally decided to acknowledge the two of them.

“they hold hands all the time!”

“did both of them come and tell you word for word that they're dating?” says mikey seriously. 

keisuke and draken exchange another incredulous look.

“yeah, that's what i thought” says mikey victoriously. he turns to keisuke. “do you like her?”

“who the hell are we even talking about anymore?”

“the new girl, keisuke, god, how can you forget what you were talking about so quickly?”

“tch. there's nothing to like about her. gave me something to laugh at with that stupid little introduction she gave us on her first day, but she's just another girl. i don't know why everyone's so obsessed with her.”

“she gave me some of her lunch when she saw me sniffing her,” says mikey unhelpfully. “people should start doing that more.”

“you should stop sniffing people,” replies draken, disgusted.

“guess what she smells like!”

“like cocoa butter on some days and like flowers on others,” blurts out keisuke. 

both mikey and draken turn their heads to keisuke.

“that's what all girls smell like, what the fuck!” he retaliates, looking away, his face burning.

“emma doesn't.”

“yeah, and neither does hina. or takemichi,” drawls mikey, squinting at him. “and you're right. she does smell like cocoa butter. i don't know about flowers. but then again, i’m not the one obsessed with her.”

“i'm not obsessed with her!” hisses keisuke. “and keep your voice down, will you, i’m sure the rest of the world heard you!”

“mikey! draken!” a voice calls from the field in front of them. 

they all turn to see it's you, in your skorts and top, visor in one hand and racquet in the other. the skorts (who the hell came up with that mopey idea) seem to hug your waist just right, the shortness of them making your legs look longer. your top is sticking to your skin from all the sweat you had built up from the match you just had, the white becoming almost see through, and he wonders how you’re either actually goddamn stupid or that desperate for attention for you to wear a red bra underneath it.

you wave at them enthusiastically, and you're close enough to them for him to see your eyes land on him, and you give him a little wave too.

mikey and draken wave back. keisuke rolls his eyes and looks away. “fucking of course she plays tennis, how pretentious,” he mutters.

“how come the girl you're obsessed with doesn't give a fuck about you?” snickers mikey as you walk away, surrounded by your group of girls, chattering and laughing. 

“i'm not obsessed with her first of all, and second of all, we don't even know each other because i’m not a serial sniffer like you.”

“maybe you should be,” sniffs mikey, “‘cuz guess what i smell right now?”

“shut the- ”

“a boy in looove,” sing mikey and draken together, bursting into laughter.

walking home, the more he thinks about your tennis uniform, the more he's pissed off. that wouldn't be a regular bra now, would it? probably a sports bra. he imagines you peeling off the tight top in the locker rooms, laughing with the other girls. how the sweat makes it a bit harder to tug off the bra, causing you to flail around a bit, before it comes off fully. he thinks about you basking in the freedom from it for a bit, chest heaving from all the exertion of the game, nipples hardened from the sudden exposure. 

he imagines you bend over and tug off the skorts you were wearing, wondering what panties you had on. would they be red, like your bra? you seem like a stuck up bitch who would make sure of stupid things like that. judging from how snugly the skorts had fit you, your panties would probably be digging into your soft skin, wouldn't they? were your panties riding up your pussy? the thought is quickly followed by the image of tight, red panties wedged up your pussy, he could almost hear you whine as you pulled them down and off of you. he didn't even have to imagine the rest before he broke off into a run to his home so he had some material left to finish himself off.

bad thoughts. these are bad thoughts that are too raunchy and precious for someone as annoying as you. 

(to his utter irritation, it's the small smile you had on your face when you waved at him that pushed him over the edge at the end.)

you're not a loser.

so fuck knows why you're so hellbent on doing the project exactly the way you wanted to, with absolutely no room for creative liberties, no changes in font, and every single time keisuke suggested something he could see you typing up a storm on the group chat. he made sure to see the message, but not read it and then be conveniently offline for the rest of the day. he was sure you would resort to calling him to beg him to not deviate from the color pallete you (and you alone) had decided on. obviously everyone else nodded and went along with your decision. but you hadn't called. 

so here you are, trailing after him. 

“keisuke!”

he groans and keeps walking down the hallway.

“keisuke! i just wanted to let you know that i know it feels like i'm being so restrictive, but all these rules are just for the presentation, like the ppt!” you dodge a couple walking hand in hand and you turn around and wave at them. “you guys are so cute! anyways, keisuke, you have complete freedom over what you want to say during your part of the presentation!”

“ha, so can i talk about my favorite kpop star while the rest of you are talking about the american involvement in the korean war? thanks!” he snorts, striding away.

“i didn't mean whatever you want, i meant you can speak about your portion however you want! the format we've decided on is just for the ppt!” you hurry around a sharp corner he took, still following him.

“we didn't decide anything. you chose the topic, and you chose the format of the ppt,” he grits out.

“well, when we were going around suggesting ideas, everyone seemed to like mine, so they went with it. and you weren't even in the meet!”

he grunts. that was true.

you open your mouth to say something and someone’s calling your name, so you turn around to respond to them. by the time you turn back he's gone again.

“fuck! fuck!” you mutter, adjusting your tote bag over your shoulder. God, he is so irritating. him and how serious he always is about treating you like shit but never taking it all the way. you always feel the prick of his eyes staring at you, and initially you always turned to smile or talk to him, but he'd just look away and outwardly ignore you. 

you had taken to staring back at him, in hopes of him at least taking it as a sign to leave you alone but that hadn't worked either. 

instead, now you know how his silky hair slinks to the front of his face as time passes during classes, and how he absentmindedly gnaws on his pens with his canine teeth. you know how he actually prefers putting his hair up in a high ponytail rather than a low one on the few occasions that he does tie his hair. you know he's actually studying when he’s wearing his red reading glasses. he takes his blazer off often and he's rather ripped, and you're embarrassed to say that you might've asked around why. your classmates said he has a black belt and used to beat people up for fun. 

you can't figure out if that's a joke or not. 

you don’t care that he ignores you, you have enough friends and more than enough people who would pay attention to you. but it kept building and building. everyone said he was a quiet but nice guy. was rowdy when he was younger, but mellowed down and began to focus on school a bit more. you would love to see that side of him, especially now in the crux of the group project. he still had a wild side to him apparently and everyone knew not to mess with him and his loyal set of goons kazutora and chifuyu (who is quite the loser himself), but you'd had just about enough today. you had messaged him that you would like to talk when classes ended, and clearly he didn't give a fuck. 

one last attempt, you promise. one last attempt and then you can boot him off of the project and be at peace again.

remember when you couldn't figure out if they were lying about baji keisuke being a bully or not? well, you're about to find out, because while you're digging through your bag for your history project folder, you don't see the foot sticking out right around the corner you turn.

one minute you're walking on solid ground, the next minute you're in the air and crashing down on it.

your bag provides no security at all, all the books, your cute stationery, the folder, your sanitizer, lip gloss, and all the little trinkets clatter onto the floor, spreading out onto the empty hallway. 

you look up to see golden eyes, framed by dark silky hair staring down at you. 

“what the fuck?” anger rolls through you. “what the fuck, baji?”

“oh, so it's baji now, is it? it was keisuke! keisuke! just a second ago!” he mimics your voice with a laugh.

you're still on your knees on the floor. you look around, and the school is empty, even the last of the people remaining would be downstairs in the cafeteria. 

“lookin’ for all your admirers?” he sneers, bending down to pick up one of your keychains. 

“what do you want from me?” you ask, reaching up to take it from him, but he snatches his hand back. “give it back!”

“you don't have to worry about this,” he says cooly, watching you try to gather all your stuff. you're on all fours, grabbing your things. you're getting nowhere ultimately, everything is far too spread out.

keisuke watches as your skirt hikes higher and higher up, teasing him with little glimpses at your white panties. was that lace on the sides? keisuke almost falls to his knees just from that, as you continue being a stupid slut so obliviously.

“get up!” he snaps and hauls you up with a firm grip on your bicep. “i told you not to worry about that!”

“oh yeah?” you ask, turning to him, your voice raising. “i would love to not worry about this, considering i was just minding my own business! i would love to not worry about the group project but you don't give a fuck!”

he raises his eyebrows, watching you go off on him. you get closer and closer to him, and start pushing him in his chest. “i'd at least like to have a conversation with you, but no, you're such a fucking asshole that you'd rather just stare at me resentfully like a creep instead of actually come up to me and talk to me! but i get it you know, i'd also be so full of hate if i was made to repeat a year but still remained as stupid as i was when i failed!” 

the silence that follows is palpable. 

you don't stand down. for once, there isn't a spec of your usual sweetness or benefit of doubt. you are glaring at him, looking right into his eyes, daring him to respond. 

“so you've been asking around about me, huh?”

“that's rich coming from you. if i see you stare at me one more time, or blatantly ignore me, or disrespect me again, i'll gouge your fucking eyes out!” you hiss, pushing him one final time. you turn around and once again bend over to start collecting your things.

“stop.”

“you are not allowed to- “

“i'll leave you alone if you do this.”

that makes you turn back to him. hurts a lil bit to see you only listen to him so he'd leave you alone, but he’d brought this upon himself. “what do you want,” you spit. 

he stares at you for a moment. you wonder if he's just gonna burst out laughing at how you deluded yourself into thinking that he'd leave you alone, right after he knocked you to the ground like that. his hair's out of his ponytail and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, his fangs flashing at you. 

he tilts his head to the side, and gives you a lazy grin. his eyes however, remain serious and trained on you.

“show me your panties.”

you balk, your anger dimming, replaced with confusion. “what?”

he looks serious as ever. he leans forward into your personal space, his hair almost brushing yours. “show me your panties,” he says slowly, as if he were talking to someone stupid, “and i'll consider leaving you alone.”

“con- consider? you told me you'd leave me alone!”

“depends. yes or no?”

“no! no! obviously no!” you're completely flushed, and you try pulling the hem of your skirt down defensively, wishing you hadn't snuck off to the bathroom to roll it up an inch before you came out to talk to him. “i'm not gonna show you my panties!”

he looks at you with a sort of bored but also amused look in his face. 

“do you seriously think i haven't noticed that your skirt's shorter now than it was in class?” he flips the tuck of your shirt up, “ah, there it is. you've rolled your skirt up just to come talk to me.”

“no… no!” you sputter, all the fight in you bleeding out from embarrassment. “i didn't, and i didn't do it for you!”

“i know you want my attention anyways. so let me be clear. either you show me your panties, which seems like you wanted to do that anyways, or i make you show me your panties.” he smiles, so simply and easily as if he's discussing what to get for lunch. “as simple as that.”

you snort. “you're gonna make me show you my panties? and how's that gonna work?” 

he laughs. “easily.”

you shouldn't have asked that, you think. keisuke pushes off the wall he's been leaning on and walks towards you. you walk back, unsure of what to do, your eyes never leaving each others, yours wide in shock and his sharp like a snake. your back hits the wall, and now you've got nowhere to go. 

“like this,” he whispers, and tugs you forward a bit by your belt loops. he then reaches forward, peering above your shoulder, and you stupidly lean forward almost on instinct. his silky hair brushes against your cheek, and for a second, you're lost in the sensation of that and the next moment, you feel his fingers fiddle with the back of waistband of your skirt, untucking it. 

“you tuck your shirt into your panties, huh?” he murmurs, “you're really such a loser.”

“what are you do- ah!”

his fingers are on the waistband of your panties now. and he pulls. the fabric gets pulled up from the back and digs into your ass from his tug. embarrassment floods your body from how humiliating this is, but also from how disgustingly wet you feel yourself getting.

“keisuke! keisuke, please!” you whisper, turning to look at him, but he's still looking over your shoulder. there's no way to conceal his view, because not only is he taller than you but also he can see down into your skirt.

“ah, there she is,” he mutters. another tug. “i don't know why you didn't want me to see ‘em. well, i already did see a bit of them when you were sprawled on the floor on all fours looking helpless, but you can't expect me to be satisfied just from that.”

“keisuke, please, stop it!” you squeal, ears hot. you can't believe he's basically giving you a wedgie, his fingers are in your panties and your out in public, more or less.

“all right then.” your panties snap back in place, stinging a bit. he pushes away a step, hands up. “run along then, little loser.”

you stand still head down, with a humiliating feeling settling in you. you don't want to leave.

he watches you not make a single move to your fallen bag or even to run away. 

“fuck, i knew there was something weird about you! i knew you weren't this sweet little popular preppy princess everyone makes you out to be!” he laughs, his deep voice echoing down the empty hallway. “you're a nasty little whore, aren't you?”

“m'not a nasty whore!” you whine, “i just- “

“fuck am i gonna have my way with you,” he whistles. “i was being polite earlier. turn around.”

“why- “

“talk all you like whore, but i better see you listening to what i say,” he cuts you off. He takes off his blazer, dropping it to the ground and folding his arms. “turn around.”

you turn around, with an inkling of what he's going to do. you stare at the lockers in front you and bite your lip.

“hands on the lockers.”

“what are you go- “

he lifts up your skirt and tucks it deep into the waistband, leaving you panty clad ass completely exposed. the cool air hitting you there directly makes you clench involuntarily and he almost moans from how cute and innocent that looks. he's finally got a good look at your panties. white, fitted cotton panties with a lace trim. it's ridiculous how simple it and how much it manages to choke him up. the back of the panties are still a bit yanked up from where he had pulled earlier, and you're clearly dying from embarrassment based on how low you're holding your head.

well, there's no time to waste.

he grabs onto the waistband at the back of your panties and pulls. the material disappears into your cheeks, digging up and up and up as he pulls, and you almost lose balance from the force of it. “keisuke!” you gasp, your hand coming back for some support. “i- “

“are you stupid?” he snarls, tugging up once more, causing you to jump from how mean he sounds, “or are your hands on the lockers?"

your hands are immediately on the lockers. 

“good girl,” he mutters, “goood girl.” he pulls more and more on your poor panties, and they're crudely rubbing against your hole. your feet almost leave the ground with ever tug he gives, causing you to bounce. you're almost dead with humiliation, but the grinding against your clit and the embarrassment of the whole situation has you so flustered and wrecked.

“i hate you, i hate you, i hate you, keisuke!”

he's so focused on your hot your ass looks, clenched around your panties like that, soft cheeks being put through such torture, and he can't imagine how your puckered little hole must feel from all the abuse it's taking. makes him wanna kiss it better. 

“what is it? you don't like being treated like the little loser you are, huh?” he croons into your ear. “is this not princess treatment enough for you?”

he lets you go all of a sudden, and you almost crumple to your knees, but he catches you and hauls you up, turning you towards him. 

“you havin fun?” he taunts, towering over you. 

“fuck off! you're so mean!” you sniffle, trying to pull your panties down.

“ah ah,” he says sternly, smacking your hands away. “none of that. i'm not done with you. boys!”

the door of the classroom next to you is kicked open and you see kazutora and chifuyu walk out, who follow keisuke like shadows and drank up every word he said loyally.

you glare at keisuke, who has both your wrists in a firm grip in just one hand of his. he grins at them. “told ya she's a slut.”

kazutora snickers, but your eyes remain on chifuyu. he's on the fucking math team with you! you glare holes into his eyes as he looks your way, and his cheeks turn pink, either because it's nerd recognizes nerd or it's because your skirt is tucked all the way up with your entire ass and panties exposed.

keisuke's attention is back on you as he lifts your wrists above your head, pinning them to the lockers behind you. you try to fight him, but it's fruitless. he then tucks the front of your skirt into your waistband too, leaving the front of your panties exposed too.

your panties have a little heart stitched onto the front, your pubic hair peeking out from the lace on the leg holes. 

“now, isn’t she a pretty baby,” keisuke laughs to himself, as your heart flutters a little from that praise. “hold her up for me, boys.”

“what do you mean hold me up?”

kazutora and chifuyu position themselves on either side of you and hold on the sides of your underwear. “chifuyu!” you gasp, turning to look at the boy, who refuses to make eye contact with you, but does what his supreme leader says anyways.

“hey!” keisuke snaps his fingers in front of your face. “you don't focus on anyone but me, kay?”

you narrow your eyes.

he squishes both your cheeks with one hand, making your lips pucker out. “answer.”

“okay, okay,” you whimper, breaking eye contact. 

“eyes on me, sweetheart. i'm gonna let go your hands now. if you try anything, you're gonna find out cute you look with a smack on your face, got it?”

your eyes turn watery as you look into his, lips pushing into a pout. “got it,” you mutter.

“there's my girl. now let's see what we have here.” and with that he sinks to his knees, till he's face level with your panties. he places his big hands on the outside of either thigh, running them up and down for a moment, sending shivers up your spine. he grips your thighs and watches his nails sink into your fatty flesh, and how you gasp at the pain that feels so good.

he leans forward and places a kiss on your mound, and then goes lower and places another firm kiss on your clit. the little whimper you give spurs him on. he pushes his nose between your lips and sniffs, groaning to himself. 

“fuck that's good pussy,” he presses his nose alone the slit and goes up and up until it meets your clit and he presses down as his lips comes up to rub your pussy through your panties. his nose rubbing on your clit has you moaning, as if there aren't two of your classmates holding you up by your panties, your legs weak. 

“gimme those hands,” he demands, his voice rough. you place your hands in his gingerly. he places a gentle kiss on both of them, so uncharacteristic to the situation you are in, and how he's been treating you. “i'm gonna give you a very important job, got it?”

“uh huh,” you whisper.

“you're gonna hold my hair up while i eat your pussy through your panties, okay? i don't wanna be missing a moment of it because of my hair getting in the way”

you almost short circuit. you stare at him dumbly, and are brought back to the moment when he places a sharp right onto your pussy lips.

“yes! yes!” you nod, and with your painted pink nails, you gently push back his hair and hold it in a ponytail. “this okay?”

he nods, and gives you a little wink. you gulp and look away.

“all right, we're back to business,” he mutters, going back down to your pussy. “hold ‘em higher for me.”

kazutora and chifuyu (whom you'd almost forgotten about from the previously somewhat sweet moment) pull your panties higher from the sides, making you gasp as they dig into your pussy this time.

keisuin prods and pushes at your pussy lips. he pushes the leg holes of your panties closer and closer together, little by little before he yanks on the top your panties suddenly, causing them to slip between your lips and tug up to your clit.

“ah! keisuke! that's really- “

“c'mon boys hold her higher for me, will ya? i don't mind if your bounce her for me. pussy's so wet just from all this panty action, let’s see how sensitive her little clit is, huh?”

he's talking over you like you're some thing. the boys pull you higher this time, and you can't help but marvel at the strenth of your panties for a hot second before bliss shoots up your body as the crotch of your panties rub against your clit, and you're finally getting some good direct action. 

keisuke watches the wet spot in your panties grow bigger and bigger as your panties dig deeper into your clit, your fat pussy lips hang out from either side of the thin bunched up material and your knees knock together from how horny you are and how desperately you're trying to squeeze for more friction. all while you diligently hold his hair back. even in this debauched state, you're adorable. his dick is straining against his pants, he unbuckles them and frees himself, his mouth watering as he dives right in.

panties riding up to the maximum level, he laps up against them, tasting your juices. he spreads your lips even further, making sure there's no room whatsoever for you to escape and you whine and kick. his eyes almost roll back to his skull and his soul ascends when his tongue comes in contact with the slick and gummy insides of your pussy, clenching around both him and your panties. he's growing jealous of your panties now.

“change of plans,” he says, gruffly, “hold her up by her legs, and if you drop her, i swear to god, you're dead.”

chifuyu and kazutora are quick to follow, as they each take one leg and lift you up, holding you open and ready for keisuke, but this time with your entire pussy directly facing him. you wail at the sudden change, but to no one's surprise you're ignored.

keisuke pushes your panties to the side and can finally see your pussy in all it's glory. your cute little bush and your gaping pussy from all the edging it has taken a minute ago. he rolls his saliva around in his tongue and then spits a glob of his spit right onto your pussy. you clench at the feel of how lewd it is, the warm, thick saliva coating your vagina and sliding down, dripping from your asshole. it's disgusting, but it feels so good. 

he pushes his entire face in, slurping and swallowing all you have to offer. you're glad that the two are holding you up, because you're too fucked out to even feel the tips of your toes, let alone stand. through all this, you make sure to hold his hair back, because you don't want him to be mad at you.

a finger presses on your asshole and you quiver with shock, snapping out of your daze. “kei- kei, keisuke, not there, not!”

you babble stupidly, passed the point of coherence, as keisuke lets you bounce a little on his fingertip dipping in and out of your puckered little hole, while he slurps up your perfect little pussy, sucking and flicking your clit. 

“‘m gonna cum! ‘m gonna cum!” you sob, kicking your feet a bit, like the spoiled little thing you are. 

“cum baby. i've got you,” he mutters, as he reaches up one hand to give your tits a hard squeeze. that's the final straw for you, as you finally let go, nipples aching, pussy tingling and asshole prodded open. you come on his mouth and he eagerly drinks up every last drop, jerking himself faster and faster. 

“bring her down,” he groans, and the lower you down to the floor, still holding you and keeping you spread. you look up him, your mouth agape as you watch him fist himself and push himself to the edge, cumming all over your face. at first you're taken aback, but then you just sink into the feeling of the hot cum drizzling all over your face dripping down… it almost feel therapeutic.

god. you really are a whore. and a loser.

you sigh. 

“oi, go pick her stuff up, and put it in her bag. nicely, like in however cute way she usually does it.”

you're gently set on the ground, on your hands and knees, shaking slightly. you see kazutora and chifuyu walk away and start gathering your stuff up off of the floor. keisuke kneels down to you, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. he pushes you slightly onto your knees and wipes the cum off of your face so gently and so sweetly, you could've mistaken it for your sweetheart wiping your wet face after a running home on a rainy day.

“you okay?” he asks.

you blink. “are you happy?”

“huh?”

“are you happy that you finally got to debase me and see me as a person and not some shiny new thing?”

“to be honest, you were a shiny thing till i wiped all the shininess away right now.”

you smack him on his chest with the back of your hand.

“i'm sorry,” he says looking into your eyes. “i just… um. have a crush on you that was so overwhelming that i wanted to, well, debase you,” he mutters. 

you laugh, and scratch your face. “whoa, i totally had no clue whatsoever.”

“is your face still sticky? tora, she has some wet wipes in her bags, toss ‘em over.” the wet wipes fly into his hands, and he pulls one out, wads it up and starts cleaning you up again. 

“how did you know i have wet wipes in my bag?”

“maybe i’ve looked through it before. maybe i haven't, who knows?” he shrugs, not looking at you, suddenly extremely concentrated on the area near your eye. 

“when did you even- ”

“i might also have memorized your schedule, and all the classes you take. oh, and i also need your panties from today.”

he gets a slap in the face for that.

this was 2.5k words longer than it was supposed to be. i'd love to hear what you think of it 😇

likes, comments, asks and reblogs HIGHLY APPRECIATED ❤️

read my other tokyo revengers fic!

kiss it better (ran haitani)

dividers by the super creative @anitalenia you can tell, I'm kinda obsessed 🌟

[ectologia]

EXPRESS

TOMURA SHIGARAKI + FEMALE READER

WARNING: DUBCON/NONCON, PROFANITY, DRUNK READER, PUSSY WEDGIE, EXHIBITIONISM, PUBLIC TRAIN MASTURBATION, FOOT HUMPING, HUMILIATION

Your feet drag along the raised concrete, you can barely take a step without tipping head first into the nearest wall or inconveniently placed bin. It’s unfortunate nobody took it upon themselves to actually walk you home, you’re fucked out of your mind — who let you drink this much anyway?

The clusters of people gathered in the station only glare at your clumsy stumbling, shuffling and shifting away into themselves once they see your staggering form sway towards them.

Your requests to borrow somebody’s phone are denied or out-right ignored instantly, left clinging to the rim of the greasy bin for some kind of stability.

“Escuse m’.. Uhm.. ‘s this m’ train..”

Trimmed brows furrow at your mumbling, their eyes drifting around uncomfortably before you can finally muster up a proper sentence. “Uhm.. Yeah. That’s your train.” You nod along dumbly, following their finger as they point to the still train currently boarding.

You’re sure you’ve stepped over eight peoples toes already, but you don’t really care when all you’re focused on is not puking your guts out. A fist curls around one of the grab-handles for support, giggling and squealing like a child as the train bumps to a start. Your limp body is practically thrown onto the floor of the train, left to hug and lean on the vacant seats.

Your clouded eyes blink down at the pair of tattered, red sneakers crossed by your feet. A hoarse growl grabs your attention, tilting your chin up to squint your swivelling eyes at the hooded figure. His face is overcast with a dim shadow, what’s not concealed by his hoodie is curtained by thin, static tresses of alice blue.

The grim line that makes up his lips quirks upwards at your dopey expression and disheveled appearance. On instinct, you smile back, mistaking his fiendish smirk for something akin to friendliness you can’t help but shuffle closer on your bum, reaching your arms out to hug his leg.

Your fellow passengers grimace at the display, pivoting their heads to look out the window, clutching their belongings closer.

If you were any other dumb, drunk bitch, you’d be a pile of dust by now. But he’s had a long day, so he decides to indulge you’re intoxicated idiocy. He opens his knees, man-spreading across the fortunately empty seats either side of him, he doesn’t blame the rest of the pathetic lot on the train for not wanting to sit next to the creepy man dressed in all-black.

His foot shimmies itself in between your spread thighs, opting to have you sit on it for him. You cock your head once you feel the ridges of his shoe circle the chubby mound hidden in your panties.

“Hump it.” Shigaraki hunches, bending down to whisper into your ear.

You suck on your bottom lip, wiping your face into the denim of his jeans before propping your chin on-top of his knee, purring. Your stupid little brain clearly isn’t comprehending what he’s saying at the moment, so he helps you out. You let out a breathy giggle as the metal rings and harsh material of his sneakers grind beneath you, bumping into your hooded clit with every jerk.

You don’t understand what’s happening, but you can’t find it in yourself to stop when your hips begin to move on their own, wanting to bounce your horny cunny on some random man, in public no less.

A sizeable portion of the passengers shuffle out of the cart with disgusted frowns, while other on-lookers distract themselves with their phones or reading books, glancing at your perverted antics every so often.

Shigaraki smiles down at you, slipping his tongue out to wet his lips as he watches you hump his leg like a dog. He’s no longer moving his foot along with you, letting you fuck yourself on his dirty sneakers at your own pace. You’ve latched onto his leg now, cuddling into him while your tongue lolls out of your mouth, leaving a dark, wet patch of drool to seep onto his thigh while you’re sloppy, dribbling pussy leaves it’s own trail of fluid along his shoe.

Your ears perk at the sound of a shutter, looking up to see a shiny phone being shoved into your face. Your movements halt as you squint at the white light.

“Hey.” Shigaraki lifts his foot up, giving your puffy cunt a little kick. “Keep humping girlie.”

You’re bounced a few times before you’re able to get the ball rolling again. You continue to grind your clothed pussy down onto his shoe, shaking your ass as you desperately try to get to your orgasm.

He rasps a laugh at your fucked out expression, zooming in on your sloppy face before bending down to lift your dress up, getting a nice shot of you masturbating your horny pussy on his foot. Two fingers dip down to tug at the cotton of your panties, pulling the crotch nice and tight against your hard clit while your fat pussy lips spill out the sides. Your contorted slit is given a few harsh smacks before he sits back up.

He’s hard as a fucking rock but he doesn’t really feel like getting his massive cock out right now. Might scare the on-lookers. He lets you have your fun, cumming your little heart out while you fuck yourself on the floor. He takes a few purposeful glances at you before turning his attention back to his phone, thumbing the screen.

5 IMAGES

2 VIDEOS

TOMURA: train slut lmao

DABI: holy shit

DABI: look how wet her fucking pussy is

DABI: why’s she humping ur shit on the fucking train lmao

TOMURA: dirty twat

You’re propelled backwards onto the ground once the train stops, blinking up at Shigaraki’s tall stature as he stands, swiping at the linoleum floor with the slicked up rubber of his shoe.

You half expect him to bid you some kind of goodbye or atleast acknowledge you as he steps over your panting, crumpled form. You stare at him almost longingly as he makes his way to the exit, only pivoting his head to look back at you with a lecherous grin before dispersing into the crowd of people gathered by the doors.

Your face burns red and warm once you realise how many people on the train are staring at your wet little pussy.

[lysil7777]

Yan! Dom! Fem! Reader x Sub! Boy

"P-please just.. just leave me alone!" James whimpered, tears welling up in his brown eyes, cheeks and ears flushing

"Aww what's wrong Jamie? Are you gonna cry? Did I hurt your feelings? Do you need your Mommy? You lean in to bite his ear and then whisper "I could be your mommy~"

Jamie hated himself for being unable to stop the moan that came out when you nipped at his ear and hated himself even more for letting you bully and harass him everyday.

When Jamie started college he swore things would be different from high school, he'd be more social, more motivated, and less shy. But 3 months later and the only person he talked to on a daily basis was you.

The first time you two met was in class, he'd braved up the courage to ask you for a pencil, he didn't really need one but he was trying to get out of his comfort zone.

You obliged but only after teasing him a bit asking what he'd give you in return, he got all embarrassed not knowing how to properly return your banter, and offered to pay you which you found very amusing. After a few more interactions you started to grow very fond of the nerd who sat behind you in Calc and before you knew it he was always on your mind.

The way he'd get embarrassed and look away from you when he didn't know what to say, the nervous habits he had when he was out by himself, how kind he was without anyone noticing, he was your adorable little specimen, for you only. And of course the best part was how naughty he could be, oh he was so innocent at the same time tho. You'd lost count of the number of times you'd watched him through his window, jerking it to soft domme porn, pet play, degradation, and dumbification, he was a pervy little nerd but the shame he felt afterward made you want to climb through his window and show him how much more depraved you were.

"What are you talking about y/n, I'm older than you that doesn't even make sense" he rambled looking anywhere but your eyes that were boring into his skull. God why did you have to be so close, why did you have to smell so good and be so pretty and-

His thoughts were cut off when you grabbed his chin and made him look at you directly

"I just think you're the kind of guy who needs direction, someone to help make those difficult decisions a sweet pet like you can't really decide for themselves, and why should you, that pretty little head of yours shouldn't have to worry about a single thing" you cooed squishing his cheeks together and making his lips push out

"I'm eighteen y/n, I can make my own decisions" Jamie argued or tried to through squished lips

At 5'3" you stood an entire nine inches under Jamie, but that didn't make him feel any less small in your presence

Letting go of his face you took a step back pretending to think for a moment "Alright then, I'll let you choose. Give me your number or get wedgied."

Jamie stood there dumb for a second, pants growing tighter and his skin warmer

"W-what?" He laughed nervously

Pulling his face closer to yours by the collar of his shirt you repeated your earlier statement to him in a slow demeaning manner, as if he was brain dead

"Give me your number or you get boo boo, oh no!" Your lips turned down in faux sadness

Jamie wasn't sure what to make of the situation, you usually weren't this physical with him, he was a little scared but mostly turned on. He didn't want to admit it but he had the teeniest tiniest crush on you and he blamed the stupid porn he'd been watching but he only looked into it because of you!

"I-I don't.." he paused

On one hand, he wanted to give you his number but on the other hand he'd never thought getting wedgied sounded so appealing

"You don't hmm~? Well, that just won't do. What happened to my big tough guy? Who was so strong and independent? Do you know darling? Ah, of course you don't. You're just as clueless as a little puppy dog and as cute as one too <3"

The new nickname shocked Jamie and caused him to audibly gasp, his hard-on fully visible now

"You can't j-just-aghhh"

You gripped him by his hair to cut him off

"Oh is puppy trying to give the orders now? What a silly little mutt you are, you really don't know how this works do you? The tent in your pants suggests otherwise but here you are telling me what I can and can't do with my property"

"I-I'm not yours y/n! A-and I'm not a pervert!!"

That first statement made your blood boil and you didn't even realize that you'd pushed Jamie down to his knees

"A good dog doesn't speak, a good dog gets treats and rewards but you're not being a good dog, Jamie. I know your tiny brain might not have comprehended it yet but you are mine, you're only mine. Who else is gonna talk to such a pervert hm? You were made for me, nobody else should ever see you like this, in fact, nobody ever sees you the way I do."

Before he could get a word out you pinned him to his position by placing your shoe on his clothed dick and reached over him to grab his boxers. Putting pressure on both simultaneously had him squirming and letting out the most sinful moans that made you wanna take him right then and there.

"Y-nnnnnnn" he whined, grinding up to help release some of the tension but each movement made the fabric between his ass more uncomfortable

"Shhh puppy, this is the punishment you've been given, I wouldn't be a very good owner if I didn't discipline my pet, you just gotta learn how to be good for me mkay? Don't you wanna learn how to be good and get rewards and pets and walkies~?"

All the new sensations made Jamie's head spin, his body felt like it was burning up from the inside out, his head was fuzzy, his dick was so much more sensitive than it had ever been while he was touching it and he couldn't place why the slight uncomfortableness of the wedgie made his parts throb even more, the whole situation was so intense poor boy couldn't fully wrap his doggy brain around it.

"I-I'm so close y/nnn, oh godd please, give me more! 'M so closeee" he panted not caring how pathetic he looked

"Already? Such a greedy pup for me hehe~ Have you learned your lesson, Jamie? Do you even deserve to cum against the bottom of my shoe?" You sang in a taunting manner pressing down even harder with your shoe

"I-, aghhhhh ohh yess fuck, YES! I'm yours y/n only yours! Promise! I'll-uggghh I'll be-hah hah- good! Just for you!"

"Atta boy! That wasn't so hard was it pup?" Finally letting go of his underwear you continued to let Jamie grind against your foot until he got to the edge

"M- boutta...cum!!" At this point, Jamie had grabbed your leg, chin resting on your thick thigh, eyes teary and glazed over staring up at you as if you were a goddess

Softly cupping his face you lifted it off your leg and removed any contact from his dick causing him to let out strings of breathy and high-pitched whines

You sat down and pulled him into your lap, gently wiping away the fresh fallen tears off his face

"W-*hiccup*why y/n, was so close...so close"

His protest died down with a stern look from you

"You'll be alright puppy, I promise. I'm gonna take care of you from now on, you are mine after all"

The rest of the evening was spent holding your new puppy, rubbing his tummy and flustering him with all the soft attention you gave him

He couldn't believe he got so lucky as to experience you, and as long as he considers being owned and expected to heed your everyword, he was lucky!

End <3

[bigwishes]

I wish to be the biggest and stupidest jock I can be.

Sure thing, seems easy enough

First I think it seems only fitting to blow you up and stuff you in an uncomfortable skin tight poser. Its the only thing you fit in now after all, even if you had clothes tailor made you'll find that you grow out of them almost instantly until you are standing there in nothing but that poser.

and I wouldn't try to buy anything bigger than what I've given you because you'll find that it shrinks down until it feels like the worst muscle wedgie you've every felt along with cock crushing pressure in the front, so get used to being uncomfortable.

The saving grace here is you are enchanted by your own muscles, you cant stop feeling yourself and flexing, in fact you are so dumb you are almost 100% sure the guy in the mirror is just your boyfriend, of course all that flexing and self worship is going to give you the strongest hard on you've ever felt in your life, so hard that you wanna drop to your knees and make yourself cum on the spot.

The only issue is that tiny microscopic brain of yours, your big muscles get in the way and you are unable to touch your own dick, let alone jerk off, but you are too stupid to realise that so like a dumb ape trying to reach an apple through the bars at the zoo you spend hours trying to reach down between your own legs only to stand up stumped as to why you couldn't.

[steviewashere]

Don't Dish What You Can't Serve

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Sexual Harassment (Not Between Main Pairing), Chewing Tobacco, Gross Shit Happens That I Can't Say Because It Spoils The PlotTags: Different First Meeting AU, No Upside Down AU, No Supernatural AU, Steve Never Became Friends With Tommy and Carol, Hurt/Comfort, Tommy Hagan Being an Asshole, Tommy Hagan is a Piece of Shit Here, Waiter Steve Harrington, Line Cook Eddie Munson, They Work at Benny's, So This is an AU Where Benny's Never Closed, Protective Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Gets Revenge, Steve is a College Student (But That's Not Entirely Important Here), '86 Was Eddie's Year

🥤——————🥤 Steve picks up a new job in the summer of 1986, waiting tables. The job at Family Video fell through and it just didn’t pay enough. He was starting his first year at the local college soon and he desperately needed the money. Especially since his parents cut him off, sighting his one gap year as enough reason. And so he goes to Benny’s, fills out an application and turns it in the same day. Back at his apartment, also the same day, he gets hired on. Alongside another guy around his age, one he recognizes from high school as Eddie Munson—who must’ve finally finished his time as a senior and now just needed to work.

Neither of them really talk to each other outside of putting orders in and taking orders out. Maybe occasionally scolding the other because—“You didn’t ask how rare he wanted his steak, Harrington? How the hell am I supposed to make it then?” and “Munson, you forgot the fucking ketchup on this asshole’s cheeseburger and now he won’t shut the fuck up about it. Fix this, please for the love of god.”

So, sure, they don’t get along all that well all the time. They’re not friends. More so just acquaintances. And so they don't really talk.

However, that changes one evening.

It’s a couple weeks before the upcoming school year is supposed to start. Hawkins, Indiana is one of those little college towns. Meaning, the new students were finally moving, coming around, getting to know where they now lived. And that includes one particular customer, Tommy Hagan, and his girlfriend, Carol Perkins. They’ve been coming in since mid-July, despite the new year starting in September, despite move-in dates set in late August. Every Sunday, Steve sees their pinched, smarmy, cocky faces. And every Sunday, they always cause some sort of issue.

The first time, Tommy spilled his soda all over the tiled restaurant floor. Claimed it was an accident, but Steve saw him. He saw the guy push his cup over the edge. Heard him snicker as Steve bent down to wipe it up, as he stood back up and plastered on a tight smile, promising that he’d get him a new soda right away. Flushed with shame as Tommy laughed and laughed and laughed his ass off about the, “Guy with the big stupid eyes and no thoughts in his head” and how he, “Probably doesn’t have much going for him if he’s working in a place like this.”

A riddle and game, that’s what it was. Steve would welcome them, take their orders, put them in for Eddie to make, drop the food off, and be at their service if something went wrong. Which was always. And he’d endure the stupid comments Tommy would make when he wasn’t in earshot. Spanning from how incompetent their waiter was—“He’s always screwing something up, swear to god. Don’t even know how he’s holding a job here, jeez.”—to how big of a manwhore he is because of how tight his work pants were. As if Steve would ever be catching tail in his stupid slacks, always stained with food and sticky soda by the end of the night, and the same pants that give him wedgies if he doesn’t make them sit right on his waist. All in all, Tommy is their worst customer. But it’s just a job, Steve always thought, it’ll get better at some point. Tommy will eventually start classes and leave me alone.

Then, of course, comes the Sunday a couple weeks before the new school year. Tommy is alone this time. No Carol on his arm. He just slides into one of the booths and watches Steve work until he approaches. And immediately, something is terribly off about this encounter.

“Welcome to Benny’s, can I get any drinks started for you?” Steve asks. His script. Customer service voice pitchy and monotone as it drips from his mouth.

Tommy doesn’t answer for several moments. Leaving Steve to stand and loom and stare. To smile and squirm. As he rakes his eyes so unnoticeably over all of Steve’s frame. His tongue trails along the inside of his lower lip, eyes heated, a gross smirk on his face. Smarmy.

“Bet you’d look good without that dumb frilly apron around your waist,” Tommy teases. It’s half-flirtatious, Steve thinks. But all the same creepy and…predatory.

“Excuse me?” He can only respond.

The asshole hums, assessing. Repeats himself. And adds, “You’d make better tips, too. Maybe put some gloss on your lips, a tighter shirt, no apron…yeah…vision’s coming together, baby. Could make everybody your bitch when you serve them.” He stares for a second longer. Rests his face in his left hand and flutters his eyes at Steve. “Can I get my usual, pretty boy? And one of those strawberry milkshakes.”

Steve writes the order down on his little notepad, shifting foot to foot. His stomach twists and knots. Brain still whirling at what Tommy said, unable to retort. Doesn’t even know how to really feel. Not flattered, that’s for sure. Slimy…that seems like a good enough substitute for the emotions mildewing in his chest.

“Y’know,” Tommy continues, voice sticky the way humidity is—uncomfortable—“I see how hard you work around here sometimes, even if you are pretty bad at it. Swear I can see the cogs just clogging up in your head. If you wanna give that pea brain of yours a moment to relax, you could share that drink with me. Maybe I’ll tip you real good this time, baby.”

He shifts again. Hands clammy and bile in the back of his throat. Steve swallows hard, thinks he stutters something out akin to, “I’ll be back with your order,” and promptly disappears into the kitchen.

The door swings closed behind him. And he’s not really looking, not paying attention. Just trying to get away from the residue left in Tommy’s air of existence. In the seconds between entering the kitchen and trying to storm away, he runs into somebody. An exerted grunt, raspy and deep, sounds out in front of him.

“Hey! Watch”—the person gently grabs him by the shoulders and leads them somewhere that he can’t really register. In a softer voice, no longer agitated, “Steve? Hey, man, y’alright?”

Steve sniffles. It’s then that he recognizes the heat in his cheeks, overwhelmingly hot and itchy. The scalding of tears. A pinch behind his eyes. There’s a soft cushion underneath him, the telltale creak of one of the older dining chairs. The air smells like garlic and grease, but a breeze catches over his exposed forearms—most likely from an air conditioning unit. He’s in the break room, he can finally notice. And break he does.

“That asshole is back,” he garbles, “and he”—hiccup—“he’s being really gross to me.”

The person crouches down in front of him, putting them eye-to-eye. And he knows immediately that it’s Eddie. Long hair pulled up into as neat of a bun as he can manage. A group of pitch black bats on pale skin. Dark brown eyes, shifting back and forth between his own with a mixture of concern and anger.

“What’d he say to you, Steve?”

He sniffs again, trying to gain some composure before he inevitably has a full-blown breakdown. Inevitable because he always has one when he goes home to his apartment, but it might happen here, and he can’t afford to let it happen here. Not today, at least, not now.

“Calling me…calling me baby and pretty boy. And he—he’s trying to make me share his stupid milkshake and he calls me stupid—that I have a…a fucking pea brain. Eddie, he calls me stupid every single time he comes in and I just—he’s just—I can’t”—

Eddie runs his warm hands up and down his biceps, gently pushing the fabric of his quarter sleeve, too. He shushes low and whispered. Murmurs, “I don’t want you to go back out there without me, alright?” His eyes dart back and forth between Steve’s wet ones once more. One of his hands leaves and digs into his back pocket, producing a black bandana. And he carefully brings it up close, patting it over Steve’s blotchy cheeks. “You don’t deserve that, Steve,” he whispers, “and I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves. Just wait back here for a bit and I’ll get his order done.”

Steve nods slow and heavy. Wipes the heel of his palm roughly over his eyes—to which Eddie tuts at and firmly drags it away, replacing it with the worn, soft fabric of that bandana. “Sorry that I ran into you at the door,” he says quietly.

“I’m glad you did. Because I’m going to make sure that asshole never bothers you again. ‘M sick of hearing what he does to you every single time he comes in.” Eddie stands up, but leaves the bandana to dangle in Steve’s loose grip. A tentative stroke through Steve’s hair, something he usually wouldn’t allow, but it’s too nice to turn down. “We’ll put him up on the wall, too. That bastard can suck a fucking egg.”

He laughs at that, or at least something like a laugh. It’s brittle, airy, but genuine. And watches Eddie go.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, though, Eddie wanders back into the break room and drags them back towards the milkshake blender in the kitchen. He has the ingredients all laid out next to the machine: vanilla ice cream, a gallon of milk, some freshly chopped strawberries, the can of whipped cream, and the glass itself. Adds the milk and the ice cream, but then stops abruptly, turning to dig something out of his pocket.

“What’re you doing?” Steve quietly asks, worried to be overheard through the ticket window.

“Oh, just some good ol’ payback,” Eddie answers, something darker than mirth in his tone. What he produces from his pocket is a can of chewing tobacco. The nasty menthol kind, too. He shakes the little tin in his hand, the tobacco thunking against the lid of the container. And then he twists the cap off, plucks a quarter sized amount, and stuffs the wad between his bottom teeth and lower lip. Mouth literally bulging with the tobacco. “We’ll blend this shit first,” he whispers, scheming, “add the strawberries. Then, comes the grand finale.”

Steve side eyes Eddie. His deft fingers flittering over the buttons of the blender, scooping out the strawberries with the same hand he picked up tobacco with. He grimaces, but doesn’t comment on that. “Grand finale?”

“One of the biggest fears that customers have when they go into any restaurant is that the waiter is going to spit in their food,” he nonchalantly explains, capping the blender, “though, a lot of them don’t consider the line cook. Or at least, the rude ones don’t.” Eddie shifts something in his mouth, what sounds like the slosh of thick saliva. “He’ll probably complain, but it’s not like he’ll be believed. It’s a safety hazard, sure. But nobody suspects the cook because they’re supposed to know that shit. A cook spitting in a patron’s food? No way, man. That shit’s taboo.”

“And if he is believed?”

Eddie merely shrugs. “Then I get fired. But it’s whatever. I’m already on my way out anyway, got enough money for what I need.” 

Before Steve can ask or get in response, Eddie’s blasting the blender. It chugs and churns the half cup of milk and the measly two scoops of ice cream. The strawberries burst and bleed juice throughout, mixture turning pink. And with a few shakes, a half-way pit stop to unclog the bigger chunks, and a go-about with the partially dysfunctional blades—Eddie chucks the lid off, unlocks the pitcher from the machine, and turns away from Steve.

“I’m gonna have the good graces to not make you watch this shit,” Eddie gives as an explanation, “y’may wanna cover your ears.” Steve doesn’t, though wishes he did. With a cough and a semi-gag, Eddie inhales and burbles the saliva in the back of his mouth. He can hear the way the tobacco spit dribbles from between Eddie’s lips, the way it plops into the blended mixture, and the last little dredges left in his mouth. Steve’s stomach turns, but he doesn’t stop it. Doesn’t step in.

Eddie turns back around with the blender. Sitting on top of the pink mix is one quarter sized glob of tobacco and saliva, the spit already spilling down the sides of the pitcher. “Ta-da!” Eddie exclaims, shaking the pitcher back and forth. “And that is what I like to call the revenge special. Half cup milk, two scoops of vanilla ice cream, four chopped strawberries, and a fantastical exported ingredient from the land of your’s truly. It may be a seasonal item, but it’s got the gust of something that’ll last a lifetime.”

“God…that is disgusting,” Steve mock-whispers. “You’re a fucking genius.”

“Thank you, it’s one of my many tricks.” He sets the blender down onto the metal counter, a hard thunk that rattles the milkshake glass. “Now, do me a favor and pour that into the glass, get him one of those stupid striped straws, spray it up with some whip. And I’ll dish up his monstrosity of a cheeseburger.” Eddie’s eyes soften away from the mirth they previously had. His voice dropping low, too. “I’ll deliver it, too, by the way. I would never throw you under the bus for something gross like this. This should hopefully get him to stay away, though. If he does complain about you and you have to flee, I’ll help you find a new job.”

“I could just say I did it, y’know,” Steve tentatively says, “that I fucked up his drink. You don’t need to lose your job because of issues I’m having.”

“You were crying, Steve,” Eddie points out gently. “Nobody makes my waiters cry. And nobody gets away with it, either.” He slinks away from Steve without another word and without another word getting in. And Steve watches him for a long moment. As he busies himself around his workspace, tidied and organized the way he needs it. The flex of his muscles as he flips and cuts and assembles that cheeseburger. His baby hairs at the crown of his head getting stuck to his sweaty temples, hard work painting and furrowing his brows.

But when he’s caught staring, Eddie simply and softly smiles, gestures at the blender, and turns back to his plate. So, Steve does what he’s told. Assembles the nail to his coffin, one pour and spray and straw at a time. And walks out of the kitchen, behind Eddie’s flexing back, his grease stained and sweat drenched white t-shirt. He sits at the front counter, in one of the old, flaking barstools. Watches.

Tommy looks up at Eddie from his spot in the booth, eyes wide as he sees Eddie take a seat across from him. He grimaces and sours. “You aren’t that waiter. Who the fuck are”—

“Heard you like milkshakes,” Eddie drawls. “Thought maybe I could get your opinion on a new recipe I’m trying. It’s strawberry, don’t worry your preppy little chinos off. But there’s been a slight change, was wondering what you’d think about it.”

Across the table, Tommy gives Eddie an odd glance. “Is it that important that you watch me? Surely I could’ve just sent my compliments to you or whatever when I’m done.”

“Nah, I like getting it straight from the source. So, go ahead, take a sip. Tell me what you think.”

Steve has to physically draw himself back, has to swallow down the gag and bile working their way through him, and genuinely convulses back against the counter as Tommy takes his first, long, hard sip of the milkshake. His face doesn’t move much with the sip, but he does scowl a tad, grimacing with a slight twitch in his upper lip.

“Tastes sour,” Tommy comments.

Eddie hums. “But is it good? Sometimes sour’s a good thing.” He reaches across the table, then, and plucks up Tommy’s cheeseburger. Crosses one arm across his chest, hand resting on his opposite bicep, and brings the food up to his mouth, taking a hearty bite.

“Hey!” Tommy exclaims, “that’s my cheeseburger, man! You can’t just”—

“Get a second sip and maybe I’ll consider remaking your food.” Eddie smugly watches Tommy take another deep swallow. His eyes cast at the glass, roaming at the little brown flecks in the shake. Knowing and proud. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“I mean it’s…objectively, I guess it’s good. Can I get a new burger, man? I’m starving here and I’ve got a date with my girlfriend in thirty minutes.”

All at once, Steve’s heart enters his stomach. Eddie takes another large bite of the burger before replacing it on Tommy’s plate. He crosses his arms against the top of the table, fingers tucked securely in the creases of his elbows. Leans all the way across until he’s nearly nose to nose with Tommy.

“So, could you taste what was different? Could your pea brain discern the new flavor on your tongue?” He asks, smarmy as Tommy has ever been. Over-confident, yet satisfied.

Tommy’s eyes widen at his words being thrown back in his face, startles against the back of his booth. Fingers gripping to the edge of the table, cheeks going pale. “I…I don’t”—

“Spit.”

“Wh—What?”

“Spit,” Eddie repeats coldly. “You just drank my fucking tobacco spit.” Silence. And then, “How’d I taste, baby? Be honest. Was it everything you’d ever hope it would be with a man?”

More silence. Tense and thick, enough that it weighs on Steve’s shoulders across the way. However, Tommy finally registers what just happened. He gags hard, hand covering his curdled mouth. Behind it, muffled, he says, “You’re sick in the head. I’ll—I’ll fucking tell your boss. You’ll fucking regret this.” And he stands up on shaky legs, dashing away before he can vomit all over himself.

Eddie only watches him leave, satisfied and content. He looks back to Steve, grins. “I can’t wait to see his girlfriend’s face when she finds out he isn’t allowed back.”

Steve nervously giggles and crosses to the booth, sliding in where Tommy just was. “You’re insane,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, but it worked, didn’t it? Too bad he didn’t leave a tip. There is a cheeseburger if you want the rest of it. Promise I didn’t fuck with that.” Eddie’s eyes are on him, soft and thoughtful, watching him pick up the partially eaten burger. “I can make you a new one instead, if you’d prefer. Extra cheese, too.”

“Trying to get in all the cooking you can before this inevitably backfires?”

“Sure…or I’m trying to make sure you’re taken care of. One in the same, I suppose. So, provolone, right? Could even combine some of the cheese if you want. Pepper jack and havarti…colby jack and swiss. Take your pick.”

Steve glances up from the plate in front of him. Heart beating fast and chest gooey as Eddie looks onto him with something like reverence. “Provolone, please,” he requests quietly, “and can I get extra crunchy crinkle fries, too?”

Reaching out a hand, Eddie gently pats the back of Steve’s left. “You got it, baby”—he hisses—“I probably shouldn’t call you that. I’m so”—

“It’s alright,” Steve murmurs, “I…uh…I don’t mind if it’s you.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, then stands from the other side of the bench. “You’re gonna give me a hero complex and an ego, Stevie.” He begins to retreat towards the kitchen, calling out about bringing the dishes back when he’s done, that the milkshake could just be tossed glass and all.

But Steve stops him with, “Hey, Eddie?” Is met again with those soft, dark brown eyes. “Thank you,” he quietly says, “I never thought I’d get him away from me. Means a lot that you helped.”

There’s a soft smile on Eddie’s face, one that Steve can’t help but return.

“Anything for you, man.”

He makes Eddie stop again, though. To gaze, to drink in that tight white t-shirt and the spatter of black ink on his arms, his heavy pretty curls, and that soft face of his. “When we finish closing up for the night, do you wanna come over to mine? I’ve got a rented copy of Empire Strikes Back and a few beers. Only if you”—

“I’d love to, Steve. Now let me make you your food, sweetheart. Before you gobble me up with that hungry stare of yours.”

🥤——————🥤

[inbabylontheywept]

xc lends itself to stories well because it has all the weird overlapping insanities of group dynamics and hypoxia and Male Bonding and definitely a little bit of masochism.

and for my second xc story in like a week, we used to do this run down to the local public pool in the summers of hs because the temp was like, 110-115. fucking bastard heat. and this one girl had The Audacity to wear this extremely normal and fine two piece swimsuit that showed approximately a half inch of waist and a bellybutton. this of course was a mortal insult to one particular group of mormons who were so scandalized that they talked to the coach who in turn talked to the group about how Someone Wore a Two Piece Swimsuit and it made Some People very uncomfortable and that the dress code was now one piece swimsuits. and of course the poor girl was absolutely mortified.

now, the varsity were actually really good people in general, but one of them, who i shall name RJ, was just awesome. that sonofabitch could run like a 14:00 5k, but he still had this big ol potbelly, and he was the only person i knew who didnt get nauseous after running. the absolute brainfuck of running in the 110 degree heat along the canals, just struggling to breathe, and then getting smoked by this potbelled toothpick eating a bag of flaming hot cheetoes is just hard to understate. hed go up into the stands during track and buy hotdogs. just a legend. fuck that guy, but you know, in the way where im really just jealous of him.

anyway, RJ took genuine offense to this girl being called out for her totally normal swimsuit so when the next public pool run came around he showed up in a speedo. and it was the xc hivemind thing, where we all knew if we could just, somehow, keep the coach from noticing this guy until we actually pulled out and started running down the block, we were golden. so me and a bunch of other guys gathered around him like the secret service, and we did our stretches, got ready and left, and then RJ, being the beautiful majestic man muffin that he is, popped his shirt off, ran directly to the front of the mormon group, and proceeded to give himself the most brutal wedgie i can describe. practically stretched the speedo over his shoulders. you couldnt get a clearer vision of this mans ass with the hubble telescope.

so the mormon group tried to pass him, which was like stupid of them - nobody passed RJ unless they were willing to piss blood. they tried, they tried so hard to get around him and avoid the blaring eyewatering burn of this mans ghost white ass, but it didnt work, so they tried slowing down which is also something RJ could do indefinitely so eventaully they just kind of gave up and tried not to notice the extremely noticable hairy white butt camped in front of them for the entire three mile run to the pool.

the coach did notice about halfway through the run, but by then there wasnt much he could do. we argued very eloquently between panting and coughing and generally suffering that a speedo is, in fact, a one piece swimsuit, and thus the letter of the law had been fulfilled. id say, i dunno, maybe a hundred of us argued the case.

surprisingly, there was no follow up conversation banning speedos. RJs disapproval of the ban wouldve been enough, but the speedo underlined it in red a few times and at the next run to the pool, several other girls wore tankinis and nobody said shit.

(RJ told me if they had, the next run to the pool wouldve just been him winnie-the-poohing it, and i almost dont doubt it.)

[runraerun]

ao3 • 6.1k • @steddie-spooktober day 30 prompt: “Where did you find that costume?” • beta: @netflixandchilis 🧡🖤

Summary:

“This is not a sex costume.” Steve rolls his eyes, “I swear, I could show up dressed as a clown and you guys would accuse me of—”

Steve doesn’t have time to brace himself before Eddie reaches forward and yanks. The sound of tearing velcro is deafening, and so is the silence that follows afterward.

His entire cop costume is suddenly off of his body and somehow, inexplicably, in the hands of Eddie Munson.

Or, unbeknownst to Steve, he shows up to Eddie’s Halloween party dressed as a stripper.

*Knock knock knock*

Steve steps back from Eddie’s front door, then rocks back on the heels of his boots that he hasn’t fully broken in yet. He knows that technically, he could just stroll into the trailer—he’s done it before after all, but sue him; he’s feeling playful tonight. And if there’s one night a year you’re allowed to embarrass yourself a little in the name of shits and giggles, it’s Halloween, right?

Steve had drawn the short straw between the four of them and was saddled with babysitting duty earlier tonight. As usual, Steve thinks with an amused sort of bitterness. Always the goddamn babysitter…

He’d just finished dropping the kids all off at Henderson’s house for a sleepover, but this was after they had forced him to trail after the lot of them for what felt like an eternity while they filled their pillow cases up with sugary garbage. Steve’s fucking exhausted.

When no one answers the door, Steve steps forward again, delivering three sharp knocks in quick succession.

“Hawkins PD, open up,” he bellows, giving what he considers is a fairly decent Hopper impression.

Steve’s skin prickles against a sudden cool breeze. He hooks his thumbs into his belt and waits on the creaky front porch, trying not to squirm against the wedgie that this outfit seems determined to give him.

Cheap ass costume…

The front door swings open, and Steve is suddenly bathed in the warm, welcoming light of the trailer’s interior. Robin, who has a football helmet on, along with some kind of orange jumpsuit with tubes wrapped around her torso, looks him up and down.

Before she can even say a single word though, Steve cuts her off, playing at arrogance.

“Got a couple of noise complaints, ma’am. Are your folks home? I’m gonna need—”

Robin holds her hands up with barely contained glee, “Wait wait, hold on! Just stay right there.”

The door slams shut in his face, leaving Steve in the darkness of the porch again. Through the door, Steve hears Robin yell for Eddie, but can’t make out much of the muffled voices after that.

Left on the porch with nothing but his thoughts Steve can’t help but wonder if Robin even recognized him. The fake stache wasn’t that convincing… was it?

“Man, c’mon…” Steve sighs, stepping forward and knocking again, this time with more force. He’s very quickly regretting his decision to ham it up as opposed to just walking in, kicking off the uncomfortable boots he’d been wearing all evening, and plopping down on Eddie’s lumpy, yet deceptively comfy sofa.

“C’mon, open up, Hawkins Police.” Steve calls again, trying to keep his exhaustion out of his voice.

In a blink, the door swings open again. Steve makes the extra effort to push his shoulders back and puff out his chest. This time, instead of Robin being the one haloed in the dingy light illuminating the trailer, it’s Eddie. A very confused, shockingly pale, cape-wearing Eddie.

Steve tilts his head back and peers down through his dark aviators at his friend, trying to maintain a stern, authoritative demeanor. His lip itches from underneath the stupid fake facial hair he’s got taped to his face. He can’t wait to rip the damn thing off.

Eddie grips the edge of the doorway, apparently stunned into silence.

“Sir, did you or anyone in this household place a call to 911 this evening?” Steve barks, trying his best to lean into his power-tripping asshole persona he’s decided to adopt.

“What the–” Eddie starts, but doesn’t seem to have any words to follow. His wide, dark eyes roam over the uniform and his twitching smile says enough.

Steve’s putting on a good show, it seems.

“Because it’s a criminal offense to prank call an emergency hotline, sir.” Steve leans forward, hoping for intimidation, “I could have you arrested.”

Steve suddenly becomes aware of Nancy and Robin both snickering in the background, watching the interaction with seemingly great interest. Eddie, for the most part, appears frozen at the door. It’s an odd bunch of reactions if Steve is being honest—he’s just dicking around, after all. Was he really being that out of pocket?

“Shteve, where in the fresh hell…?” A bewildered looking Eddie begins, his words slightly slurred, almost as if he has a lisp. Then Steve spots them; the sharp toothed plastic tray of vampire teeth that Eddie’s got stuffed into his mouth, making his lips pucker out just a bit. He looks ridiculous. If anyone should be laughing, it should be Steve. But instead of waiting for everyone to get their shit together, Steve forges on. He makes a show of sniffing the air. He slowly pulls the aviators down his nose to shoot Eddie a look. “Is that marijuana I smell, son? You kids smoking the devil’s lettuce in there?”

Robin sounds like she’s choking on something, Nancy’s all but retreated back into the trailer, unable to contain herself. Was it really that funny? Steve knows he can get the girls laughing on occasion, but he’s not like, a comedian or anything. And this cop bit he’s doing wasn’t even all that funny, even he can admit that. It’s just dorky fun. But Eddie’s shoulders are shaking and he’s giggling hard enough that he’s gone all quiet. Steve briefly wonders if he has something on his face…? Besides the stache, of course.

A particularly cool breeze hits his side, and he can physically feel himself break character as he brings his shoulders up to his ears in an attempt to brace against it. This cheap fucking costume does absolutely dick all to keep the cold out.

“Alright alright, jokes over, just let me in already.” But when Steve takes a step to pass through the door, Eddie quickly holds a hand to Steve’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. With his other free hand, he noisily pulls the vampire teeth from his mouth, a string of spit connecting the two until Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of a hand.

“Slow your roll, Sargent Cinnamon,” Eddie exclaims, barely able to contain his laughter to get the words out, “Jesus Christ, Steve, you’re gonna get the actual cops called on us.”

Sargent Cinnamon?

Steve takes off his aviators, perplexed. “What? Why?”

“Just—just turn around for me for a minute.” Eddie says. His hand falls from Steve’s chest as Steve begrudgingly takes a step back.

“Yeah, give us a spin, Steve.” Robin calls from the kitchenette, and Eddie gives a noisy laugh through his nose in what looks like a failed attempt to withhold a full on fucking belly laugh from escaping.

“Why?” Steve makes a face as he asks again, defenses up.

“We just have to confirm something.” Eddie says, playing coy.

Now that Steve’s really looking at him, he can see Eddie’s clearly dressed as a vampire. He’s all in black, though most of him is covered up by the long, heavy looking cape that’s tied around his shoulders and draping down his back. The collar of it looks stiff, its points reach damn near up to his cheekbones. His eyes are rimmed with dark makeup, making them pop even more than they usually do. Most striking of all though, is the white makeup that’s smeared all over his face, down his neck, and even over his mouth. It makes for a shock when he speaks or laughs, the deep red of the inside of his mouth contrasting sharply with the undead paleness of the rest of his face.

He looks… good. Spooky, but good. Especially now that those chunky fake fangs are out. Maybe Steve should have dressed as something spooky too…

“C’mon, just let me in. I don’t wanna spin.” Steve frowns. He does not pout. His lip may or may not jut out the tiniest of amounts. But Steve Harrington does not pout.

Eddie’s brows pinch together in mock sympathy, “oh, I’m so sorry Officer, but in that case, we’re gonna need you to come back with a warrant.”

Steve sighs. He’s cold, annoyed, and he’s pretty sure there’s two big watery blisters on the backs of his heels that’ll need patching up before the night is out. “Dude–”

Eddie holds out a finger, silencing Steve, “ah ah ah. You don’t get to show up here dressed like that and not put on a show.”

Steve’s brain stutters to a halt. “...I’m just dressed as a cop. What’s the big deal? Why’re you guys acting so weird?”

“Less yapping, more spinning, Deputy.” Eddie smiles wide, tilting his head. Despite being a total shithead at the moment, that smile never seems to fail at making Eddie look strangely endearing. It’s like a trap—one Steve always seems to be tumbling into as of late.

He gives a noisy groan of frustration to show exactly how ridiculous he thinks this whole thing is, before he complies and slowly turns around on the spot. Steve puts out his arms in defeat, suppressing yet another urge to dig at the wedgie now firmly up his ass. “There. Happy? Any more questions or demands?”

“Yeah, just the one,” Eddie says, seeming no less entertained than if Steve had just burped the whole alphabet backwards while simultaneously juggling a set of kitchen knives. “Where did you find that costume?”

Steve feels his neck go red, then his ears. He stuffs his hands under his armpits to try and warm them up, then shrugs defensively, not fully knowing why he is so embarrassed, only that he is. “Just a regular costume store.”

“What store exactly?” Robin calls from behind Eddie while she nurses a beer, “was there, oh, I don’t know, lingerie in the window of this costume store?”

And with that, there’s simply no helping it; Steve’s face goes scarlet. “No! It was just that pop-up Halloween store—the one next to Family Video. Robin, you went there too, what’s the big deal?”

“Did you happen to have crossed a beaded doorway in order to get to this costume by any chance?” Eddie asks in mock curiosity, barely withholding more of his obnoxiously loud laughter.

Steve opens his mouth to deny the downright weird accusation but… thinking back on it, he may have hit some beads at a certain point while he was in that shop.

Oh God…

“There’s that lightbulb,” Eddie gives a smarmy type of smile, “knew it would turn on eventually.”

Steve casts a glare between Eddie and Robin. They’re just poking fun at him, surely. If he’s being honest, he’s sort of sick of them ganging up on him lately. It’s like, all of the sudden, Eddie and Robin had just decided to become besties. They were always whispering and sharing these weird, heated looks between the two of them, ones Steve could never interpret. Like they suddenly had a whole slew of inside jokes that they refused to let Steve in on. It was infuriating!

If he didn’t know for a fact that there was no possibility of a romance between the two of them he would think they were hooking up. But no, apparently they’ve just bonded over their shared love of torturing ex-jocks. It’s like fucking Revenge of the Nerds out here.

“This is not a sex costume.” he growls, bunching his shoulders up just a little in an attempt to keep the breeze away from his neck.

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice goes soft, as if he’s opting to break the news to Steve gently, “you’re dressed as a stripper, man.”

“No, I’m not!” Steve shouts before he thinks better of it. He reels it in, but only a little, “It’s just… I’m just a cop. Okay, maybe it’s a sexy cop, but it’s just a stupid joke costume! It’s not my fault the outfit looks good on me, alright? That doesn’t make it a stripper outfit.”

Eddie nods empathetically, “right right, sure.”

“It’s true!”

“Totally, yeah.”

“I’m being serious!”

“Oh, I know you are.”

“It’s just a little tight is all.”

“I’ll say.”

Steve huffs, “I swear, I could show up dressed as a goddamn clown and you guys would accuse me of–”

Steve doesn’t have time to brace himself before Eddie reaches forward and yanks. The sound of tearing velcro is deafening, and so is the silence that follows directly afterward.

The entire front of his cop costume is off of his body and somehow, inexplicably, in the hands of Eddie Munson. And without the support of the front piece, Steve feels the entire back half of his costume follow suit, slipping down and off of his shoulders. Humiliatingly, the only reason it doesn’t hit the ground altogether is because the fabric is so securely lodged in between Steve’s ass cheeks.

Either way, he’s standing there, on the Munson’s front porch, in front of Eddie, in nothing more than his bright red boxers that he put on this morning, his uncomfortable fucking boots, his fake stache, and the octagonal police cap he’s got resting atop his head.

Eddie takes a deep breath, not even bothering to try and hide the way he’s basking in Steve’s utter humiliation. “Well well well. Looks like Christmas came early this year, huh?”

Robin at least has done him the good favor of collapsing somewhere in the living room, shrieking in laughter.

“Wh–Why would you do that!?” Steve clumsily grabs for the cap atop his head before holding it to his crotch in a flimsy attempt to preserve at least some of his dignity.

“Honestly? Because I don’t have a lot of impulse control,” Eddie admits truthfully, “but mostly I did it to prove to you that you did, in fact, show up to my party dressed as a stripper.”

Steve’s had enough. He grumbles out every single curse word he knows and shoulders his way into the trailer, yanking the remainder of the costume off of his body and out of his ass as he goes. If Steve was cold before, he’s freezing now. His nipples could cut fucking glass.

“Don’t tell me you took the kids out trick or treating in this.” Eddie says, motioning towards him with the bundle of thin fabric that had been, up until a few seconds ago, Steve’s costume.

Steve snatches the dark blue remains of his outfit, suddenly furious. He’s sure his face matches the red of his boxers at this point. Boxers that are now on display for all to see, apparently!

He reaches up to angrily tear off the mustache from his upper lip, and has to bite back an honest to god scream as it tears away, taking some of his actual lip hair with it. It was like a fucking wax strip!

“You did.” Eddie gasps, all but clutching his damn pearls, utterly scandalized. “You really went around and gave the good folks of Hawkin’s a free fucking show tonight, huh? Jesus Christ, Harrington, you probably sent some poor fucker out there into cardiac arrest!”

“No, I–” Steve sputters, “well, yes, I wore the cop costume while I took the kids around a couple of neighborhoods, but there wasn’t any kind of show.”

“Were the mothers especially kind to you, Stevie?” Robin asks from her position on the sofa beside Nancy, one sandy brown brow arched. “Did they give you extra candy?”

“One, I didn’t go trick-or-treating, so I didn’t get any candy at all,” Steve says, suddenly reluctant about taking his boots off, wary of losing any more of his clothing. As he speaks, he shuffles behind the countertop in the kitchen area instead, hiding at least his lower half from further attention. Everyone had already seen his hairy chest plenty of times, but still. It was the indignity of it all! “And two, I didn’t know it was a stripper costume. And three, screw all of you.”

Thank Christ the kids seemed oblivious to that sort of thing still. Steve’s as relieved at preserving their innocence as he is grateful they didn’t bear witness to his great blunder.

“Didn’t it feel weird when you had to velcro the sides shut..?” Nancy asks, sheer amusement playing across her features.

“Well, in hindsight… yes.” Steve has to stop speaking because all three of his so-called friends dissolve in further fits of laughter. He has to shout to be heard over their cackling, “but I just thought it was because the costume was cheap!”

“Oh, Steve.” Nancy shakes her head, still giggling. She sounded a little drunk.

“Sweet, naive Dingus.” Robin adds, as if she were finishing her girlfriend's thoughts.

So now Nancy and Robin were ganging up on him too. And after Steve gave Robin his blessing to date his ex-girlfriend! Traitors, all of ‘em, Steve thinks haughtily as he crosses his arms and glares.

“C’mon big boy, you can borrow something of mine.” Eddie says, finally deciding to take pity on Steve. “Unless, of course, you want me to help velcro your ass back into that little number..?”

That’s the absolute last thing he wants. So, with an angry grumble, Steve accepts Eddie’s offer for clothes and follows him down the narrow hallway, into his bedroom. Steve all but collapses on the end of Eddie’s unmade bed, snatching a pillow and holding it to his lap as he watches Eddie dig around his dresser drawers.

Steve notices that Eddie’s oddly quiet now that they’re alone.

Steve was sort of used to Eddie’s constant prattling on when they were together—so much so, that the lack of it seems unnatural in its own sort of way. It’s damn near unsettling to be near Eddie and not have him chewing his ear off.

Eddie pulls some soft, gray clothing from his drawers, attempts to discreetly give it the cautionary sniff test, then turns to offer them up to Steve. “Here, these, uh, they should fit you. Elastic waistband.”

“Thanks.” Steve mumbles, still a little pissed at Eddie for the whole tearing him out of his clothes thing. To be fair, Steve would have probably returned the favor if the roles had been reversed and would have laughed just as hard. Maybe harder.

He shoves the shirt on, then discards the pillow in order to stand and attempt to rid himself of the godforsaken boots from hell... Steve is unnervingly aware that the red of his underwear stands out like a fucking fire engine.

Eddie turns his painted face away, suddenly very interested in the various posters on his wall.

“Oh, sure, now you’re shy.” Steve snorts, but when he steps on the backs of his heels in an effort to toe off his boots, he sucks in a sharp breath and wobbles back onto the bed, cursing. The sharp stinging pain from the blisters is enough to cut his breath. “Shit, shit, shit–”

“What is it? What happened?” Eddie’s full attention is back on Steve, and Steve’s insides squirm a little at the intensity of it. He kind of loves that about Eddie; how he can be flighty and erratic one minute, but wholly and completely laser focused on something the next.

And Steve is man enough to admit that he sort of likes it when that undivided attention lands on him. Admittedly, he likes it when anyone pays attention to him, but… it’s different with Eddie. Even Steve’s not entirely sure why. It just makes him feel… seen, maybe. Special. Understood?

Steve doesn’t fucking know. He gives his head a shake.

“It’s just these stupid boots. I’ve only worn them a few times and they always give me blisters. I shouldn’t have worn them tonight but I just thought they went good with the outfit...” Steve explains, as if it’s a confession. The price of vanity, he thinks bitterly. Steve lifts one of his feet until it’s propped up his opposite knee and begins working the boot off, flinching as he goes, “they’re just stinging a little, it’s fine.”

“I’ll get some band-aids.” Eddie mutters as he darts out of the room, nearly tripping over something in his haste. Steve can hear him digging through the cupboard in the bathroom through the paper-thin walls of the trailer. Eddie sounds like a goddamn tornado. But hey, what’s new? Dude is tornado incarnate.

By the time Eddie’s back, armed with a battered box of band-aids and a tube of Neosporin, Steve’s already managed to work off a boot and peel away one of his socks. He’s poking the painful, fluid-filled blister with a grimace.

“Here.” Eddie awkwardly passes both of the items to Steve. He practically shoves them into his hands. Steve accepts them all with a quick thanks and gets to work. He half expects Eddie to go and just leave Steve to it, but he doesn’t. Instead, Eddie just stands there, hovering in the middle of his bedroom, staring like a weirdo.

Which sounds harsh even in Steve’s own mind, but there really was no mistaking it; Eddie most definitely is a full-blown, bonafide, one-of-a-kind weirdo. But as time’s gone on, and the further Steve’s gotten away from high school, the more he’s realized that his favorite people in the whole world—the ones he’d lay down his life for any day of the fucking week—are all freaks and weirdos. And maybe that made him a weirdo freak right alongside them. And hey, if all the best people were weird, shouldn’t he be proud to be counted among them?

Steve finds he doesn’t entirely hate the concept.

“You must think I’m a moron, huh?” Steve mutters as he smears some of the antiseptic cream over the blister, then a band-aid overtop, flinching the whole way through.

“For getting a blister? Or for accidentally cosplaying as a sex worker?” Eddie asks, grinning. Knows he’s being a cheeky little shit.

Steve just scoffs and rolls his eyes, “it could’ve happened to anyone, y’know. The costume thing, I mean.”

He settles his bare foot on the ground and starts on his next boot.

“Maybe. But it’s funny because it happened to you.” Eddie aims a set of finger guns at him. Steve, despite himself, chuckles a little under his breath. It was sort of funny.

“I don’t, though, by the way.” The couple of words tumble out of Eddie’s mouth. Steve knows by now that when he isn’t following Eddie, all he usually needs to do is wait a few seconds. Eddie never seems to mind taking the time to further explain himself to Steve, unlike most other people. So, Steve just spares him a glance and waits. “Think you’re a moron, I mean. You’re just… more of a do first, think later kinda guy. It doesn’t make you dumb. Maybe a little foolhardy, is all.”

“Foolhardy?” Steve’s hands stop what they’re doing as he looks up at Eddie. Steve’s pretty sure he knows what it means, but who the hell throws around digs like that?

Well, come to think of it, Eddie Munson would. Between writing his own songs and making up those D&D campaigns, Eddie’s inner voice probably speaks to him in sonnets and soliloquies.

“It’s a good thing—well, it is when I say it…” Eddie rushes to explain, but seems to abandon a few trains of thoughts before shaking his head, “whatever, nevermind, forget I said anything.”

“I know what foolhardy means I just–” Steve doesn’t have any fight in him though, too focused on how fucking painful this blister is compared to the last. The sharp sting was enough to make his eyes embarrassingly prickle. “Fuuuuuck…” he groans as he pulls.

“Stop, stop, just–” Eddie kneels, taking a knee, before he grabs Steve’s boot.

“No no, Eddie, don’t–!” Steve shrieks, suddenly terrified of Eddie’s jumpy, erratic movements he’s known for. His foot can’t fucking take it…

“Calm down, I’ll pull it off slow. I’ll even give you a countdown. You just–just relax, alright?” Eddie says, looking downright ridiculous in his costume. And yet, despite how crazy he looks, Munson seems sincere. He liked to poke fun at Steve, sure, but Eddie wouldn’t hurt him. Steve knows that. And when Eddie’s fingers curl around the back of his calf, the touch is gentle. Steve’s skin heats underneath Eddie’s hold. It’s enough to make his head go a little fuzzy.

Trying to follow Eddie’s instruction, Steve hesitantly leans back on the heels of his hands, allowing his leg to go slack in Eddie’s grip. “Relax. Right. Okay.”

“Alright. My safe word’s Ronald Reagan, but you can borrow it for tonight if you want me to stop, cool?” Eddie looks up at him through his lashes. The liner around his eyes was really something else… And his hair looked especially poofy tonight. Like Steve’s hands could get lost in there. Were those plastic spiders in his hair? God, Steve hoped they were plastic spiders…

A beat passes before Steve’s brain catches up with him. “Why the hell is Ronald Reagan your safe word?”

“Because nothing kills my boner faster than thinking about that dickwad. Duh.” Eddie explains, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was, but Steve wasn’t exactly experienced with things like safe words and… well, the things that normally go along with safe words.

He feels himself shift anxiously at the idea. He wondered if Eddie was just making a joke or if he actually…

“Ready?” Eddie interrupts and utterly derails that particular train of thought. He’s cradling Steve’s booted foot, one hand low on Steve’s calf, the other gripping the bottom of the boot. Real comforting like.

Steve takes a quick breath before giving a sharp nod. “Ready.”

“3, 2, 1, deep breaths everyone!” Eddie says, and true to his word, he pulls off slowly, trying to angle the boot away from Steve’s heel as best he can. Steve clenches his teeth through the whole thing, determined not to utter the president's name. “Aaaaand we’re done!” Eddie says triumphantly.

Steve sighs, and lets himself fall onto the bed in relief. He’s built up a bit of a tolerance for pain over the past few years (purely out of necessity), but he still fucking hates it. Even if it’s something small like this. Call him a pussy for it, whatever. Steve doesn’t care.

When he feels Eddie begin peeling off his sock though, Steve bolts upright, returning to his seated position. “Y-you don’t gotta do that part–”

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly and continues peeling away the sock. “It’s okay, I wanna help.”

“My feet probably fucking reek, dude. I’ve been wearing those all day.” Steve wrinkles his nose. The idea that Eddie could possibly be repulsed by him in some way just doesn’t sit right with Steve. “You don’t–... I-I can do this part.”

“I told you, I don’t care.” Eddie says as he peels away Steve’s sweaty, ripe sock before sticking it into the no doubt equally sweaty, ripe boot.

Eddie's now kneeling in front of a pantless and sockless Steve—to say he felt exposed would be an understatement. He watches as Eddie takes the tube of Neosporin in hand and squeezes out a glob onto his finger and lines it up with Steve’s heel.

“Unless,” Eddie halts, as if an idea had just occurred to him, “unless you don’t want me to.”

The two of them just stare at one another for a few seconds, as if they’re both just realizing that they don’t really know the limits of their friendship yet. Both of them seem to be asking the other for permission to cross some kind of a line that they don’t know even exists or not. It should be awkward, but somehow it isn’t. It’s a little uncomfortable, sure, but… exciting, in a weird way.

Steve swallows, “no, I want you to. I mean, if you want to, of course. I—”

I like it when you touch me.

The thought hits Steve with such a sudden and sharp clarity that for a second he’s not sure if he’s said it out loud or not.

But if Eddie somehow heard it, he doesn’t let on.

Instead, the sides of his mouth twitch into a tentative grin, but then Eddie ducks his head before Steve can watch it blossom fully into a smile, though he can tell by the way his cheeks rise near his eyes that it indeed does.

Eddie smears the antiseptic cream on Steve’s blister with guitar string scarred fingers, with more care than most people bother using when they reach for Steve. Then he wipes his hands on his own bed sheets before unpeeling a bandaid from its wrapping and laying it overtop of everything. He smooths a finger overtop of it, once, then twice for good measure. Why Eddie runs his finger over the band-aid a third time, Steve hasn’t got a clue.

There’s something about the way Eddie so can flip the switch from being a loud, boisterous, all out terror of a human being, to this sincere, gentle… almost sweet person. It’s hard for Steve to wrap his head around. Especially since Eddie doesn’t show the second side nearly as often as the first–and only to a lucky handful of people. Steve’s one of those happy few.

It’s like a secret Eddie.

Steve briefly wonders if there’s a secret Steve, but if there is, not even he knows about him. Steve has a feeling he’s more of a ‘what you see is what you get’ kinda guy. Hopefully, that doesn’t mean he’s shallow.

And just when Steve thinks Eddie’s done with him, the guy spins around and rummages in his top drawer for a few seconds before turning back with a rolled up set of fresh socks for Steve. Without a word, he kneels and begins putting them on Steve’s foot for him.

Which…

Honestly, Steve doesn’t know how to feel about it. Good, obviously. That much, at least, is crystal fucking clear. But there’s more. Like the fluttery sort of warmth that comes specifically when someone brings you a bowl of hot soup when you’re sick, or cares enough to hold your hair back for you while you puke your guts out after drinking too much. It’s that same sort of feeling. Only more.

“Thanks, man.” Steve says, utterly relieved his voice comes out sounding steadier than he’s feeling. Because… Well, because no one takes care of Steve, except Steve. It’s been that way since he was old enough to tie his own shoes. He’s always on his own. Self-sufficient. Steve takes a sort of pride in it.

But here’s Eddie, on his knees, tending to him, even though Steve can do it perfectly fine on his own. He’s still doing it for Steve, and for the hell of him, Steve can’t wrap his head around why. And all of it over some stupid blisters. It makes Steve’s chest ache, fixing to burst.

“No problem, Officer. Just doing my civic duty.” Eddie’s tone is soft when he flicks his eyes up briefly, paired with a grin. He finishes putting the fresh set of socks on Steve’s feet, careful to avoid the blisters. The socks are pilled, and scratchy, as if neither Wayne nor Eddie bothers with fabric softener, but they’re comfortable enough and blissfully warm.

“Well the city of Hawkins thanks you too, Mr. Munson.” Steve replies with a two fingers salute, attempting to match Eddie’s energy, but the words sound so deeply stupid when they’re strung together like that, that it has them both chuckling.

“Christ, you’re cute.” Eddie mutters, dragging a knuckle under his eye to clear away the stray tear that had formed from all of the laughing he’s done tonight. Then Steve watches as that easy smile that he had just been so admiring quickly fall away as Eddie seems to realize what he’d just said.

Eddie thinks he’s cute?

The question of what kind of cute he was referring to bombards Steve's brain. Cute could mean a hell of a lot of things—from puppies with big wet eyes to Michelle Pfeiffer in a skin tight leotard. Or maybe Eddie didn’t mean to say cute at all. Yeah, maybe it just slipped out. Hell, maybe Eddie’s just high. He does get a little extra tactile and emotional when he’s high. And Eddie definitely smells like weed, but—well, Eddie always smells like weed.

“Here’s your–” Eddie suddenly stands, cape fluttering behind him, and tosses the sweatpants from earlier back at Steve who catches it with ease, despite the newly unmoored feeling he’s got in his gut. Steve suspects Eddie’s blushing by the way he’s holding himself, but because of all the makeup, Steve can’t be sure. Eddie anxiously twists his rings around his fingers muttering a quiet, “sorry, man.”

It’s said so timidly that Steve almost misses the tacked-on apology entirely. Now, timid isn’t usually something that Steve would associate with Eddie Munson but, well, there it is. And despite their playful back and forth with one another, Steve can tell this is wholly different. He doesn’t—can’t leave Eddie standing there with egg on his face.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not—it’s whatever, dude.” Steve says, forever baffled at how the English language, the only language he even knows and is apparently fluent in, still manages to sound like knotted garbage when it comes out of his mouth. He shoves his legs through the sweatpants, yanking them up to his waist.

Eddie seems to get it though, thankfully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve says, quick, casual-like.

Eddie chews on his lip. “I didn’t make it weird?”

At this, Steve barks out a laugh. Because, yeah but… well, if Eddie started going around apologizing every time he did something weird the guy would never stop apologizing.

And Steve likes Eddie’s flavor of weird anyway.

“Hey, I’m the one who showed up to your house dressed as a stripper, didn’t I? If anyone’s made it weird tonight, it’s me.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, briefly concerned about how the stupid hat probably left an embarrassing indent where it was sitting.

Eddie’s wide smile is back, the one that lines his face and makes his eyes do that starlight thing. “That’s true.” He chuckles.

“I like your costume though.” Steve grins, feeling that fluttery feeling in his chest when he gets Eddie smiling like that. “Vampire, right?”

If possible, Eddie’s eyes widen further, giving him a manic look. He hastily pats his various pockets before finding his fake fangs and shoving them into his mouth. They look terrible, but admittedly, they sort of complete the overall look.

“That’s Count Dracula to you, foolish mortal.” Eddie says with a truly terrible Transylvanian accent as he dramatically swishes his cape over one of his arms, then positions it underneath his kohl-rimmed eyes.

Steve pretends to cower, but he’s always been kind of a shitty actor so he just ends up snorting and shaking his head. “Terrifying. If you hadn’t torn it off me earlier, I’m sure I would have shivered right out of my uniform.”

And again, it’s enough for Eddie to break character and bark out a laugh around his plastic fangs. He recovers quickly though, a smile still pulling at the sides of his mouth.

“C’mon, the girlsh have probably put the movie on without ush.” Eddie says with a very distinct lisp. It’s sort of adorable.

It’s profoundly less adorable after Steve hears how Eddie needs to suck back the spit trapped between his teeth and the tray so he doesn't drool all over himself.

Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t end up wearing the fake fangs for the whole movie, especially not after Nancy demands their removal after two or three noisy, spit-retrieving sucks. There’s some petty back and forth that lasts a couple of seconds, but it’s settled quickly and amicably, as most of their squabbles are.

Steve and Eddie spend the majority of the horror flick pressed up against one another, from shoulder to knee. Steve’s not entirely sure what the hell is happening between them, but whatever it is… it’s nice.

And when there’s a particularly scary bit that makes Steve nearly jump out of his skin, Eddie teases him and slaps a patronizing hand to his knee just to further torment him, but it’s the damnedest thing. Even after the joke’s over, and their collective focus is back (in theory) on the movie, Eddie just… doesn’t take his hand back. Neither one of them seems keen on addressing it either, afraid to spook whatever it is away.

They stay that way for the rest of the movie. He doesn’t risk putting his hand over top of Eddie’s—he can’t. Not yet, at least. But Steve will think about little else besides the feeling of Eddie’s warm hand curled around the top of his knee, searing into him like a brand, for many nights to come.

It’s hands down the most embarrassing Halloween Steve’s ever had—but it’s also kinda the best, thanks to Eddie.

[possiblyreallyme]

Kinktober day 4: unintentional teasing + punishment with Mihawk

warning: teasing, panty wedgy? idk what it's called, light punishment, spankings, degradation (kinda? just words like "stupid"), praise, humping.

kinktober masterlist

Mihawk was never known for his mercy, even to prey he could so easily ignore or move on from. And when he was simply working in the garden, glancing sideways at you every so often to make sure you hadn't wandered off too far, it was almost impossible to hold back the natural reflex to reach out and grab you when he saw how your cotton shorts molded perfectly to your pussy when you bent down.

It was rude, to do something like that and then have the audacity to ask what was wrong when you turned back around and saw the look on his reddened face.

It was even worse though when he was cutting the vegetables to go into lunch, and you just so happen to brush your ass against his crotch when you reached up for the top shelf— a double-whammy when he saw your stomach peak out from under your shirt when the fabric stretched with you.

"You thought you could get away with that, hm?" Mihawk hummed, keeping his palm flat against the covers beside your head, leaning over your back where you laid bent over his bed. "Well, how stupid you are, little rabbit, to think something like that."

You whined, but he didn't care. Cold, slender fingers wrapped around the waistband of your skimpy panties from the back, starting to pull up, up, up, until you were on the very tips of your toes and shaking from the pressure the tight fabric put on your clit.

"I'm a patient man, you know. But I do have to draw the line somewhere." He took pleasure in watching you squirm on your tiptoes, racking his eyes down your mostly bare form from the clasp of your bra to how your glistening pussy looked with your panties stuck between your folds.

"And showing me this filthy little set when you started changing, as if I wasn't even there, calls for a punishment," He snarled low behind you, smirking meanly when he saw a shiver run up your spine at the mention of the repercussions of your little stunts. He couldn't care less about how you didn't mean to, how you just didn't notice what you were doing.

A quick swat to your ass made you gasp, lurching forward and immediately regretting it as you got back up on your toes— he was strong enough to hold you in the air by your panties, so you should have expected it when the fabric only pulled tighter. The sting on your bottom was dull, though you knew he could already see his handprint rising in the form of small welts.

"Hold still," He commanded as another smack echoed in the air, no harder than the last one, though most definitely no softer. "You'll take it like a good girl. After all, this is what you wanted, wasn't it?"

You can't help but nod, knowing that as stern as he was, he always did keep your comfort and safety and pleasure in mind. He wouldn't do something you actually didn't want, ever.

He hummed again, landing one last spank on your sore ass before letting go of your panties and allowing you to drop. "There you go, little rabbit, you took it so well."

He watched as you trembled on the edge of the bed, practically melted into a puddle with your panties still stuck between your folds and pressing on your clit even after he's let go. "We're not done," He reminds you firmly.

Slender, pale hands make their way to your sides, picking you up and spinning you around until you were laying on your back, looking up at the swordsman above you. Without a word, he lets go of your waist and reaches to your thighs, spreading them wide enough it almost ached.

"Here," He murmured under his breath, pushing his hips forward until they met with your through the damp fabric of your panties and the staining crotch of his slacks. "You want to get off so badly? Roll your hips until you cum."

[sadnignored]

✨ Wish List ✨

1. Use me in front of your friends/share me with them

2. Force me to get drunk and/or cross faded and take advantage of me

3. Piss in my ass and then put a plug in. Call me a disgusting toilet while you pat my head and spank my ass

4. Make me crawl around naked with a leash on

5. Don’t let me wear clothes around the house

6. Have me suck on you all day whenever and wherever you want

7. Get me a shock collar and shock me randomly for fun. Espeically when bringing you things, punish me if I drop anything

8. Only let me eat food you’ve cummed on

9. Make me ask to use the bathroom

10. Leave marks all over my body: bruises, cuts, burns, welts, etc.

11. Stretch out my pussy till I cry and make fun of me for being loose

12. Shove random things in my pussy

13. Pick out my clothes for me and shove toys inside me so you can tease me all day

14. Make me sign a contract to be completely free use for you

15. Don’t let me talk for several days

16. I make you dinner each night but I don’t get to eat unless you give me your left overs

17. I’m not allowed to eat at the table with you. Only in a bowl on the floor

18. Use me as furniture: foot stool, lamp, table, etc.

19. Stuff my panties in my pussy and when they’re soaked shove them in my mouth. Tape my mouth shut and call me a dirty whore for soaking through my panties

20. Abuse my tits

21. Tape my pussy shut, tell me I’m an anal only slut. If I want to cum it has to be from anal

22. Stick your fingers in my mouth to shut me up

23. Don’t let me speak unless spoken to

24. Use me as a urinal if you don’t want to get up to pee

25. Keep me denied and horny

26. Give me wedgies and laugh when I get wet from the pain

27. Talk down to me. Piggy’s don’t need to think. Piggy’s are stupid after all

28. Stretch my cunt and ass with random items to your amusement

29. Rest your balls on my face and tell me that I’m your chair. Then make me rim your ass

30. Make me edge until I can’t think anymore then slap my clit until I’m crying

31. Turn me into the perfect piggy slave for you ☺️

[lovesickonmybed]

Flash Cards | 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Bully!Eddie Munson x Nerdy!Female Reader | Word Count: 1146

Summary: Eddie invites you over to study and punishes you when you've given the wrong answer.

Warnings: Swearing, thigh riding, humiliation, dub-con, degradation, dumbification?, wedgies.

A/N: If you're gonna kinkshame keep scrolling lol.

Bully/Perv!Eddie starts being nicer to you and one night invites you over to his place to help him study for a big test he has coming up. But he has no intentions of studying anything besides your body. You let him drive you to his trailer after school and you’re wearing a white t-shirt with a thin bra, a pair of already tight blue jeans, and your favorite shoes. When y’all first get to Eddie’s you do actually study, your books are laid out on the coffee table and he’s actually paying attention…until he gets handsy.

It starts with his hand on your knee, and then he creeps it to your inner thigh. You blush but you continue to help him study, talking him through different definitions and helping him understand the material. After doing amazing when you do flash cards with him he tests you. You’re doing great until you fuck one up. Eddie chuckles when you answer incorrectly and leans forward smirking. “Not as smart as you look, are you, sweetheart?”

“Oh, come on, Eddie. It was just one question.”

“You still got it wrong, why don’t I give you a little motivation to get the next question right?” He smirks as he leans over, your brows furrow in confusion. He grabs the front waistband of your jeans and tugs it up harshly causing you to cry out in pain and confusion. He doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with the front wedgie he’s given you even though you try to tug his hand away. 

You get up to readjust but he pulls you back down onto the couch, “Did I tell you that you could fix that?” He asks sternly, grabbing your face with one hand to make you look him in the eyes, his other hand holding your wrists together.

“N-No…” You stutter nervously, you keep trying to avoid his eyes but he keeps forcing you to look into them.

“Then be a good girl and leave it, yeah?” 

“O-Ok.” You don’t have to do what he says, you just have to say the word and he’ll stop, but you don’t want to, you want to see where this is going.

“Good, let’s keep going then.”

You continue to do flash cards with Eddie and continue to get them right; you decide to see if he’ll do that again when you get one wrong. So you answer a simple question incorrectly. “That was the easiest one, how did you manage to fuck that up, nerd? C’mere,” He says, pulling you closer by your belt loops. He slips his hand into the front of your jeans and curls his fingers around the lacy waistband of your white panties.

“Lace? Oh, darling you’re gonna regret this,” Eddie says before slowly pulling them up by the waistband. You feel the rough fabric slowly situate itself between your lips, squirming and whimpering as he pulls. He doesn’t want to tear this pair off, he wants you to feel it. The lace fabric brushes against your clit, causing you to buck your hips and gasp softly, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment to savor the feeling. 

“I should’ve known you’d like this…pathetic little nerd…I bet every time I’ve ripped your panties or pulled them up to look at them you’ve gone home and touched yourself thinking about it. Dirty girl likes it when I’m mean, when I’m rough, doesn’t she?” Eddie teases. 

You whimper in response, biting your lip. Eddie tugs on your panties harshly, making you jolt forward, resting your head against his shoulder as you whimper and whine. “Be a good girl and tell me how much you like it, baby.”

“F-Feels so good…hurts but in a good way…” You mumble into his shoulder. You’ve felt nothing like this before, you feel humiliated for being so turned on by something like this but the pleasure you feel is making it so worth it.

“Did you get all dumb from getting your panties pulled? God, you’re fucking pathetic. If this gets you soaked and stupid, I wonder what my fingers…or fuck what my cock would do to you…” He teases, continuing to tug on your panties. 

“I-It feels good…I can’t help it,” you mutter, your face heating up with embarrassment. 

“Stand up and take your pants off for me, baby,” Eddie commands. You do as he says, standing up and taking a minute to tug off your pants. Eddie smiles when he finally sees his work, your white lace panties pulled tight between your lips. He smirks to himself when he sees a little wet spot on your panties. He pulls you down onto his thigh, situating your legs on either side. He leans in and gives you a soft kiss, it’s the first time he’s kissed you and it’s not what you expected. He pulls away, knocking his nose with yours playfully.

“Can you make yourself cum on my thigh, little nerd?”

You nod quickly and he laughs, leaning down for another kiss, “Such a good girl.”

You grind against his thigh as his fingers curl around your waistband again, clasping it so it’s pressed against your clit. The feeling of the rough fabric pressed against your clit combined with the friction of you grinding your core against his jean clad thigh is enough to make your body feel weak. You groan and whimper into his neck, biting down when he pulls a little too harshly, mumbling curses against his soft flesh. Eddie can’t get enough of it, if he could he’d watch you come undone like this every hour of every day, he loves how something so humiliating is what gets you going dumb against him.

He whispers to you as you get yourself off against him, “So pathetic aren’t you? The smartest girl in school but you can barely form a sentence right now, all you needed was a bit of attention, huh?” You nod and whimper against him. When you feel yourself getting close you can’t even speak, your mouth hangs open, eyes squeezed shut as you rut against his thigh. He smirks as he watches, he’s wanted this for years and he can’t believe he finally gets to see it. 

“Fuck…” He mutters as he watches you cum, soaking his thigh and mumbling his name against his neck, whimpers and whines falling from your lips. You rest your weight against him, catching your breath. Your face is hot and your hair is a mess, your makeup is too, mascara tears running down your face. Eddie plays with your hair as you catch your breath, whispering praises into your ear, making you smile. 

When you finally can stand you remove your underwear and hand it to Eddie, “You made me ruin these, you can keep ‘em.”

He chuckles and kisses you, “Thank you baby, I’ll add them to my collection.”