Headcanon: Yandere!Ethan Landry

wild child, i want you.

playlist | series masterlist

premise: coming back to hawkins for your summer vacation from college is the last thing you want to do, but you find yourself back in your hometown and it all goes to shit in a matter of weeks. thinking your summer is already a bummer, getting high with the town outcast doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, blowjob (eddie’s first one, he’s a lil virgin in this sorry y’all), drug use, cheesy flirting, past crush unmentioned but there, tiny bit of praise kink, i made eddie’s van cooler than it actually is, reader is a lil self absorbed but it’s ok, mentions of past bullying, class difference, and shit family dynamics.

etc: i may write a part two for this, may turn it into a little mini series depending on the love i get on it. but um this boy is the cutest little virgin and no one can convince me otherwise ok thnx. title from the song wild child by wasp aka a song on this verysexy playlist!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“Shit! Fuck!”

The sounds of aggravation that erupts from your throat are anything but ladylike. The moon shining down just right in the sky to show the hunk of mud that’s now stuck on the top of your red pumps. Pumps that cost too much to be covered in dirt and grime, and yet here they were. Ruined.

All because you had stormed off from the party taking place in the backyard of your long term boyfriend—who was now your ex because fuck him, and fuck this washed up town.

You knew agreeing to come back for the summer would be absolutely detrimental to your psyche. Missing out on what would have been the summer of your life alongside college friends, a new city, on boats, planes; anywhere better than Hawkins!

But being the amazing, doting girlfriend you were, you had been easily convinced by the promise of gifts, booze, and a hell of a summer.

Two weeks in and you were miserable, had ruined Louis Vuitton’s, barely tipsy off of cheap beer, and now newly single.

“Fuck this place!” You scream to yourself, louder than you should have in a not–disturbing–the–peace way, a dog barking in the distance. You needed to catch the first bus out of this dump of a town as soon as possible.

“I completely agree,” comes a voice to the side of you. If the pumping of anger and spite wasn’t making your heart boom in your ear drums right now, or the distraction of materialistic items didn’t have you fuming: you were sure you might have seen them, whoever they are. Or at least smelled them. The heavy scent of weed lingers in the air and you can only assume it’s the weed guy your ex-boyfriend had been talking about.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight, let alone some stoned out stranger whose opinion you didn’t ask for, or could fake care about.

Turning in their direction you plan on telling them as much, plan on giving them your best bitchy scowl. But when your eyes adjust, actually see who it is; take in the long hair, the mix of jean and leather, the rings that gleam in the moonlight. Your expression changes from annoyance to amusement, your rude rebuttal long forgotten.

“Munson?”

“In the flesh,” his smile is still as boyish as you remember. At least from what you can remember. You graduated two years ago, he didn’t. Either year, so you've heard.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances. You had a handful of classes with him, even got partnered up with him for one biology project that neither of you truly put the effort into. But you flashed your pretty smile and batted your eyes and got the both of you passing grades—thank god for creepy male teachers.

You and Munson, Eddie, were so far off of the spectrum of being in each other’s realms. The class difference not being the only thing setting you two on two different sides of the universe, let alone Hawkins and your group of friends. The many taunts from your boyfriend and his friends coming back to your mind, and the weird snarkiness Eddie would always fight back with. Unbothered by the stupidity of high school taunts.

“Graduate yet?” You give him a playful smile, lean up against the car behind you to attempt and scrape off the mud on your shoe with your thumb nail.

“No.” He crosses his hands over his chest, “but still keeping up with expectations.” You’re barely listening to him, frowning down at the dirt now caked under your perfectly polished nails, fuck.

You huff out a breath, pull your head back to look up at the night sky. Try to do those breathing exercises you see your mother do when a bird shits on her BMW. “You here for the party?” You both know you’re joking. Know that most, if not all, the rich kids here had once—or still do—rag on him.

“My services got the invite.” He clarifies, “not me, personally, for obvious reasons.” He mumbles that last part and it makes you chuckle under your breath.

“Still the weed guy, huh?” Pulling your head upright again, you look over at him. His response being holding his hands in the air in an ‘obviously’ type motion. Nothing has changed with him, and maybe that’s just what happens when you stay in this dead end town. But something also tells you that Eddie isn’t the type to just change. What you see is what you get, unapologetically.

Must be nice to be that carefree. You could use some carefree in your life; that booming sound of your heart in your ear still pumping with materialistic and asshole boyfriend frustration.

A smile spreads across your lips as an idea pops into your head. As you make the decision to get that carefree feeling in the most synthetic way possible, while also sticking it to the aforementioned asshole in the backyard.

“How much were they going to pay you?”

“For the-”

“Yes, the weed, Munson. How much.” You roll your eyes, that old high school queen bee tone coming back. Making even your own self wince, but who knows when—or if—the smell of weed had already wafted off of Eddie and traveled to the backyard and the two of you were soon to be joined by the rest of the party.

Fuck them.

“Thirty.”

Reaching into your bra, the low cut material of your dress having the perfect swoop to showcase just enough to keep the mystery, but add to the intrigue—helping to house your money snuggly in the cup of your bra; you pull out the folded cash your father had handed to you on your way out of the door.

“I have fifty here.” You hold it out between your forefinger and middle, “it’s yours but we have to leave right now.”

He looks a little surprised, his eyes flash from your chest to the money in your hand.

“You have a car don’t you?” You look around the dead street, try to remember what hunk of junk you may have seen him driving around when you were in school.

“Is the money for the ride or the weed?”

“Both.”

Eddie hums, “seems a bit low.” He crosses his arms, scratches his cheek. Starting up a slow pace as he speaks, “I mean I am risking getting caught with a distinguished lady such as yourself. From what I hear you’re still with your Princeton lover. Don’t know if I need him thinking I’ve stolen you away.”

You think he’s half serious for a second. The look of quarry on his face, but then you see his smile. See that boyish amusement again, it makes the corners of your lips tick up in amusement; contagious. Something you remember from bombing biology together. As much as you wanted to dislike him, ignore him, or push the assignment completely onto him, he had distracted you with weird facts about his band you were not interested in—and the other random nonsense that would slip out always made you roll your eyes and hide the contagiousness of his smile that spread across your face.

But you find yourself holding onto the knowledge that he knew about you and your ex. Don’t know why it’s the only retaining thing your mind seems to keep flashing on, it didn’t matter to you who still talked about you in Hawkins. Especially when you were certain it was out of pure jealousy for you getting out and them not.

You can’t see Eddie contributing in gossip, though. Maybe that’s why you’re holding onto the knowledge that he knows, remembers. Still hates the asshole. Much like you do.

“We broke up.” You state, make clear with a wide smile that you’re more than happy about it. His lips tug up more, stops in his tracks and leans back on his heels a little as he stares at you. The two of you sharing some silent moment before you laugh, “are you going to be my kidnapper or what, Munson?”

He smirks, grabs the money still between your fingers. Nods his head back to the van at the end of the driveway—that only makes sense is his, because of course it is.

“America's Most Wanted here I come!” He hollers a little too loudly, making you laugh.

“Sorry about the mess.” Eddie maneuvers around you, picks up some of the random garbage and clothes strewn at your feet and throws them in the front.

You’re sat on the small couch he has in the back of his van. The velvet from the cushions softer than you expect it to be on the back of your bare legs. Expecting it to feel grimy at the very least, and maybe that’s not fair of you to expect—or think.

You’re surprised at how unfazed you feel about the random things contributing to the mess back here. Finding yourself actually smiling at the makeshift lights he has hung up, how they cast a red glow and illuminate the posters he has tapped with that thick grey tape you know is going to rip off the paint if he was to ever remove it.

The atmosphere oddly calming, compared to what you are used to.

He pulls out a tape from the glove compartment and slips it into the stereo, a heavy metal track playing low through the speakers, the bass deep enough to rock the van.

You’re parked behind his trailer.

When he had pulled up to it and pulled around the back you were once again reminded just how different your lives really were. Had found yourself scrunching up your nose at the drab looking mobile home. Regretting it the minute Eddie caught you and gave a pressed lipped grin, “can’t build mansions this far out. Grounds too mushy.” He joked, but it only made you feel worse.

Why, you have no idea. It wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon and he was born without one. Neither was a bad thing. He seemed more than happy with his life—knowing what you did about him, that carefree way about him—than you did with your own, it would seem.

The cushions bounce from the way he plops down beside you. Pulling a metal lunchbox out of nowhere and placing it in his lap, “who knew the Princess of Hawkins, knew how to be bad.”

You make a face, “people don’t really call me that do they?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh how clueless the other half live.”

“I can still take back the money, you know.”

“Ooh, not twenty of it, at least.” He clicks his tongue, opens the metal box. The waft of weed stronger, making your nose burn. “Gotta keep that half for risking my life, it’s only fair.”

“You are the chattiest drug dealer I’ve ever met.”

“You meet a lot of them, do ya?” You can see countless baggies of whatever he’s pushing to the side, a lighter, more random junk, and then he’s pulling out a small bag of weed. “You really are bad, Princess,” he smiles.

You have to look away from him, have to hide the cheesy smile that moves across your own face—because it’s annoyingly warm in here, and you are here to escape and get high not become best buds with him. “Just roll it, Munson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This wasn’t your first time smoking. You had dabbled in weed at parties since your sophomore year. Had taken part with it at the handful of college parties you had been to. You were used to the light feeling, the cravings, the giggles. Or so you thought.

Maybe you just hadn’t been smoking the right stuff. Maybe it had been the liquor you had always paired with it, the buzz you thought you felt from what you smoked actually from the malt and not the shit weed.

Because you’ve never felt this good before. Not from weed. Liquor. Even around your friends.

You felt so good right now.

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much, can’t remember when you had dropped yourself onto the floor of Eddie’s van. Your heels kicked off and feet propped up on the cushions of the sofa—right next to Munson.

He’s not as spread out as you though, maybe a little more lax. His back slouched lower on the sofa, legs spread further apart. Jacket gone, black sleeves rolled up.

Has he always had that tattoo? Just how many rings does one guy need? Your heavy lids ache as you hyperfocus in on the bracelet on his wrist, the tattoo on his arm. Each one of his rings that don’t even budge as his fingers flex, as he uses the small pocket knife he had pulled out from his back pocket; grabbing your discarded heels to scrape the mud from them.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you giggle. “My dad will just buy me another pair.”

A smile spreads, “but you were so upset about them. Even I winced when I saw the mud pile you stepped in, nightmarish.”

He laughs along with you as you completely lose it, “how shitty is it that that is a nightmare to me? Ruined Louis Vuitton‘s.”

Eddie shakes his head, holds up the shoes. Now cleaner than before, way too clean for him to have just used the pocket knife. The bottle of water between his legs spotted upon further inspection, where did that come from?

“We all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined. Shoes, guitars, people.” He shrugs, “not shitty at all. But this clean job might be.” He chews on his lower lip.

You maneuver yourself so you’re not flashing him from the bottom of your dress, as you move your legs from the couch to sit up. Grabbing the red pumps from him to do your best look over, ignoring the burn your eyes give when you widen them.

“Munson, I think you’re in the wrong career.” You tease, smiling up at him. You’re sat in front of his open legs, have the perfect view of that boyish grin.

“Shoe shiner?” He acts bashful, swings his hand around batting the air. “I’m not that good.”

“Think once you graduate you gotta start your own business, ‘Eddie’s Spit n Shine.’” You joke, the both of you doubling over in laughter. Munson holding onto his stomach as he slaps a hand over his knee.

Once your giggles have died down and you can hold yourself up straight, you watch him. Watch the way his cheeks are redder, watch the way he moves some hair out of his face. His previous words of “but you were so upset about them” and “we all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined”. If this had been anyone else, one of your friends, your boyfriend, they would of been just as grumbly about the heels as you. Would have told you to trash them and offer to take you to the strip mall the next day to help you spend more of your fathers money; no big deal.

They wouldn’t have offered to fix them. To do something as simple as what Eddie had done.

And yeah, they were just shoes, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. But something fuzzy was settling in your chest, something in your stomach fluttering like it very much was a big deal.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask without thinking. Set your shoes down beside the couch, lay yourself back on the cool floor of the van.

“What?” He chuckles lowly with a hint of confusion. Just as surprised as you are at the question.

“Why are you being so nice to me, Munson.” You chew the corner of your cheek, look up at him. “Not like we were friends, ever, in school. And I remember plenty of times where my friends weren’t the nicest.”

“The rich kids not being nice to anyone who doesn’t drive a Mercedes? Shocking.” He jokes, makes you laugh.

“I’m serious.” You tap his knee that’s peeking out of one of the rips in his jeans with the tip of your finger. “Why are you being so nice?”

His face grows serious, but there’s still a hint of a soft smile there as he leans over to dig in the metal lunchbox again. Pulls out the spliff he rolled earlier alongside the one the two of you already smoked. You watch as his fingers run along it, “your friends may have not been the nicest, especially that lover boy of yours.” He gives you a playful roll of the eyes at the mention, that ache in your cheeks continuing. “But, you were always nice to me.”

“I never stopped them though. From being cruel.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, grabs the lighter resting beside your feet. “You made up for it by helping me not fail biology, for once.”

Your face contorts as you laugh, “put my tits on the line for that grade.”

Eddie chokes out a howl, stops what he’s doing to double over again. “Never been more happy for the power of tits.”

Your throat hurts from how hard you’re laughing. Holding your hand up in front of him in a high-five invite, “to tits!”

“To tits!” He slaps his palm against yours as he holds up the blunt in the other one in a show of salute.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Or felt this good. This happy. This playful. This whatever-the-hell-that fluttering feeling was in your stomach. You don’t know where Munson got his stash but damn was it good.

And damn was he cute.

Wait—what?

You quickly avert your eyes from him. Look up at the roof of the van, try to focus on the posters and scattered glow in the dark stars up there. You did not find Eddie Munson cute. You were just severely high right now, and still reeling off of your incredibly fresh break up. That’s all.

You hear the flick of the lighter beside you, hear him take a long puff. Fill his lungs, hold and blow it out, before you see him hold it out for you. Taking it silently, not looking at him—you probably shouldn’t have anymore, not with how you are thinking right now. But you didn’t feel like going back to your parents house. Calling it a night right now didn’t feel right, and it’s not like Eddie was rushing you out of the van.

So you press the blunt to your lips and decide to stop thinking. Just smoke. Listen to the beat of the metal still coming from the speakers.

“Lover boy must have done something tremendously fucked, huh?” He gives you a somber smile when you turn and pass the smoke to him.

“Munson, are you trying to gossip right now? Like we are two catty friends?”

He chuckles, inhales. “Us friends?” He makes a face, smoke rolling out of his mouth. “That’s obscene.”

“Nightmarish.”

“Grotesque.” He puts a hand to his heart, “what would the moms at the country club say?”

You laugh. “I don’t think either of my parents own a gun, so you're safe there. And my mother barely notices me,” you confess. Regret it when you look over at him and see the sympathy on his expression. “Please don’t.” You groan, take your turn to smoke, holding it between your thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t?”

“Give me that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you feel bad for me.” The laugh you let out this time is anything but humorous. There’s no joy. Just a salted down wound that you don’t let anyone see—so you don’t know why you’re talking about it right now—that burns the back of your throat. “I have everything.” You mumble, “perfect life. Perfect future ahead of me, money, the car, the friends, the boyfriend. No one should feel bad for me.”

You’re staring up at the roof again as you hold out your hand to give the blunt back without looking at him. Without acknowledging your own words with anything more than woeful self pitying. Eddie wasn’t interested in hearing about a rich girls problems and you had no interest sharing them. Anymore.

A silence settles between the two of you, it’s awkward and filled with the silently passing of the smoke between you; puffs of air, breaths in. Your heart is beating in your ears again. Except this time it’s something close to embarrassment and not anger.

“It wasn’t pity.” He breaks the silence when your fingers brush against each other when it’s his turn to hit. Your eyes finally finding their way back over to him, “how could someone not notice you?” There’s a twitch in his lips.

And fuck are your eyes burning from how high you are right now or because that was teeth rottingly sweet, and your chest is feeling fuzzy again—and Eddie Munson has some pretty eyes. Fuck.

“With the hair alone,” he waves his hand around emphasizing the top of your head. “Kind of hard to miss ya.” That boyish smile coming back when you start to laugh and lean up to swat him.

“I want my money back, Munson!”

“You’ve already smoked the weed!”

“Pain and suffering!”

“Mine or yours?” He jokes and he’s putting out the rest of the blunt to hold his hands out in surrender, as you lean up on your knees to playfully swat at the side of his arm.

“And here I thought we were actually having a moment.” You scowl at him, “you can take the high school out of the boy but not the—wait—you can’t even do that.”

His jaw drops, looking fake wounded if the big grin on his face is any indication of its falsehood. “The Princess of Hawkins has some bite.”

“I’m not the Princess of Hawkins!” You roll your eyes, “I’m just me–”

“Perfect,” Eddie finishes, adds. His lips come together, he swallows. “Perfect–you.”

You make a face at him. Another childish playful insult on the tip of your tongue but swallowed down, your throat feeling drier than ever as he stares down at you with a type of fondness that has your mind thinking—and feeling—way too many things right now.

And it feels like the moment slows, time stops. You take in everything, really take it in. You on your knees in front of his open legs, your palms on the cut out parts of his jeans that showcase his knees. The fuzziness in your chest turning into something else, something racing and filled with heat. Something that should surely not be there—all from what? Meaningless flirting? Eddie jesting with you?

Weed was definitely not a good idea. You should of just went home. Should ask him to take you home right now before your haze filled mind has you thinking of doing something else you definitely shouldn’t do.

Like move forward. Your knees dragging across the floor until the tops of them are pressed to the bottom of the couch. Until there’s no space left between you and Eddie’s thighs flush against the sides of your arms, his groin inches from your face. Your palms now higher up on his thigh.

You can feel how tense he is right now. Watched his expression go from softness to rigid with nerves. And maybe you are the only one who’s been feeling something tonight. Maybe he can handle his weed better than you. Or is simply not interested in you whatsoever. All his mindless flirting just that: mindless.

But you can’t help but want to test the waters. To see if any of those things are actually true.

Leaning up, your palms digging into the meat of his thigh as you do, your eyes moving from his to his lips and back up. A hint he seems to get when he meets you halfway and your lips are being pressed together in a gentle kiss.

It’s slow at first, curious, new to the both of you. Sloppy, and you can feel Eddie’s hand twitch at his side until he loses whatever fight in his head that has him holding back, and then it’s at your cheek and his thumb is digging into your chin the deeper the kiss gets. The more the two of you learn each other’s mouths. Which way to turn your head, that slow timid way his tongue pokes at your lips and then finds its way into your mouth; the quietest of noises coming from his throat when his tongue rubs against yours.

A noise that makes your stomach flutter. Makes an ache start between your legs.

Have you ever been kissed like this? Have you ever felt like the other person was learning you from the inside out? Memorizing how your lips moved, felt, tasted. The way your own deep rooted noise slips out and vibrates against his lips when his other hand comes to the other side of your head and pulls you so close to him as he leans further down into you. The top of your cleavage rubbing against the material of his shirt, tickled by his hair.

When the two of you finally pull apart, your eyes feel heavier than ever. Feel like all your energy went into that kiss and you feel buzzed. Like you’re on cloud nine. Like you’ve never felt better, as the two of you pant. Try to catch your breaths.

Feeling Eddie’s thumb nail running along your bottom lip you look up to his eyes, see they’re on your lips. His brows pulled together.

“Munson.” You don’t mean for it to sound like a whine. It’s not. You’re not whining right now, you’re just…feeling things and really high and maybe you can’t remember anyone you’ve been with ever touching you like this. And he’s barely touching you.

You may not have thought it to be a whine, but Eddie does. The look in his eyes as they finally meet yours has you floored. Has you seeing a want in a pair of eyes you don’t think you’ve seen before—know you haven’t; needy, nervous because of that need.

And when your palm moves of its own accord higher up and over until you feel a bulge in his tight jeans, the intake of breath he does. The slight droop of his eyes. All the decision you need to act on whatever these feelings are.

There’s disappointment in his eyes when you pull away from him, just enough to have his hands drop from your face and yours finding the top of his pants to open them up and fumble with the zipper.

“Whoa,” a nervous chuckle, then his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop you. “Whoa,” he says again. His breath still heavy. “What–should we–you,” he stammers.

It’s a bit cute, but it also has your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Shit. Have you completely misread this? Maybe he just wanted to kiss. You were fine with just kissing, if it was going to be like that everytime. But there’s an ache, a want, to hear that noise again. The one he had made in the back of his throat. To see the impressive bulge that your fingertips had touched.

“Do you,” you pull your hands back, take them from his hold and chew on your lip, “not want to do this? More..” you trail off. You can’t imagine what you were coming off as right now. Have you ever been rejected? Tonight was clearly the night of firsts for you.

“I,” Munson shakes his head, and your stomach sinks. Face falls. But then he’s shaking his head more aggressively, “no, that’s not,” he sighs. Takes a breath to ground himself, his hands coming to hold the tops of your shoulders. His expression serious, “Yes. I want to do this. I just…I’ve–never thought this would be happening and that I would be admitting to it in a situation, let alone this one–“

And then it clicks.

“Munson.” A slow smile snakes its way across your lips, “are you a virgin?”

His leg bounces, teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

“Just to be clear I mean sex, you’ve never had sex?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve done..other stuff, right?”

Silence for a beat and then he’s shaking his head. You try and fail to hide the surprise on your face, “I should take this as a compliment. Your utter shock.” You can see the blush that is growing up his neck and over his already red cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile falters for a second, “I just thought with that kiss, you had done something before.” You can’t help but look down at his parted lips, yours still tingling from them. “It was..”

“Perfect.”

That word again. Hits you the same way it had before. Has the both of you staring at each other’s mouths until you’re kissing again. This time faster, harder, the passion seeping from the want and morphing into something that now has you completely on fire. Engulfed by Eddie. Your fingers are in his hair. His hands cradling your face like it’s so fucking fragile.

“Can I taste you?” You’re panting against his mouth, running your hands down his chest back to the top of his pants that are still undone. Open enough that you can push your hand in them and move your fingertips against the top of his shaft. That same noise he did earlier coming out as a puff against your parted mouth.

He nods, “yes.” It sounds so soft and filled with need. He presses one more kiss to your lips before he’s slowly pushing himself back, giving you room and helping you maneuver his pants and boxers down his thighs. Just enough to spring his cock free.

It’s bigger than you imagined it would be—never imagined it to be. But, fuck. How has he not done anything when he kisses like that? When he’s so funny, cute, and nice, and his cock is so thick.

Your jaw aches just staring at it. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as you wrap a hand around the base of him, have to hold back the sound you want to make from the sound he makes; a shallow breath let out, just below a whimper. His hips already jerking involuntarily up, precum at his tip.

“Are you sure? You’re not like…just super high–“

“I am super high, Munson.” You smile sweetly and it makes him do the same. A low laugh covered up by you leaning in to press your lips to his, “and yes, I’m sure. Incredibly.” You hope your own look of want for him comes across clearly, not only in your words but with the way your hand starts to move on his shaft, and the way you run your tongue along his bottom lip.

A breathy, “fuck, oh-kay” slipping out from him.

It’s all the consent you need, the push to have you leaning down to run the flat of your tongue across his leaking tip. The hiss of pleasure he lets out only a prelude to the whimpers and gasps he makes when you let your tongue explore along his length, pumping and sucking with your mouth along a thick vein that runs up the side of his cock. Your thumb rubbing a slow circle behind the head of it, making his hips buck and legs tense around you.

And when you finally put him in your mouth, finally swallow down the already there taste of him on your tongue—you both let out a moan. Can feel the top half of him shift like his head has fallen back, an image of his beautifully parted mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut in pleasure has you moaning against him again; your body on fire, your pussy aching.

You match the pumps of your hand with the drag of your mouth up and down his dick. Swirl your tongue around the head and suck when you reach it. Let yourself go as far as your gag reflex will let you until you’re gagging around him and Eddie is cursing and digging his nails into the cushion of the couch.

You completely expect to feel his hand on your head, to be pushing or pulling your hair to guide you. Even fucking up into your mouth. When you’ve done this for other guys they were nothing less than over aggressive about it. So when it doesn’t happen part of you thinks he’s not enjoying it; a thought that’s quickly debunked by the grunts and shaky breaths coming from above you.

And when you steal a glance to the side you can see how red his knuckles look from the death grip he has the cushion in. How his fingers twitch and hand runs along his thigh, acting as if he wants to touch you but not daring to. You steal another glance up at him, “oh, ohmygod” tumbling from his lips when your eyes meet; he looks so desperate right now. So flushed and pretty.

You pull your mouth from him, let your lips press the tiniest of kisses to the tip that makes his hips gyrate, chasing your mouth. “You can touch me, Munson.”

“Where?” He asks shakily.

“Wherever you want.” You reach for his hand and press it to your cheek, “here, so you can feel yourself inside of me.” He whimpers, you smile. “Or here,” you run his hand down your neck, raise your brows to note that area being an option before you descend further. Until you reach the top of your cleavage, “to tits.” You say playfully and it has a deep chuckle scrunching his eyes. “Okay?”

He hums, nods. “Okay.”

And then your mouth is on him again, his tantalizing noises back and making your thighs press closer together. Making you encourage the small thrusts of his hips up into your mouth. Drool slipping down your chin when your own whimper is dredged up from the back of your throat when you feel the pad of his thumb run along your hard nipple; before his palm squeezes and massages your boob in a way that makes you move your body further into his.

The pleasure you’re giving him being handed back to you with the same energy of want and need, and it has you shellshocked. Has your body working overtime with heat, arousal, and wanting to please him. Wanting to hear more of those groans. To feel the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his “holy shit, that feels so good” when your throat spasms around him.

If you knew sucking Eddie Munson’s dick was this fun you would of done it years ago.

Why hadn’t you seen him before this night? Why did it take weed and giggles and flirting that turned you on more than you want to admit—to really see him. And why did the thought of not being able to look away from him again, to go back to not seeing him, something that was inevitable: make fear take root in your chest?

His hand has moved to hover over your head, his rings adding more pressure to the back of your skull than his actual fingers do. “You’re so perfect,” he whimpers. Pushes his hips up into your mouth, pulling your lips further down his throbbing shaft. “Perfect.” He repeats, your stomach flutters and flops and you preen around him. His breaths get deeper, hips moving more frequently, fingers flexing in your hair. He’s close, so so close.

And if you thought the noises he was making before were beautiful, the whine he lets out when he says, “I’m going to come, can I–oh fuck–can I do it in your mouth?” Makes your eyes roll back, your head nodding in approval and then you can feel him leaning back; a loud moan coming from his mouth, his fingers gripping the hair on top of your head as he comes against your tongue. The searing heat from it like a salve to the ache in your throat.

You swallow him down. Let your tongue lap at the droplets left on his tip as you suck him into your mouth one last time before he’s letting out a hiss of over sensitivity.

He tastes just as lovely as he looks right now. Completely flushed, eyes red and heavy. One corner of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What?”

“Your hair,” his fingers rub at the back of your skull gently. “I’m sorry if I pulled too hard,” the softness of his words has your chest feeling heavy. Those feelings back, your arousal under shadowed.

“No,” you shake your head. Pull his hand from the back of your head, don’t know why, but you let your lips skate across his rings as you kiss his fingers. “It was perfect.”

His mouth pulls into that boyish grin, for the millionth time tonight. “It was.”

Maybe your summer won’t be so boring after all.

— AVATAR : TWOW TWEETS (ft reader) !

a/n : let’s hope this one doesn’t flop lmao. let me know if u guys like this

taglist (let me know if you want to be added) : @nyotamalfoy @victoirey @theycallmesia @grierpilots @neteyamforlife @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

background : neteyam isn’t dead, y/n has a cat pfp, and that’s pretty much it

Dano!Riddler, snuggling beside (y/n): You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re my star, the light in my darkest days.

You, jumping awake into a corner: You fucking bitch- I thought I locked the door?!

Dano!Riddler: The window was open.

LOVE HOTEL

YANDERE KAMISATO AYATO

Synopsis: Ayato suggests that you two go to a love hotel, for just an experience, he said. [Modern AU]

Warning: May contain triggering content, implied sexual content, slight nudity, non-consensual touching, and a lot of underlying yandereness. Errors might be present, please do not mind them, enjoy!

He insisted it would be a favorable ordeal.

Just two colleagues wanting to experience some friendly intimacy, denial was at the tip of her tongue when he first mentioned it, his persuasive strategy is what had caused her to stand in front of the hotel, just wondering, how she consented and let him paddle the way. Running away didn't seem like a plausible alternative, now that he has her hand in a rigid clasp, gently dragging her inside.

It felt deplorable standing at the counter, with her behind him while he paid the sum in full, requesting a room, smiling at the employee with him still holding onto her wrist.

The pathway to their room was a fragment she'd find hard to forget, the few odd sounds here and there invaded her thoughts, the bright and cheerful place seeming like it was hiding something dark, she spoke in an attempt to get him to let her go.

While he paced ahead without a concern.

"Um... Can we go back, please? This place is making me uncomfortable." She timidly asked, dully aiming to pull her arm back, he didn't approve of her rebellion at the moment, replying with a stern tone.

"We've barely scratched the surface. Why return now after we decided we would do nothing more than view the place and leave." He side-eyed her, a smirk stretching once he connected the dots after seeing her face.

"If you are concerned about those noises, pay them no mind. I assure you, I have nothing of that sort planned." He replied.

"N-no I wasn't thinking about that, this seems like a place we shouldn't be, you know?"

He laughed, unable to mull over her words as they arrived at the room they were given the key to, the deluxe edition, it reads, unlocking the door and stepping in.

She breathed in the soft floral scent of lavender, pleasantly cold and commodious, the king-sized bed had a few towels and a booklet for some of the... More interesting items, she looked away, anxious and hyper to flee, if someone saw them, she wouldn't know how to deal with the rumours that will inevitably spread.

"Ahh!" Ayato mouthed, she jumped, glancing toward the male surveying the elegant ropes, muttering, "interesting..."

"Can we leave? We saw what it looks like, isn't that enough?" She pressured, nervously gazing at the many bounds he took out, he stared at her, saying, "most certainly not, there's much to explore, my dear friend."

She widened her eyes, advancing back, he appeared like he was enjoying her enactment, chuckling at her nonplused expression. She shortly asked, "what if someone saw us?" Worried by the amount of snooping questions she'll get if it ends up being the outcome.

"Please, I'm certain they will leave us alone. Besides, if that does happen, it will be... Interesting." He mused, curiously darting towards the closet and studying provided items, she stood, dumbfounded by his comeback but it wasn't unpredictable.

"For a top student, you sure do like to get into trouble. Whatever it is, leave me out of this." She said, hoping that it would yield her freedom, however, he promptly got up while holding a soft piece of fabric. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Would you like to try this on?" He sang with a devilish smirk, she swallowed, glancing at the beautiful mirror to the right, the bra seemed pretty expensive and new, baby blue in hue and petite design.

"No, that's too... Revealing." She sheepishly finished. She shouldn't have eluded his gaze at the last moment.

"That's true. How about this night grown?" He said, showing a silky white short dress, with thin straps, she involuntarily shivered, shaking her head and saying, "we are not going to stay the night." She surmised, he grinned along tossing the lingerie onto the puffy mattress.

"Give me the keys, I'm leaving." She firmly stated, he shushed her, smiling at her amusing expressions, "please calm yourself, we are merely here to try these things out, you wouldn't waste the money I've spent, now would you?" He replied, thinking guilt-tripping her would suffice.

"I don't want to but I'm not comfortable. Would you please give me the keys?"

"Okay, I will, when you try this out?" He playfully taunted, moving the fabric closer to her, she stepped back, beginning her futile experiment at making him take back his words.

"I said no, can we leave?" She answered.

"Come on now, don't be that way. I promise I'll let you go after you've tried this on." He gently pressured her, and she waived, taking the textile and disappearing into the bathroom.

"Oh! And, please do show them to me before you leave." He announced as she lowered her bra straps.

"I will not!!" She retorted.

"Do remember I have the keys."

She groaned, looking herself in the mirror, entertaining the idea of sitting in the bathroom so she could pass time and thwart her friend, upon making herself feel safe by the wall, he seems to have conjectured her course of avoidance, as he loudly knocked on the door.

"You can't stay in there forever you know. The faster you come, the sooner we can go home."

She gulped, pursuing her lips and moving forward, repenting her indigent decision.

She opened the door.

Bending her head, glancing anywhere but his observing eyes, despite shunning the odd sensation it increased, his gaze was glued on her frame.

He smiled.

"You look beautiful." He confessed, emerging from his seat and drawing near her before she can gather her thoughts and step away.

"Although, you haven't quite tied the straps right, are you shy? We've been friends for so long, I thought we were long past that stage." He mumbled, close to her face, just an inch more and they could kiss.

"Are you perhaps denying the facts?" He whispered, slowly snaking his arms against her waist, getting her adjusted to his hold, pressing his fingers into her warm flesh, securing her in his grasp.

"We both have feelings for each other, it's undeniable. We care for one another more than we let on."

"Isn't that right?" He tenderly kissed her cheek.

He eventually relaxed his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in and out, caressing her sides, and then he grumbled, "you like suppressing a lot of things."

She froze.

"Would you mind indulging me in those?"

He griped, unclipping her bra.

important! (please help me leave my household and escape my abuser.)

hi everybody, so sorry I haven’t posted in awhile and I hate to have to turn to social media and ask for help but I am completely out of options and severely desperate at this point. I’m currently in a very toxic living environment and my safety is at risk. My parents are kicking me out of the house for exposing mine and my younger sisters sexual abuser (who also is living in the same space as us.) I’ve been working 2 jobs and trying to gather as much as I can to get my own place but I am running extremely short with money. Please please please consider helping out, again, nothing is obligatory but absolutely anything will help me and I am running out of time. Thank you so so so much in advance, reblogs would be extremely appreciated. Even just a dollar would help.

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On this year women's day, all we could think about are Palestinian women in Gaza.

Nearly 9,000 women have been killed in Israeli attacks in five months. Another 2,100 are missing and presumed dead, while 23,000 have been wounded and over half a million are displaced.

“Palestinian women, especially in the Gaza Strip, are exposed to the worst humanitarian catastrophe,” Ashraf al-Qudra, the health ministry’s spokesperson, said on Thursday.

Dozens of women and girls have also been detained and face harsh conditions in Israeli custody, including sexual abuse.

Women in Gaza also struggle to find menstruation products and access the necessary pregnancy and post-natal care. The consequences on reproductive health, including a rise in stress-induced miscarriages, stillbirths and premature births, have increased significantly.

Women in labour are undergoing caesarean procedures without anaesthetics, and a shortage of post-operative care such as medication, antibiotics and pain relief further exacerbates the situation.

According to the health ministry, 5,000 women give birth monthly in Gaza under “harsh, unsafe and unhealthy” conditions caused by Israeli bombing and displacement.

There are 60,000 pregnant women in Gaza suffering from “malnutrition, dehydration and lack of medical care.

There have also been repeated cases of Israeli soldiers mocking Palestinian women by posting videos and pictures of themselves rummaging through personal belongings in Gaza homes, making derogatory comments and posing with women’s underwear.

Barry edit because he is so important to me 😥

"Absolutely no one comes to save us but us."

Ismatu Gwendolyn, "you've been traumatized into hating reading (and it makes you easier to oppress)", from Threadings, on Substack [ID'd]

can you write a fic where we have literally the biggest crush on Gareth Emerson but like we're a cheerleader and don't want all the backlash so we leave the cutest of cute letters in his locker like romance movie pink and sprayed with perfume letters? tysm <3

I don't usually ever write female readers, but I’ll make an exception bc I wanted to write this, it sounded cute. So the reader is female for this, which isn't explicitly stated, but it's heavily implied

Also! This is the first time I’ve ever written for Chrissy so that’s fun :)

Also also, which isn't relevant, but I'm seventeen finally, happy birthday to me :)

—

Word count: 4.3k

Pairing: Gareth Emerson x Female!Reader

Warnings: swearing, violence, blood, mild angst

Request Here

—

The first time you had laid eyes on Gareth Emerson had been during 4th period physics. You could remember it clear as day, despite it not being a monumental moment. He had been drumming two pencils against his desk, his leg bouncing underneath his desk to a song only he could hear.

You dropped your pencil a few moments prior and it had rolled away out of sight. Just as you had given up on trying to take down notes, Gareth turned around to face you and tossed you one of his pencils. He winked at you before twisting back around and leaving you with warm cheeks and the complete inability to focus for the rest of class.

The second time you laid eyes on him was during a night you weren’t supposed to be out. You knew you were in deep trouble when you got home, so you were staying out for as long as possible. That’s when you discovered The Hideout. It was in a part of town you usually never ventured out to, but you didn’t want to go home, so you just walked wherever your feet took you.

And they took you to The Hideout on a crisp Tuesday night.

When you walked inside, you almost walked right back out at the sudden assault of sound grating against your ears. It was loud and obnoxious music, with screaming vocals and shredding guitar solos.

Just as you were about to turn around and walk back outside, you saw him. His hair was damp with sweat and it covered his face. He was grinning, unapologetically happy, as he slammed his drumsticks against the drum set in front of him. His head banged along to the beat, and he mouthed the vocalists’ words along with him.

And you found yourself frozen in place, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight despite everything screaming in you to turn and run home, run to what was familiar and to get back into your comfort zone. But you couldn’t. Because Gareth from Physics was playing the drums with his band in a sleazy place like The Hideout. And he was beautiful. He fit into this atmosphere perfectly and he looked entirely content in his environment.

But then he flipped his hair out of his eyes and made direct eye contact with you. His eyes went wide before he winked, still grinning at you. He spun one of his sticks and tossed it up. He managed to catch it and continue playing, staring straight at you.

You couldn’t take the attention, so you panicked. You broke eye contact and ducked your head down before turning around and pushing the door open, walking back into the cool autumn air.

The third memorable time you had seen Gareth was when he had just finished getting his face pounded in. You weren’t sure what had started the fight this time, but it wasn’t hard to guess that Gareth started it. You knew all about the rumors surrounding him and his inability to just shut up and avoid a beat down.

He looked pitiable on the ground, blood pouring from his nose, his lip and eyebrow busted and also bleeding. He could scarcely stand up. He kept trying though, leaning against a row of lockers, grunting quietly as he tried to get his feet underneath him.

You bit your lip, looking around the hallway, but everyone who had gathered to see the fight had dispersed and went to lunch. Once you were sure the coast was clear, you walked over to him. You stood in front of him and held your hand out. “I’ll help you,” you said.

Gareth peered up at you and smiled a bloody smile. He said nothing and instead grasped your hand, smearing blood against your sweater sleeve. You helped him up onto his feet and put his arm around your shoulders, holding up his weight. You walked him to the nearest bathroom and after peeking inside to ensure it was empty, you pulled him inside. You closed and locked the door as well. You didn’t need anyone to see you helping him out.

You watched as Gareth limped towards the sinks and began to scrub the blood off his knuckles. You grabbed some paper towels and approached him. “Look at me,” you requested.

Gareth shut the water off and obediently turned around to face you. “Gonna patch me up, sunshine?”

Your cheeks burned and you looked away, running water over the paper towels before pressing it to his face. You started at his eyebrow, gently wiping the blood from his forehead and eye. Then you cleaned his bloodied nose, prodding at it gently to make sure nothing was broken. Satisfied, you moved to wipe the blood from his chin.

When you were satisfied that the blood was cleaned up, you tossed the paper towels in the trash before turning back to Gareth. And you weren’t sure what possessed you to do so, but you caught Gareth’s chin in your hand and brushed your thumb against his bottom lip, mindful of the split in it.

Gareth caught your wrist in his hand, warmth emanating from him. “What’s the verdict, doc?” he murmured, lips brushing against your thumb.

You felt as though your entire body was on fire. You cleared your throat and pulled your wrist free, quickly putting space between you two. “You’re fine,” you said, “put ice on your ribs and face. And please don’t tell anyone about this.”

“You ashamed to help the freak?” Gareth asked, looking down at his busted knuckles.

You hesitated. You were, because you knew what his reputation would do to yours. You knew what would happen if people found out about this. “It wouldn’t be good for either of us if people find out,” you settled for saying. “...I’m sorry,” you said before hurrying out of the bathroom.

You didn’t tell anyone about the incident. Not for a while, anyways. Not until Chrissy.

You were best friends. You met her when you joined the cheer squad and the two of you had quickly become close. That’s how you ended up at your house with Chrissy sitting crossed leg on your bed, rifling through her bag.

“Can I show you something?” She asked you a moment prior. Of course you had said yes, Especially when she added, “you can’t tell anyone or make fun of me.”

Chrissy popped back up, holding a pink slip of paper. She handed it over before covering her face with her hands in a picture of embarrassment.

You looked down at the paper in your hands, brows furrowed in confusion. You carefully unfolded it to reveal Chrissy’s looping handwriting. You read the first line and gasped. “You wrote a letter to Eddie Munson?” You hissed. “Chrissy!”

“It’s worse,” she moaned into her hands. “I wrote a love letter to Eddie Munson,” she said miserably, lowering her hands enough to peer over them at you. “I’ve been carrying it around all week.”

You were silent as you folded the paper again, feeling like it would be an invasion of privacy to keep reading. “You like Eddie Munson?” You asked. “Chrissy—”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Everyone would freak out…that’s why I’ve been carrying it around all week. But I really like him, Y/N,” she dropped her hands into her lap and took the letter back. “He’s not like what everyone says, he’s…really sweet.”

Chrissy was the most popular girl in school, and that wasn’t an over exaggeration. Everyone loved her. But she had just broken up with Jason Carver, who was an asshole. “Jason would kill him,” you mumbled.

“I know,” Chrissy bemoaned. “I know he would, even though it’s none of his business.”

“It’s not,” you agreed. “...can I tell you something too?” You asked carefully.

Chrissy looked up at you and nodded quickly. “Of course.”

“I like Gareth,” you blurted out. “I really really like Gareth. I helped patch him up the other day, when he got beat up. And there was a moment, but I panicked and I ran,” you said in one rushed breath.

Chrissy gasped, sounding delighted, “you like Gareth?” She repeated with a grin. “What do you mean a moment? Did he kiss you?” She pressed.

You quickly shook your head, cheeks on fire. “No, nothing like that!” You exclaimed. “I wanted him to—but no. He didn’t,” you shook your head again. “I don’t know what to do,” you cried, folding forward to press your forehead against the mattress.

“...you could write him a letter,” Chrissy earnestly suggested, patting your back in an attempt at comfort. It wasn’t working. “It helps. It’s like therapy,” she said thoughtfully. “Then all you had to do is put it in his locker.”

“And after?” You asked into the mattress. “Then what do I do?”

Chrissy shrugged like she hadn’t thought about it. “You see what happens,” she said like it was that easy.

You sat up and narrowed your eyes at her, “fine,” you said, holding up a finger. “I’ll write Gareth a letter if you give Eddie yours,” you said.

Chrissy thought about it before frowning. “That’s not fair. If you give Gareth a letter, I’ll give Eddie mine,” she proposed.

You scowled, you hadn’t thought she’d catch onto your wording. “Fine, fine,” you conceded. “You’re a sneaky friend.”

“I’m a cheerleader,” Chrissy beamed. She clapped her hands together before shooing you away, “I’ll get a pen and paper. You go grab your perfume,” she ordered and began to dig through your bag again.

You made a face behind her back before going to grab your favorite bottle of perfume.

—

The next day, you understood why Chrissy had been carrying around her letter for a week. It’s because delivering it was nerve wracking. You had mustered up the courage to approach his locker three times but every time you ended up walking away. Plus, there were too many people at all times, you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were staring at you.

Just as you were about to go find Chrissy and tell her to just forget about the whole thing, Gareth had yanked you into the boys bathroom. He locked the door before turning around to stare at you, a smile playing at his lips.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you stared at him. His bruises looked to be healing without complication. And somehow the cuts and bruises just added to his attractiveness. You finally found your voice and asked, “what do you want?”

“Hostile,” Gareth noted before holding out a folded sweater. “Here, because I ruined the other one.”

Your brow furrowed as you took a step towards him. You reached out for the sweater and took it, holding it up and getting a good look at it. It was a plain grey sweater that you had a sneaking suspicion belonged to him.

“You don’t have to give this to me. It’s okay,” you said, trying to hand it back.

Gareth stuffed his hands into his pockets to avoid taking it, “it’s fine, keep it,” he said before turning around and walking out of the bathroom, just as you had done a few days ago.

When he was gone, you let yourself smile and held the sweater close to your chest. You slipped it on and waited another minute before hurrying out of the bathroom.

—

Chrissy, of course, noticed the sweater you wore wasn’t your own and spent the first five minutes of practice gushing about how cute it was that Gareth had given you his sweater. She also informed you that she delivered her letter already.

“I asked to go to the bathroom during class, so the halls were empty, and I just put it in his locker,” she retold. “I guess we’ll see what happens now. But now you have to give him your letter.”

“Do not,” you countered as you stretched, “He’ll laugh at me, it’s so ridiculous.”

“He won’t laugh at you, Y/N,” Chrissy said in a gentler tone. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

—

You decided to trust Chrissy and take a page out of her book. You asked to go to the bathroom during physics, which ensured you wouldn’t run into him, and walked all the way to his locker. You slipped the letter inside without any problems, but when you turned around, you ran into an unforeseen issue.

Eddie Munson.

“Eddie,” you said, startled. You knew you looked guilty, standing in front of his best friend's locker when you were supposed to be in class.

“Y/N, you look lovely,” he said, bowing his head in greeting. “Don’t you have Physics now?” He asked, “why are you skulking about?” His brow arched as he stepped closer.

You nodded, stepping back, “I’m not skulking, I’m going to class,” you lied. “So I’ll be seeing you, Eddie.”

“Hey, do me a favor,” he called before you could run off, “tell Chrissy to meet me after school. She knows where,” he requested.

“No way,” you answered immediately. “She won’t believe me. Tell her yourself,” you said. “I have to go,” you excused and hurried off back to class.

—

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Dustin proclaimed as he glared at the stupid pink letter in Gareth’s hands. “First Eddie now you? What the fuck!”

“First Eddie what?” Eddie asked as he set his lunch tray down and sat in his usual spot.

“Gareth got a stupid letter,” Dustin sulked. “This isn’t fair.”

Eddie perked up considerably as he leaned over to try and see the letter. Gareth swatted him away. The two continued for a few more seconds like that.

“Don’t you and Suzie write?” Mike deadpanned, picking at his lunch. “It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not! I don’t get love letters, I just get normal letters,” Dustin insisted around a mouthful of his apple.

“What’s the difference?” Mike demanded. He got letters from El all the time.

“Eddie, fuck off!” Gareth suddenly shouted, drawing attention to himself as he leaned way back in his seat. Eddie was leaning forward in his own, reaching out for him.

Gareth looked up suddenly when he noticed you and Chrissy conveniently walking by. Eddie instantly straightened up and waggled his fingers at Chrissy, who smiled and paused in front of the table.

That’s when Gareth’s chair tipped backwards and unceremoniously dumped him on the ground. He burned in embarrassment as he sat back up, grimacing as he rubbed the back of his head. He looked up to see you watching with worried eyes. He smiled at you.

Chrissy whispered something to you and you rolled your eyes, muttering, “shut up, let’s go.”

“See you, sunshine,” Gareth bid farewell.

You didn’t look back and instead kept walking.

“That was cold," Mike observed, stealing fries from Dustin’s tray, despite having a tray full of his own.

Gareth stood up and set his chair upright before sitting down again. Then, he looked at Dustin with a smirk and tapped his front pocket, where the folded up letter was peeking out. He said nothing, but perfectly conveyed what he meant.

Dustin's jaw dropped, "no fucking way," he said. "No way do both of you have cheerleaders writing you love letters. That's impossible. You're not cool enough."

"Ouch," Eddie threw a fry at him that missed and hit Mike in the face.

"Hey!" Gareth shouted, affronted. "Don't be jealous, Henderson."

"Y/N didn't even acknowledge you," Dustin countered. "Liar."

"It's different for them," Gareth stated matter of factly.

"Yeah, dude," Eddie agreed. "It's not so simple. You know who we are and who they are. They can't just stroll over here and talk to us. It'd make their lives miserable."

"Hey, our lives aren't miserable!" Dustin objected.

"They're at the top of the hierarchy," Mike caught on faster than Dustin. "If they talk to any of us, they're social life is done for."

"Steve talks to us and he was popular," Dustin sulked.

"Steve's not in highschool. Is he now?" Eddie questioned. "Mind your business, Henderson or Steve's taking you home today."

Dustin quickly zipped it shut, because if Steve picked him up, it meant he'd be waiting around for ages until his shift was over. No thanks.

That didn't mean he stopped noticing the way Gareth and Eddie kept staring at the table you and Chrissy were sitting at.

—

"Did you talk to Eddie?" You prompted during practice that day. It had been bothering you all day; wondering if Eddie had asked her what he asked you to relay.

"How'd you know that?" Chrissy responded as she did her stretches, sitting on the ground beside you. "Yes, I talked to Eddie. He wants to meet me after practice. Did you talk to Gareth?"

You shook your head, "I dropped the letter in his locker during physics and I haven't seen him since lunch," you reported.

Chrissy nodded before her head snapped up, looking at something in the distance. She gave you a side glance before standing up and dusting the grass off her clothes.

You looked up at her, then looked out to see what she was staring at. You blinked at Gareth and Eddie, who were standing on the far edge of the field. "Don't they have dnd today?" You asked. "What are they doing?"

Chrissy didn't comment on how exactly you knew when they had dnd, and shrugged. She looked around at their teammates who were too busy stretching to pay them any mind. "Want to find out?" She asked.

You stared at her for a long moment. "Eddie's a bad influence on you," you lightheartedly informed. "Yeah, let's go," you said, climbing to your feet. You watched as they turned around and disappeared into the line of trees.

Chrissy looked back at her teammates before she broke off at a sprint for the tree line. You ran after her, laughing when you heard shouts behind you, demanding for the both of you to come back.

Chrissy was giggling in front of you as she broke the treeline and slowed down.

“We’re gonna be running laps all next practice,” you breathlessly informed, slowly to a stop beside her. “And probably practice after that.”

Chrissy dismissed that with a cheerful hum and began to walk, “c’mon, I know where they went,” she encouraged.

“And how do you know that?” You questioned as you followed her through the tree’s. “Why are you even coming back here?”

“Because of Eddie,” she easily replied.

You narrowed your eyes at the back of her head in suspicion.

Gareth suddenly stepped out from behind a tree, making the two of you stop. “Hello, Chrissy,” he greeted, “Eddie’s waiting for you.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to show her where.

Chrissy smiled warmly at him, “Goodbye Gareth, bye Y/N,” she said before walking past Gareth to go meet Eddie.

You frowned at her back, mildly offended at being abandoned for a boy. You looked at Gareth, but quickly looked away again. You were too embarrassed to make eye contact.

“Walk with me?” Gareth requested as he headed off to the left, opposite the way Chrissy went.

You walked at his side in silence, trying to come up with something to say that didn’t sound ridiculous or cheesy. He beat you to it.

“I read your letter,” he said casually. “I’ve never gotten a love letter before. It was really sweet.”

Your cheeks grew warm like they always did when he was around. You looked at the ground, scuffing your feet against the ground as you walked, “I’m glad you think so,” you settled on replying. “Eddie, he uh, caught me. When I was putting it in your locker. It was embarrassing,” you confessed.

Gareth laughed, “he caught you?” He repeated, “wait when was this? His locker isn’t near mine.”

“During physics. I have no idea what he was doing,” you said honestly. “I think he was looking for Chrissy’s locker, he asked me to relay a message.”

Gareth nodded, like that was a good explanation. “I have a question for you,” he began, which immediately made your heartbeat hammer in your chest. “Were you at our show? A few weeks ago?”

You exhaled softly when it was nothing bad and nodded. “Only for a minute,” you answered, “it was really loud, but I saw you playing, You looked good.” you paused once you realized what you said.

Gareth began to smirk. “I looked good, sunshine?” He teased while leaning in close.

You avoided eye contact and quickly backpedaled. “No, I-I meant that you played good.”

“So you don’t think I look good?”

“No!”

“No, you don’t?”

“I-I meant that no, that’s not what I meant!” You groaned and rubbed your face. “Yes, you looked good,” you reluctantly settled on, your cheeks burning hot in embarrassment. You should have just stayed quiet.

Gareth smiled, “you look cute when you’re embarrassed,” he said honestly.

If possible, your cheeks grew even hotter.

“I really like you,” he continued, knocking shoulders with you.

You made no attempt to move away from him, but you did sigh softly. “I’m sorry.”

Gareth gave you a weird look as he stopped walking and turned to face you. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. We can’t—we couldn’t ever—”

Gareth stopped you by taking your hands between his. They were callused and rough against your smoother ones, and you couldn’t help but take note of how right it felt to hold his hand. “I know,” he hushed. “I know, we run in two different circles. I know.”

“...that doesn’t bother you?” You asked quietly, lifting your gaze from your hands to look at him. “We can’t be…a normal couple. Not in school at least. Or where they could see us. Do you have any idea how bad it would be for you?” You asked.

“You don’t have to worry about me, sunshine,” he said in a more serious tone. “We’ll just have to be sneaky, alright? We’ll figure it out. If that’s what you want,” he added.

“I do,” you said quickly. You just felt guilty that you’d have to hide all because you didn’t want to deal with the backlash that came with going public. “I want that, I want…to be with you.”

Gareth beamed and squeezed your hands gently. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded and leaned in for a sweet kiss.

—

That had been the start of your relationship. Since then, you and Gareth had been on three dates. Technically four, but you didn’t count the double date with Chrissy and Eddie.

You were happy with him, really happy, but there had been…close calls. Today had been a very close call day, and you were beginning to doubt your relationship. Doubt if it was worth it. Because currently, sitting in an empty parking lot with Gareth, who was nursing his wounds, it didn’t feel worth it.

You chewed nervously on your bottom lip as you glanced up at him. His nose had finally stopped bleeding and nothing looked broken, but he looked like shit. You knew it would only look worse tomorrow when all the bruises had formed.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly began, staring at your hands, unable to look at him with your crushing guilt. It had been your fault, afterall. You were in a mood and had been arguing with him. It was lighthearted because you hadn’t actually been mad, just annoyed. Someone from school had seen him chasing after you and took things the entire wrong way.

He had hit Gareth. So of course Gareth hit him back, which just egged the guy on. A few minutes later, Gareth was lying still on the ground, bleeding. You had to pretend you were grateful to the stupid asshole who had beat your boyfriends face in for no reason.

You helped him mop the blood up from his face and here you were.

You sniffled, tears stinging your eyes that you furiously refused to fall. You had no reason to cry, Gareth was the one who got the beat down, not you. “I’m so sorry, Gareth. I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking of what it looked like. I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Gareth said, scooting closer to press his shoulder against yours. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, sunshine,” he murmured, putting a hand on your knee.

You shifted away from him, wrapping your arms around himself. “He could have hurt you a lot worse,” you sniffled. “It could have been so much worse, Gareth.”

“But it wasn’t,” he replied. “I’m fine, nothing that hasn’t happened before. Those guys are douchebags. It’s not your fault he happened to be around and got the wrong idea,” he reassured.

“This was a bad idea,” you whispered. “This—us—was a bad idea. You’re only going to get hurt, Gareth. We shouldn’t be doing this,” you said, forcing yourself to look up at him.

Gareth was frowning as he scooted closer again, “c’mhere,” he ushered as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He pulled you tight against his side, encouraging you to lay your head against his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and sighed softly. “We’re going to be okay,” he said, slow and firm.

More tears stung at your eyes and when you blinked, they spilled over your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you cried.

“Shh,” Gareth soothed. “It’s okay. We’re okay,” he repeated.

You nodded as you tried to wipe your cheeks and stop the tears. “I love you,” you said. “I love you so much, we aren’t a bad idea, I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” he murmured his reassurances. “I know you didn’t mean it, sunshine. I love you too. More than you can even dream. So don’t cry, okay? It’s okay.” He rubbed your arm in comfort.

You leaned closer into the warmth his body provided and said nothing more as the tears subsided. Once they had stopped, you allowed yourself to enjoy this small moment with him. You truly did love him, and maybe one day you’d have the courage to tell it to the world.

Can I request as ethan landry as a bf? thanks!

(Toxic relationship with female reader)

Toxic Ethan Landry as a bf

bro why is he so pretty. i could stare at this gif for hours

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

Thanks for all the request you've been sending me! I'm working on them don't worry.

TW/CW: ghostface Ethan, murder, manipulation, stalking, voyeurism, obsession, sickness, throwing up, food poisoning

I hope that's what you wanted. I have difficulties with headcanon because I feel they're all the same? I don't know how to explain but it's hard to find new ideas that no ones ever mentionned before. Still, i liked writing this. (27/07/2023) (2 232 words)

Toxic Ethan Landry who has access to all your private life on your phone. It's his morning journal at this point, he just kinda read what you liked, retweeted or sent.

He'll spend minutes filtering the accounts you follow to see if you started following someone he doesn't know. Or if someone followed you, which is worse in his opinion. Most of the time, it's porn account with big tits but Ethan still doesn't like it because he's scared you'll fall in love with them. (he knows they're fake accounts, he doesn't care)

Toxic Ethan Landry who already thought about sending you a dick pic to see what your reaction would be. (he never did it, he probably never will either)

Toxic Ethan Landry who made multiple fake accounts to dm you on different social media to test your loyalty. And you, on the other hand, tell him how you're confused because you usually don't get any dm?? And suddenly you get plenty ? You don't even have a profile picture on some social media and you still get dm?

"The world finally understands how pretty you are!" he tells you. But it's him, him and only him. He blocks every guy he deems too pretty so you never see them. So you never get tempted to leave him.

He's happy you don't answer to any of his dm and sad because that also mean you don't answer him.... He's confused.

Toxic Ethan Landry who made a 'fan account' of you just to see how you'd react to someone with as much devotion, to test the water. You have no idea it's him and when you learn about it, you're a little creeped out because what the fuck ? A stranger did that ? And it's just picture of you in your classes from different point of view. You looking at the board, you writing, you dozing off.

Of course your boyfriend would help you file a complaint. He goes to the police station with you, supporting you. And, oh, detective Bailey is in charge of your case ! He's so nice with you, asking you to calmly explain him the situation and he even lets your boyfriend stays in the room with you. You don't understand why a detective and not a normal cop is taking your complaint but you're happy someone is simply even taking it.

And when you go back home hands in hands with your boyfriend, you feel a little better because you have hope you're protected. And your tension lessen thanks to Bailey who didn't judge you and stayed patient.

"I'm happy you like him, love." Ethan tells you fondly and you don't quite understand but you just think he's happy you feel at ease.

While Ethan is just really fucking happy he finally introduced you to his family and is delighted you like his father.

Toxic Ethan Landry who saw the text Mindy sent you. Because he reads every one, and especially those you send Mindy, of your messages. She was trying to prove you Ethan was Ghostface, she didn't have any proofs, he knew that. But you've been friends with her longer than you've been with him, she had that advantage in which you'd trust her if she was convincing enough.

And she was reminding you about how weirds things keeps happening to you ever since he's in your life. Some of your friend's contacts in your phone have been deleted, you lose your keys at least once every week just the day where your roomate isn't here and you have to go sleep at his place instead, he keeps giving his opinion on things that are directed to you. It's not even big things, it's Tara asking you if you saw one certain film and if you want to go see it and Ethan's all like "I heard this movie wasn't really good! Don't worth seeing it." And Mindy always snaps at him because "damn, nobody asked you?"

And that, right now, is why her fucking girlfriend fucking died.

Mindy keeps insisting that he's weird, that sometimes you can't make it to your friend's parties because he's all clung to you and keep begging you to stay. Or she mentions how you told her you felt bad because you always lose your homework and you often end up copying on your boyfriend. Her main argument is that he's using "passive control" over you.

"Never trust the love interest" she'd repeat. "you won't dare leave him because he's making it look like he's nice and you'll feel bad for leaving him when he's a literal demon"

And Ethan starts to freak out because you genuinely start to see everything she highlights. But he still has times, because he knows you love him. You're simply starting to have questions.

Questions Ethan can't answer.

Toxic Ethan Landry who know you want to have a good, serious conversation with him. He knows you'll ask him about the deleted numbers, he knows you'll ask him about the lost homework, or simply all the things you lost in general. And you lost damn lot of things because of him.

And each time you come back home, ready to talk, Ethan's already here. You guess your roomate let him in. He's always doing a chore before you, doing laundry, cooking, vacuuming or sometimes he just sleeps (well, he makes it look like he does anyway). And you always feel bad for wanting to talk to him when he's so nice to you.

Because he doesn't have to clean your home, it's yours, not his. But he still does it. Because he's your perfect boyfriend.

"Ethan, I wanted to... you say, setting your bag on the nearest table. You have to talk to him, it's been haunting you for days ! He looks at you, eyes bright. He came back from his classes two hours ago and he's cleaning your windows. The floor, you noticed, has been vacuumed and mopped. He only wears a shirt and a boxer, because he knows it alters your concentration and just eases your anger in general when you see his ass. Even more when he's doing chores, he looks like he's your husband. -Yes sweetheart ? Something bothering you?" with a bright smile as he's always happy to see you get back home, and he knows he won again because you change subject.

Toxic Ethan Landry who, strangely enough, never argues with you. Because somehow, he's always agreeing with you. Or, at the end of the day, you changed your mind.

"I want to take somes vacation", you'd say. And Ethan despises your idea because that mean you'll leave him alone for some time. But he won't tell you, because he's your perfect boyfriend.

"Yes, that's a good idea. You deserve a break."

But suddenly, you can't go because your roomate announces you that they won a prize on internet on a contest they don't even remember participing in. And they won a ticket for a trip to another country. So you can't leave because you'd leave the apartment empty, something you can't do in such a big city like yours. So now you have to wait before leaving.

So you announce the new to Ethan, a few hours later. He already knows it, of course. He's the one sending the damn ticket and he's the one putting a mic in your phone.

But you look so sad when you can't go on vacations so Ethan reassures you, telling you that as soon as your roomate comes back, both of you'll leave on vacations for a week, just the both of you. And you want to leave so badly that the idea of Ethan bringing you in another country is making you dream so you agree.

Or when you're on the verge of leaving because Ethan couldn't prevent you to do so sooner, bad news are thrown at you. You're trying to do one last laundry to put one or two clothes more in your baggage when the washing machine stops working. Then the fridge is acting weird, the TV is disconnected and if everything does not prevent you of leaving, you're being robbed while you're out.

Now, you just can't leave. That'd be too dangerous to leave your apartment (your roomate!) alone, even for a week, especially for a week.

You're angry, of course. Insulting whoever decided to break into your house and Ethan supports you throught it all. You're telling him how it's always hard to leave a few days because you have the strange impression the fate against you. And maybe you're right.

Ethan is happy because that mean he gets to sleep at your place more often, 'just in case someone try to break in again'.

Toxic Ethan Landry, who, hates when you go to parties. You always offer him to come with you but he refuses. He hates parties because everyone is always drunk out of their minds and they're just all semi-naked and he hates the thought of you seeing someone else's body.

He does come, of course. He wouldn't think of leaving you alone.

Well, Ethan Landry doesn't come, Ghostface does. He's anrgy enough of thinking you'd leave him alone while you're out with your friends to kill whoever is on the way. He's mad at you, but he can't be for long. He grabs the first fucker aside form the group he sees and plunges his knife in him withtout waiting. All he needed was a witness to run away telling everyone what happened, so you'd have to leave the party.

And that's what happens. Everyone runs everywhere, they're pushing each other yelling, and he hopes no one hurt you because other wise the night will be much longer than expected. He already hid his costume in the bag in his car by now. He searches for you and eventually, he finds you.

You're with your friends, you don't understand what's happening but you're leaving too. It warms his heart seeing you here. It's as if you're seeking refuge in his presence. So he endulges you and joins you, your friends recognize him so they just let you go. You're drunk. He knew you'd be as you don't go out much, so when you do, you completly let go. He still doesn't like it but it eases him the work. He won't have to explain why he's already here when you haven't even called him.

After that, everything is back to normal. You're both in pajamas, cuddling in bed. You're fast asleep and Ethan loves it. And when you wake up the next morning, he simply tells you that your friends called him to come pick you up. That he doesn't know what happened but he's happy you're safe.

Toxic Ethan Landry who, when thinks you start to avoid him just a little too much, is pissed the fuck off, and is obligated to poison your food. Because your stupid little friend Mindy is always in your fucking business when she should be crying the death of her fucking girlfriend and leave you both alone. And she's telling you that Ghostface attacked again, that your boyfriend's behaviour is just too weird and Ethan doesn't realize it but he fully death glare her when she talks now. Because you always defended him until now, he thought he was safe.

But you start having doubts.

And if it wasn't for his damn family's plan Mindy would be long gone by now. Because she just loves ruining your life, right ? But he'll talk about her to his dad later, because you're calling him. For the first time in three days. Three only (or three too much) because he didn't last long being ignored by you and he decided to act.

Food poisoning, a classic he must say. But it works. He's already packing his bag to come see you when he answers your call.

"Hi Ethan, I didn't want to bother you but do you have medicine? He hates that you didn't want to bother him, because before you'd have called him because of a headache or because you're hungry. He knows by now, your stomach hurt like hell and you probably threw up once or twice. He's sorry but it was the only option. "Aw, you're sick baby ? I'm coming. you can hear him move in the other side of the phone, you're assuming he's putting some clothes on. Did you eat ? I bet you didn't. I'll find you something to eat, okay ? Try to sleep, love. I won't be long."

When he arrives a few minutes later, he feeds you, gives you medicine and ensures your fever doesn't increase. He doesn't like seeing you in pain. But he's glad you called him. Because you were distancing yourself from him. And you know damn well you just can't do that.

And he hates to think like that but somehow, you deserved it. Because you should trust him and not her. Because he's your perfect boyfriend who'd never do harm. Because he's the love of your life.

But it'll taught you how you can't live without him. He thinks he'll have to change plan now. It seems being too nice makes you think he's weak.

But he's everything but weak, especially when you're concerned.