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daydreamingleclerc · 1 year

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corrupt // mason mount

in which; he’s the university’s superstar sports player, and you’re just an innocent little bookworm. he walks you home one night after commotion in the street and you can’t help but offer him inside.

includes; corruption kink, uncomfortable cat calling, master manipulation, excessive usage of pet names (it gets annoying, sorry), dom!mason, sub!reader, foul language, fingering, oral (m, f rec), choking, protected sex, squirting, swearing, a sprinkle of CNC.

i was listening to sk8er boi by avril lavigne and it spiraled into this. i’m not sorry. thanks @landopeaches for helping me w all the ideas and being there to lust over mason with throughout the process <3

this is filthy. and just under 10K words. please read at your own risk. don’t say i didn’t want you.

22:04.

the library didn’t normally stay open this late on friday nights, especially during the week of varsity, but you had a way with words and a very appreciated knack for batting your eyelashes.

“i think it’s-”

“-ssh, i'm writing,” you held a hand up to your housemate and best friend, becca, as you finished your train of thought before your new column ultimately came crashing to a halt, “okay, continue.”

she sat beside you, flicking through a book she clearly had no interest in. she’d given up on her sociology assignment long ago, as had savannah, who was now half asleep on one of the sofa’s further down the room. aside from the odd one or two chess club players downstairs, you were the only three in there.

“i think it’s probably a good idea for us to get going,” becca hummed, and much to your distaste, savannah had never been happier. “it’s ten p.m on a friday night, y/n, why don’t we all go pick up some food and watch a movie?”

savannah had already gotten her jacket on and slipped her bag over her shoulder. she didn’t need anymore persuasion.

“you guys go ahead,” you responded, wiggling with the mouse of your laptop as the screen dimmed, “i’ll catch up soon, i just have to finish this section of next weeks column,” becca scowled at you and before she could open her mouth, you eased her racing thoughts, “becca, i'll be fine. just pick me something and i'll pay you back later. i promise i'll be home before eleven.”

the house that the three of you lived in with two of your other housemates was only a short walk away from campus and that gave you roughly forty minutes to finish up this segment. savannah yawned and becca still looked unimpressed.

“you’d better be,” she picked her bag up off the back of her chair and slid it on her shoulder. she left a kiss on the top of your head, “because if i find your dead body in a back alley tomorrow morning, i'll kill you.”

“charming,” savannah yawned. “love you, y/n.”

“love you.” becca gave you a reluctant wave as she walked down the stairs of the library.

you didn’t leave long after the girls and as you exited the warmth of the library and walked out into the crisp april chill, you regretted not bringing a thicker jacket to cocoon yourself as you walked home. blaring music came from all angles, as did the stares and wandering eyes.

it was clear to all eyes you weren’t making your way to or from a party, dressed in a white sundress with cherries printed on the fabric and a white knitted cardigan. the pockets of the cardigan gaped with just your mobile phone, id and house keys inside them – you'd rented out a locker for the night to keep your laptop safe rather than dragging it back home and threatening to drop it.

as you turned the corner onto the main loop of on-campus flats, your palms grew sweaty. you had to pass the flats and walk across the courtyard – which was full of spillover students itching to go out to either one of the clubs in town – to get to the back gate so you could slip out into the car park and cross into your estate to get home.

a drunken body bumped into you as you crossed the road, and in turn your phone fell out of your hand as you tripped up the curb. you managed to steady yourself but unfortunately for you, your little stumble had caught the eye of a small group of drunken boys.

“hey sugar, you look lost, fancy coming up here with us?”

you didn’t recognize any of them, which was unusual considering they looked like the kind of boys who did sports, and you were a columnist in the university newspaper. you only did two sports columns a month, and the rest were focused on arts media – which was your degree, after all – because of that, you knew everybody.

you knew you should’ve responded, told them to fuck off, or at least say no; but you didn’t. you froze. all you did was shake your head, and when they got closer your legs began to speed up.

“hey, i was talking to you,” the same voice echoed, “don’t walk away from me when i'm just trying to have a conversation.”

you fought off the urge to throw up. confrontation was something you despised, especially in front of a big crowd. “are you deaf?” the voice shouted, clearly agitated now, and you could hear it getting closer and closer until it was virtually behind you.

mason, one of the school’s star ex-students and most glorified alumni noticed the commotion going on in the courtyard. luckily enough, he was stood with a friend who was smoking outside in a small congregation of people waiting to head to another party. he recognized you from the times you’d sat out on the pitch during games with your notepad and fluffy pink pen, that would always get dampened when the inevitable rain kicked in. he had a lot of time for you, even if you had no idea.

“i’m offering you sex on a plate here, love-”

“-gareth, piss off.”

your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest in that moment, and when a familiar face stepped out of the shadows, you let out a puff of air. your eyes caught mason’s, and immediately he rushed over to you.

“y/n, are you okay?” his hand rested softly on your shoulder and massaged the hot flesh of your skin in an attempt to calm you. he waited for you to nod, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “you’re freezing, do you want to borrow my jacket?”

you shook your head and couldn’t help getting lost in the way he got the boys to mutter an apology and scramble away with their tails – dicks – between their legs.

“where are you off to?”

“uh, i, um,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and tried to compose your thoughts. in the three years you’d known mason, he’d never once touched you this way. a complimentary nod of the head after a quick post-match interview or a stolen glance in the hall followed by a soft smile were all the emotional bridges you’d built together. “i'm on my way home.”

mason gestured to his friends to go on without him as he continued to walk with an arm around your shoulder. “i’ll walk you home, babe, okay?” he hooked his thumb under your chin and got you to look over at him, “i’ve just got to stop off at a party and show my face for ten minutes, whereabouts do you live?”

“uh, forty-two goodwood drive.” your voice came out quieter than expected, and mason hummed, nodding his head when his lips formed a smile.

“perfect, the parties at twenty-eight goodwood drive, we can stop off there for ten minutes, have a drink and then i can walk you to the door.”

“we?” you frowned, “i'm not good with big crowds, mason.”

he tutted, “that’s a lie, remember last year when you stood up in front of all the freshers with that powerpoint on how they could join the school newspaper?”

you were shocked he remembered that, and it took you a minute to compute his words and formulate a response. “that was different, it was work related,” a knot formed between your eyebrows and that usual smirk had found its way back to mason’s face. it seemed to be a permanent feature. “honestly, mason. it's fine, i can walk myself home.”

“no, darling. i've said i'll walk you home, please,” he stopped to look at you for a minute, and the knot between your eyebrows released as if subconsciously, “let me at least walk you home.”

it flattered you that mason mount of all people was willing to walk you home. not even men you dated offered to do that. and he had almost begged you.

“if you insist.”

he patted your shoulder with the tips of his fingers and you began walking again, safe in the cage of his arm.

“atta girl.”

22:50

it seemed to be a night of firsts.

for the first time, the campus celebrities, as becca called them, had allowed you into their party as if you were one of their own. mason had poured you a drink and you held the red cup between both hands to hide the shakes. you wanted to say they’d come on because of the drunken cat calling, but you knew on the surface it was because mason was keeping you close.

you were thankful, nobody really knew you at this party other than maybe two people, one of them being mason. it was clear you were uncomfortable; the push and shove of drunken antics wasn’t something you were particularly used to. you knew your limits, and at the grand old age of twenty-three, you expected everybody else to know theirs, too.

it seemed, wherever mason was, a flock of people followed. he had his very own fan club. mason was already a student when you’d arrived, he'd graduated university from his sports science combined course a year early because he was scouted by a football agent and now he was off playing league football and crushing it, you had to admit. he still had a lot of friends here and came back semi-regularly to join in on the parties and sex.

the pair of you sat down on a plush suede sofa, and he noticed you checking your watch for the time. you’d been twiddling your thumbs at this party as mason’s impromptu plus one for twenty-five minutes, and you anxiously tapped your fingers on your knees. you were supposed to be home in seven minutes.

“whats up, princess?”

your cheeks heated up at the use of his constant pet names, but this one seemed to take the cake. “i told my housemates i'd be back at the house for eleven.”

when he flashed that signature mason smirk that you found yourself fawning over for months, the familiar knot formed between your eyebrows. “you can allow yourself to be a little bit late, darling,” mason’s expression then mimicked yours, “do they keep tabs on you like they own you or something?”

his question took you by surprise. it was the first proper rude thing he’d said to you all night, and that’s how you expected him to be around you, but so far, he was everything but. “i’m kidding,” he suppressed a chuckle and scooted closer, “just tell them you’re gonna be a little late, babe. don't worry, you’re safe with me.”

he shot you a wink, and it sent butterflies swarming around your body and wetness pooling in your underwear. this was probably the most turned on a man had ever made you, and he hadn’t even touched you, or said anything remotely sexual.

before mason could open his mouth, a boy you vaguely recognized as someone from the hockey team slid over and sat on the corner of the coffee table. immediately, they got into conversation, and you found yourself once again admiring the way he held himself. you snapped out of it almost instantly.

“who's the girl then, mase? got yourself a new toy?”

“his new what?”

“got myself a new what?”

yours and mason’s questions overlapped, and immediately his friend could sense that what he said was wrong. he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or apologize, and then he saw mason’s expression and chose the latter. he scurried off, and you placed your cup down on the coffee table in front of you.

“i think i should just go,” as you went to get up, mason grabbed your wrist and you caught one another's eyes, “mason, please.”

he pleaded with his eyes to get you to stay, “don’t listen to anything dom says, sweetheart,” mason scowled in his direction and dom couldn’t help but keep flickering his eyes over at the pair of you in regret, “he doesn’t know his brains from his balls, and that’s why he’s on the hockey team.”

he pulled a laugh from your lips and it immediately put him at ease.

“promise you won’t listen?” his hand brushed your knee, and you fought every inebriated urge you had to not pounce on him.

“mhm, i promise, mason,” you smiled, placing your hand on top of his. he smiled and scooted closer ever so slightly, “thank you.”

“good girl,” his words ignited a flame inside of your stomach, and the wet patch inside your underwear grew significantly. you'd never been called those words before, and he knew what he was doing when the knowing smirk grew. “would you like another drink?”

“yes, please,” you squeezed your legs together when his fingers brushed closer as he stood up, and he knew how he made you feel within seconds. you grabbed his fingers as he lifted them from your leg. you looked so innocent he could’ve exploded. “don’t be too long, please.”

“you’re so cute when you’re clingy,” he watched as your cheeks lit up in heat, “i'll only be over there. two minutes, tops.”

eleven o'clock had been and gone. becca and savannah had tried to ring multiple times to stick their noses in and find out what was going on, but you’d be leaving soon, and once mason had walked you to the door, they’d be all yours to gossip with.

you shifted in your spot, and tried to peel yourself off the sofa without distracting mason from his conversation with somebody you didn’t recognize at all, but it was unsuccessful. “where are you going, babe?”

“i need to pee,” you shifted again, and got up successfully without mason stopping you. he finished his conversation abruptly and you almost rolled your eyes, “where are the toilets?”

“i’ll take you.”

“i don’t need you to be my bodyguard, mason. just tell me where the toilets are and i'll go on my own.”

his lip quirked up into a hint of a smile. you got sassy when you’d had a drink. that boded well for him and his everlasting thoughts of you in compromising positions.

“darling, with all due respect you don’t know anybody here and i don’t want you wandering,” he finished the dregs of his drink, “i'll take you and then we can leave, c’mon, give me your drink.”

“why?”

“because i don’t want people seeing you holding it and it getting spiked, c’mon.”

you gave in rather easily and handed mason your half-full cup with a thoughtful smile. you hadn’t gone for a wee since before you left the library, and now you’d been holding it for a while it was something of a relief to be going. he took you to another bathroom, one in a less quiet part of the house. he had clearly been here multiple times before.

“you’re not gonna come in with me too, are you?”

“depends,” mason shrugged, “are you offering?”

you swatted his arm with a friendly punch, even though a part of you wanted to say yes and have him take you then and there in the bathroom. the door unlocked and a couple walked out, hair in disarray and clothes mismatched. brilliant.

“you just wait at the door, big guy.”

it stank of weed and sex in the room as you homed in on your surroundings as you peed. what started out as a stressful night had soon become enjoyable, and all thoughts of anxiety you had before you arrived at the party had washed away. you couldn’t hear mason at the door, even though you wouldn’t have been able to anyway because of the thumping bass; but you half expected him to be gone by the time you opened the door.

you wiped your hands on your dress and smoothed over your hair in the mirror. your mascara smudged in both corners of your eyes, and you cleaned it up, merging the outer smudges into your eyeliner. mason was stood with a soft smile on his face when you walked out, and you mimicked it, “i expected you to have found someone better to spend your evening with, thank you for waiting.”

“better than you?” he handed you your cardigan, the one you didn’t even realize you were missing, and you slipped your arms into it, “impossible, darling.”

you blushed again and covered your face with your hands, suppressing a delicate giggle from masons ears. he made sure the cardigan was on your shoulders, and a shiver trickled down your spine when he pulled your hair out, so it wasn’t trapped between fabrics.

“okay princess, finish your drink,” he handed you the cup and you downed it in one, trusting him enough in that moment to know that he wouldn’t spike it, and he raised his eyebrows, impressed, “all in one, good girl.”

your mind raced at the dirty scenario echoing through it, and heat pooled all over your body. you were honestly surprised you couldn’t feel your own slick on your thighs. nobody had ever made you feel like this before, and mason loved the hold he had on your achingly innocent persona. you subconsciously bit your lip and mason fought off a guttural moan.

“what’s with that expression, darling, hm? was it something i said?”

you opened your mouth to react, but he pinched your hip, laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders once again, the pair of you wandering down the hall like nobody's business.

he checked the time on your watch as you walked, lifting up your wrist as if it were a feather, and pulled a faux shocked face at the time. “oh dear, sweetheart,” he tutted, “eleven eighteen, your owners will be waiting up for you.”

you rolled your eyes at his jab, the second rude one of the night. one more and you’d be summoning up the courage to punch him in the face.

“they aren’t my owners, mason. they're my friends and they care.”

the two of you stepped out into the cold night air, your nipples hardening against the lace of your bra and scratching against the cotton of your dress. your thighs immediately came up in goosebumps and the cold was a nice juxtaposition to the heat pulsing your clit.

“so you’ve never submitted to anyone, darling?” he asked, shoving his free hand in his jacket pocket, ignoring the crowds of people wandering the streets and girls throwing up in bushes, “let them take complete ownership of you? let yourself go?”

his words shot straight to your core. you fumbled for a reply.

“uh, no, i.. um, i don’t think so.”

stupid reply.

“you don’t think so? oh, sweetheart. you'd know if you did,” as you got closer to your house, a swarm of longing pulled at your chest and you yearned for him now, in a way you’d never yearned for anybody in your life. “but then again, you’ve never tried it with me.”

the last part was muttered, and you could barely hear it.

“what?” you whined, the short, abrupt question coming out in a far more sexual tone than necessary.

“nothing for you to worry about darling,” he patted your cheek softly, “look, you’re home now.”

you half expected him to fall back on his promise, to walk away now and leave you high and dry. to leave you to sort out the mess he’d created, but you’d yearn for more than just the touch of your own fingertips or the ripple of a vibrator. you just didn’t know how to ask him.

he walked you right up to the door, as he said he would.

“thank you, mason,” you smiled. everything inside of you screamed to ask if he wanted to come inside, but when you opened your mouth, you just found the question too overwhelming. “i... uh...”

“what’s up darling?” he questioned, “don’t be shy. use your words.”

he smirked at the way you shivered. there was that feeling between your legs. again.

“do you... um. will you come in?”

he couldn’t help but lean across to kiss you. your lips soft against his slightly rough ones, and your hands flew up to his chest and your palms rested on the warmth of his white shirt. he kissed by the book, exactly how you imagined he would, and when he took your bottom lip between his teeth and swiped his tongue along it, you yelped.

you were too innocent, like bubble wrap left unpopped. he wanted to corrupt you from the inside out.

his dick hardened in his jeans.

“want me to make sure that you get into bed safe?” you nodded and his thumb brushed your bottom lip, and in a bold move you took it into your mouth and circled your tongue around it. you'd never done that to anybody in your life. it even shocked you.

“god,” mason groaned, finding the doorhandle with his free hand, “such an obedient little girl, hm?”

23:27

when becca and savannah saw mason standing in their hallway with a playboy smirk dressed over his face and a charm they just couldn’t resist, they couldn’t quite believe it. it boded worse for you in the long run, because they now saw with their own eyes that he was standing in your hallway, and they would be pacing around the livingroom until he left in the early hours so they could finally get their answers. becca was on the netball team, so mason recognized her.

“hey, becca,” he hummed, as effortlessly as ever. as if he didn’t just make out with you on your own damn porch. “still playing netball?”

she towered over him, her five-foot twelve slim frame was the perfect one for netball and she used it to her advantage, even if she wasn’t that good at the sport.

“mhm,” she nodded, snapping out of her trance for a minute. savannah was still simply stood next to becca in awe, “thanks for bringing y/n home.”

“it was my pleasure,” he looked at you and smiled, and your entire body rocked with heat. “she’s asked me to stick around for an hour or two, if that’s okay with you two, of course?”

you couldn’t help the little smirk that quipped at the corners of your mouth and you hid your face in his bicep. mason was playing into the joke he’d made earlier at becca and savannah being your owners. the pair of them nodded, and mason looked over at you.

“where’s your bedroom, darling?”

savannah almost choked when she heard the pet name.

“uh, top floor on the left,” his hand ran down your arm and his fingers entwined with yours as he walked to the stairs, and once again you tugged on his fingers, “would you like some tea?”

mason's mind raced. your innocence really wasn’t an act. he wanted to pity you, or patronize you, or build up an orgasm until it bubbled up inside of you and you squeaked and squealed and thrashed around in his arms until you begged him to let you cum. his dick grew again, but he just smiled.

“sure, darling,” he squeezed your fingers, “milk and two sugars, please.”

you nodded and watched as he walked straight up to the top floor of the house. you averted both becca and savannah’s eyes as you walked past them through into the kitchen. pizza boxes sat on the counter, with one unopened for you.

“what the fuck was all that about?” savannah questioned.

you unintentionally ignored her, to focused on drowning out the slick between your legs. nobody had ever made you feel this way, nobody had ever left you as needy or as desperate for sex as he had. in all fairness, you’d only had sex with one person, and it wasn’t even that good.

becca snapped her fingers in front of your eyes and you zoned back into the conversation. you smiled.

“oh, uh, he walked me home and we got to talking,” you shrugged as you pulled the milk from the fridge, “turns out we get on well, so i invited him in.”

“go y/n,” savannah clapped her hands together, “finally got a sexu-”

“-bye girls, thanks for the pizza!”

as you juggled with two cups of tea and the box of unopened pizza, mason walked into your kitchen. he'd already made himself at home, it seemed, seeing as his jacket and shoes were back up in your bedroom. “need some help, princess?” he asked, and when the pet name arose again you blushed heavily, and mason took the pizza box from your hand, “see you girls later.”

23:52

“i’m so boring, aren’t i?”

you asked him. you couldn’t help it.

you were sat between his legs and watching a movie on your teeny tiny tv screen at the foot of your bed. mason's eyebrows furrowed and he stroked at the skin on your arm. he couldn’t help but kiss the back of your head.

“not at all, darling. why do you say that?”

you shrugged, too embarrassed to answer. sex never came easy to you, you were the stereotypical bookworm student. you stayed out of trouble, you did your assignments and handed them in way before they were due. you were co-editor of the student newspaper, for fucks sake. you weren't the kind of girl that brought home hot, sexy, god-like alumni into her bedroom on friday nights just for a hook up.

mason knew that, and it was all part of the reason you enamored him.

“i’m not... i just... i'm... frigid.”

mason tutted and tucked some hair behind your ear, “you aren’t frigid, darling. you just need someone to loosen you up a little bit, someone to answer to, don’t you?”

you felt his dick grow harder underneath you, and it sent a shiver up your spine. you nodded, and mason spun your head around, so you were looking at him. his breath was hot on your face and you heaved for a breath when his fingers found your thighs.

“there’s so much i wish i could do to you, little one,” you gulped audibly, a shaky, hot breath, “but i won’t do it if you aren’t ready.”

“w-what.. um, w-what do you want to do?”

mason's fingers grazed higher and higher up your leg, and he was painstakingly close to the sticky slick on your inner high thighs.

“i want to do so much to you, darling, but i fear if i tell you, you’ll break my heart,” his fingers grazed at the soaked cotton of your pants and he laughed lowly, “but then again, if i tell you, it might make you wetter than you have been all night.”

you mewled when he dragged his finger between your folds over your underwear. you opened your mouth to ask him a question, but he shushed it with his free hand, bringing the tip of his index finger to the middle of your plump lips. “is this the first time you’ve been touched here, darling?” you shook your head. “yes? no? use your words.”

“n-no, mason.”

“you’re not a virgin?”

“shockingly, no,” your sarcastic comment left mason pinching your clit over your underwear and you yelped, “i’ve had sex once before.”

“just once?” he questioned, and watched the way your body writhed when he finally pushed the damp cotton aside to stroke your clit. he could’ve growled at the feeling of your pussy in his hand. “oh, darling, you’ve got so much to learn.”

mason's fingers worked expertly on your clit, and you couldn’t help but widen your legs. he certainly found it with ease, which is more than you can say for the guy you lost your virginity to. you lifted your hips and mason helped you wriggle free from the cotton restraint, and his mouth was watering at the thought of your bare, naked pussy. he wanted to scoot around and lick it.

“was he good, baby?” mason asked, lips nibbling along the outer shell of your ear. “did he touch your clit like this, hm? or did he -” with his free hand, mason rubbed at your nipples through your dress and bra, “- roll your nipples like this? hm?”

you wriggled around and let his fingers explore your body, itching to let him touch you more. “n-no, mason. he didn’t touch me like this.”

mason tutted, “come on, baby, what did he do?”

“he used me to make himself feel good,” you hummed, getting more and more used to the fact that he was swirling your clit around with his fingers, “i didn’t enjoy anything.”

“such a shame, darling. you're gonna be used to make me feel good, but i promise you’ll enjoy it because i know how to handle innocent little girls like you,” he kissed your neck, “i was hoping to be the first person to bury myself inside your pretty little cunt, but i'll just have to be the first to do everything else.” he chuckled lowly at the way your breath hitched, and when he slapped your clit it made you jolt.

“did he ever make you cum?”

you shook your head.

“n-no, mason.”

another clit slap.

“why are you slapping me?” you pouted, “have i done something wrong?”

the confusion was evident on your face. you couldn’t figure out why he was slapping you, and the crease between your eyebrows formed. mason’s hand moved from your chest to your chin and turned your face to his. “are you going to address me by my name like a good girl?”

the crease deepened and mason couldn’t help but laugh at you, and you frowned.

“w-what?”

“are you going to be a good girl for daddy?” your heart almost jumped out of your chest. your eyes grew a shade darker with lust and mason didn’t go unnoticed. he slapped your pussy again. “answer, princess.”

“d-daddy?” you questioned, and mason almost blew a load in his pants.

“mhm, yes princess. understood?”

you nodded your head. “yes, daddy. thank you, daddy.”

he rolled his eyes and released a groan, unable to suppress it any longer, and now he could feel a wet patch of pre-cum forming in his pants. “fucking hell, babygirl, you’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?” he shifted, and moved so you were now sitting against the headboard and he was staring down at you. he got down to his knees, the way his breath hitched when he was face to face with your pussy made your back tingle. “do you want me to eat this pretty little cunt?”

“uh.. uhm.. okay,” you hesitated. mason noticed and began to massage your thighs with his fingers, digging into the soft flesh. “i’ve never... um. nobody has ever...”

“relax, princess, i'll make you feel good. it's all part of daddy’s job to look after his little girl.”

a rush of blood swarmed to your clit and you moaned softly at his words. he was corrupting you already. he traced the cherries on the hem of your dress, “these are pretty fruits, baby, can you tell me what they are?”

he began to kiss your inner thighs in that moment.

“uhm, they’re cherries, d-daddy.”

“mhm, well done darling,” you wriggled when his teeth sunk into the flesh of your thigh, but he soon soothed the sting when his tongue ran over it, and it formed a pretty mark of his teeth, “tell you what, princess. if anything gets too much – today, or ever – in one of these situations, you just say cherries, just like the ones on your pretty dress.”

you nodded, but you were still confused. “why do i have to say cherries though?”

“because, baby, sometimes your brain won’t be working properly and you’ll need a distinct word that means stop, do you understand?” you nodded again, and mason’s fingers traced your pussy again. he wasn’t looking at you now, his attention had been drawn to your clit, red and aching, but he was still talking. “it’s easier for daddy to pick up on that word rather than stop, baby, because sometimes i won’t be listening. i need to make sure you’re safe.”

“w-why?” you could feel his fingers swirling around your inner lips and you fought every urge for a moan.

“because, you’re my submissive, and as your dominant, i have a duty of care over you.”

you shivered at that. your head was spinning so fast it felt like it was going to fall off. mason's tongue had darted out of his mouth and licked at your clit, you jolted, but he didn’t put it away. instead, wherever your hips dragged you, he followed, his lips never leaving your clit. his tongue flicked repetitively, and his lips suctioned around it, sucking at your clit as if he were drinking through a straw.

as you wriggled, mason's arms caged your hips down onto the bed, so now you were unable to wriggle away and you cried out his name in a weak, pathetic little moan. he pulled off of your clit with a pop, “oh, babygirl,” he tutted, “you can do better than that for me, can’t you? i know you can.”

he licked a teasing stripe up your pussy and delved around your hole, where his tongue slipped inside and you yelped, bucking your hips up into his face and crying out his name again. “oh, mason... oh.. fu- your tongue.. feels so good,” the sensation tingling away inside of you was one you’d never felt during sex before, and the pad of a tongue licking and lapping at your clit felt particularly strange. “oh.. god.”

mason used his hands to part your lips further, allowing his face to be buried deeper into you and your hands sprung to his hair. he hummed against your clit as he licked, nibbled and swirled his tongue, and the pleasure was almost unbearable. he bumped your clit with his nose when his tongue slipped back inside you again, and raised his eyes so he was looking directly into yours. the contact was almost too much, and the butterflies were beginning to get overwhelming. your orgasm was fast approaching.

he held your legs open further and pushed the hem of your dress up, so it rested at your bellybutton. you could see his nose and cheeks glistening with your wetness, and the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach had begun to travel south.

“d-d-daddy... i... i can... i'm all tingly... i think i'm gonna...”

mason pulled away from you right as you felt like the dam was going to open, and you whined, thrashing around in protest. he raised an eyebrow, “you need to ask daddy for permission to cum, little one,” he slapped the inside of your thigh and you winced, biting down on your bottom lip, “because your pretty little cunt is his, and you need to ask for permission to use something you don’t own.”

oh.

he lay there, waiting patiently.

“can i please cum, daddy?”

mason was satisfied with your plea, at least for now. he wasn’t going to have you begging until you cried this time. “of course, princess,” he hummed, delving back into your pussy. you mewled and he mumbled against your clit, “daddy’s pretty little cunt.”

with that, your orgasm hit you. you thrashed around at the feeling, lifting your hips off the bed. immediately, mason’s hands splayed under your bum, holding you up as he continued to eat like his last meal. you cried out, almost screaming at the sensation. becca always talked about her boyfriend doing this, and you never understood why she liked it so much – until now.

you tapped at mason’s head when you couldn’t take it anymore, and he pulled off of your clit with a pop. his entire chin glistened, and it ignited a fire in your eyes. arousal seeped through your veins, and mason couldn’t help but laugh against your lips when you sat up and pulled him closer by the collar of his knitted jumper.

in a bold move, your hand dropped to his crotch and you felt his dick, rock hard and straining his jeans. you blushed upon having the realisation that you’d never sucked anyone off before, and you were almost definitely about to suck off mason. that, and his dick felt fucking huge.

“what’s up, little one?”

mason pulled away from your lips and tucked the loose hair behind your ear, and you couldn’t help but bury your head into his neck. he hooked his hand under your cheek and lifted you up softly, looking deep into your eyes. there was a moment of peace, where he scanned your eyes for any discomfort, but you were determined to see it through.

“it feels... big.”

your cheeks felt hotter than the sahara desert by this point, and mason chuckled at your innocence.

“do you think so, babygirl?” he questioned, and his fingers curled around yours and made you squeeze at it. he groaned at the contact. “should we see if you’re right, hm?”

you nodded eagerly, and mason almost fainted when your eyes grew black with lust. he placed your hand firmly back into your lap, and he stood up to pull his shirt off. you almost drooled at the sight of his naked torso, and the tattoo’s scattered around it. he unlooped his belt effortlessly, and within seconds his jeans were tossed to the floor. his dick was so hard that the tip poked out from the waistband of his jeans, red and desperate for some attention.

he kept his eyes on yours to gage your reaction as he pulled down his boxers. you were right. it was huge. and thick. it inflated mason’s ego to triple the size it already was, and he loved how easy you were becoming, but this was only the tip of the iceberg. he wanted to make you his, and by the end of the night, he would make sure you were the only girl that he was corrupting.

“t-that’s supposed to fit... i-inside me?”

“mhm,” mason’s hand jacked himself off as he stood up at the edge of the bed, your head at the perfect height to suck. “it will, baby, and it will hurt, but i'll make it fit, you haven’t got to worry about a thing,” he pinched your cheek and you subconsciously smiled. commotion went on outside your bedroom door, one of your housemates was sneaking along the landing, and it caught your attention, but mason pulled your head back to face him with his finger hooked under your chin, “it’s not gonna suck itself, darling.”

you gulped. “i’ve... i haven’t... you're going to have to teach me, daddy.”

mason had to stop jacking himself off and pause for a moment in fear of ejaculating all over your face at the sentence that just left your mouth.

“okay, princess, but first you’ll need to take this off,” he ruffled the hem of your dress and you frowned, “don’t give me that look, babygirl. it's only fair.”

you hooked your arms out of your bra and dress all in one, and mason helped you step out of it steadily. his breath hitched when he saw you naked, drinking in the sight of your naked body. you'd never looked more beautiful, and he’d never been so desperate to be buried inside of someone.

he leaned down to kiss your lips, and then slid down onto the bed, so his head was at the pillows. you followed suite, kneeling down at his side. he guided your hand to his dick silently, and you giggled softly when he helped you move your hand up and down, “that’s good, baby,” he said, running his fingers up to your wrist to loosen the movement slightly, “now lean over so your mouth is hovering over it, and spit on the head.”

“t-the head?”

“the tip, baby, the tip,” mason chuckled at your innocence, and you did as he asked. spit hung from the tip of your outsplayed tongue and trickled down to the head of his penis. as you smeared it around with your hand, your thumb ran over the slit of his dick and he jolted, a groan tumbling from his lips. your eyes shot up to face him, looking like a dear in the headlights as you feared you did something wrong, but mason shook his head. “that’s good darling, so good. why don’t you – fuck – why don’t you try and take it in your mouth.”

you leaned down, so your lips were millimeters from his dick, and took a deep breath. you’d always envisioned doing this, and who it would be with, and none of your fantasies could ever compare to this.

your lips pursed around the head, taking just that into your mouth and looking up at mason through your eyelashes. he seemed to like that a lot judging by the way he looked down at you and nodded. “okay, little one, you’re doing such a good job,” he patted your head subconsciously, “now, alternate between bobbing your head, twisting your hand and running your tongue around the head. just get a feel for it, darling, okay? i don’t want to cum just yet.”

you nodded, and much to your surprise you enjoyed the compromising position you had been put in. mason made it feel so easy, so comfortable, and it made your heart flutter and your pussy throb. you began to bob your head gradually, taking more and more in with every move. mason admired your innocence and every time he remembered that his dick was the first one you’d had inside your mouth – your sweet, innocent, virgin mouth – he wanted to bust a load.

“oh god, yes, little one,” mason’s hand bunched your hair up in his hand out of habit, and you gagged around him as he thrusted up into your mouth ever so slightly, “you’re doing so well for me, got such a pretty little mouth.”

you moaned, and the vibrations sent shockwaves up his dick and all over his body. he thrusted up into your mouth and you gagged again, your eyes watering at the sensation but you liked it. “play with my – fuck – play with my balls, baby, just squeeze them gently,” mason cooed, smoothing your cheeks with his free hand, and you did as you were told, halting the movements of your hand stroking his dick so you could use it to stabilize you as you fondled his balls. he groaned loudly, “fuuuck, baby. that's it, such a good little girl.”

he thrusted up into your mouth again and this time spit came spluttering out of your mouth and landed along the prickly skin around his pubic bone. your eyes watered again, so much so that the tears soaked your eyelashes and mason lowered his hips. “you okay, baby? do you wanna stop?”

you nodded sheepishly. mason's dick fell from your mouth and the tip rested at his bellybutton. he noticed your knotted eyebrows, “what’s up, darling?”

“my mouth.. it tastes weird.”

he chuckled and couldn’t believe how innocent you were.

“that’s because it’s no longer a virgin mouth, little one. it's now forever tainted with the taste of my pre-cum,” he leaned over and kissed your lips, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, “you’re going to be tainted with my taste forever now, baby. never getting rid of me.”

he used his strength to roll you over, so you were now laying with your head at the pillows. he admired how pretty you looked. anxiety pounded in your chest, and you suddenly got overwhelmed, but you knew it would pass, it was just nerves. mason noticed, and tucked some hair behind your ear.

“do you remember your word, darling?”

“cherries, daddy.”

“good girl,” he leaned down to kiss your lips, “if you want daddy to stop, you need to use that word, understood?”

“mhm,” you nodded, and leaned up to kiss him. he chuckled at your neediness. “there’s.. um... i have... in the bathroom cabinet.. there’s some... condoms.”

“daddy’s shy little girl wants him to fuck her, hm?”

you mewled underneath him and fought off a blush by buring your head in the pillows when his finger grazed between your folds, and you jolted at the sensitivity, “please, daddy, i... i... i need it. i need you.”

mason fought back the urge to fuck you raw.

“babygirl, listen to yourself beg for me,” he tutted, standing up and slipping on your dressing gown momentarily to go to the bathroom, “such a naughty little thing, hm? weren’t like this an hour ago. i've turned you into a little slut, haven’t i?”

the last part of the sentence was partially shouted as he wandered into the bathroom you shared with another housemate, and you could’ve died there and then. you only hoped everyone else was minding their own damn business.

he came back with a handful of condoms, and the dressing gown was tossed to the floor with the rest of the clothes. “go on, baby, say you’re daddy’s little slut,” he teased, “otherwise i'll leave you high and dry, begging for my cock all night.”

your cheeks heated up as you opened your mouth. mason stood there, cock on full display, waiting patiently. you took a breath, “you’ve turned me into a little slut, daddy.”

he made a satisfied hum noise and ripped the condom open with ease. you watched as he rolled it on and he climbed back on the bed, the sheer touch of his skin on yours leaving you with goosebumps. his fingers ran through your folds again and your wetness was enough.

his hand outstretched your leg, so it was out at an angle to the side while the other was bent at the knee draped over his shoulder. you moaned at the feeling of being poked and prodded so he could get you exactly how he wanted you.

you squirmed with anticipation as mason guided himself to your pussy, and when he slipped inside you let out a strangled, desperate moan. every time you thought his dick was fully inside of you, you were proved wrong, and with the angle of your legs, he only penetrated you deeper. he groaned at your tightness and the way his dick seemed to slot perfectly inside you.

“fuck, little one,” his pubic bone hit your skin and he successfully buried himself to the hilt inside of you. “your cunt is so wet and tight, fits me so well, like it was made for me.”

you mewled at his words and attempted to buy your head in the pillows beside you but mason grabbed your chin with his hand and forced you to look at him above you. he pulled out and pushed back in the whole way once again. “don’t you ever look away,” his fingers squeezed at your cheeks and moved down your face until they gripped at your neck, “daddy always wants to see the way your eyes roll back when he hits -” mason raised his hips up so the angle of his hips changed ever so slightly and he smirked when your eyes rolled back with a moan of his name, “that spot. such a naughty little girl.”

“mhm,” you mumbled, already feeling a pressure building between your hips, “your naughty little girl, daddy.”

“fuckin’ right,” mason's fingers squeezed your neck in approval, “daddy’s dirty little girl, you’re filthy, aren’t you?”

you could feel him hitting so deep inside of you and the way his hips slowed with each pull out had you on the verge of screaming. your headboard began to thud dully against the wall and you couldn’t help but let out a long, drawn out moan.

“gonna wake up the house if you keep moaning like a whore, baby,” mason cooed, pushing himself forward so the stretch in your legs began to sting and the angle of his dick grew deeper, “i can feel you clenching my dick, darling. such a tight little pussy.”

your hands gripped at his shoulders and mason’s head dropped between your bodies so he could watch himself slipping in and out of your pussy. the angle of your body underneath him was driving him insane and he couldn’t help it when a moan slipped past his lips.

the closer you got to an orgasm, the louder you became, and it only spurred mason on further. he was itching to get you cumming, and so when his fingers brushed your clit and you almost screamed in pleasure, he smirked. you were almost positive that savannah and becca could hear the entire thing from their rooms on the bottom floor.

“d-daddy...”

mason smiled, thumb pulling at your bottom lip. “yes, little one?”

“i’m gonna cum,” you cried, arching your back up off the bed, “please, daddy.”

mason tutted. you were going to have to beg a lot better than that.

“come on, darling, you can beg better than that,” he left a kiss to your jawline, “i know you turn into a mindless whore when you’re being fucked, but that was pathetic.”

you squeaked and clenched around his dick again. your body was in overdrive and with every thrust it felt like you were going to explode.

“d-daddy... please,” you choked, throat running dry, “p-please, i need to cum, i'll do anything, p-please, daddy.”

“you’ll do anything? oh, darling. i wouldn’t say something like that if you don’t mean it.”

“please, i’m so close,” you were panting now, fighting off your orgasm with every passing second. mason leaned down to kiss your lips hotly, pulling your lip between his teeth and biting down so hard he almost drew blood, “please.”

your begging attempt was satisfactory. for now.

“go on then, darling,” he drawled, “cum for daddy like a good girl.”

you couldn’t help the scream that left your mouth, and your orgasm shook your body so hard that it left your limbs twitching. this orgasm seemed to be more fulfilling, and lasted longer than the others you’d had this evening. your clenching pussy triggered mason’s orgasm, and despite the fact he came into the condom, you could still feel the heat of his cum inside of you.

it was only when you noticed the wet sheets underneath your bum and mason’s wet torso that your eyebrows furrowed.

“fucking hell, little one,” mason groaned, pulling out of you and looking down at the seeping sheets, “look at the mess you’ve made.”

“what happened...? what did i do?”

it had only just dawned on mason that you were completely clueless. this was the first time you’d ever squirted.

“you just wet the bed, babygirl,” he rolled to the side of you and your eyebrows furrowed, “daddy fucked you so well and so deep that you squirted.”

he admired the way your eyes widened, and he smirked. if he wasn’t sure about keeping you in his life before, he was definitely going to keep you around now. you yawned, completely and utterly exhausted from the night’s events, and mason pushed the sweaty hair out of your face, “we need to get you clean, sweetheart.”

“mm, tired,” was all you could say, fighting off a yawn, “just wanna sleep.”

mason stood up and slipped your dressing gown back over his shoulders. your eyelids continued to flutter, and you would’ve fallen asleep had he not have handed you his shirt and boxers, “come on, darling, you need to clean yourself up,” you sighed but obeyed his words, pulling the shirt over your head, “i’ll help you put fresh sheets on too, okay?”

his hand looped through yours as he guided you to your bathroom, and your eyebrows furrowed again. mason began to run the water and you sat on the toilet seat. “you’re helping?” you asked, scrunching your nose, “i thought you were just going to leave.”

mason laughed. you really were clueless, and it was adorable to him.

“you really think i'd fuck you like that and then just walk away?” mason raised an eyebrow, and once again, the thought dawned on him that that’s exactly what happened to you after your first time. that was all you’d ever known. “oh, sweetheart, no, i wouldn’t ever do that to you.”

he tested the temperature of the water with the tips of his fingers, and helped you wriggle out of his shirt as you stepped into it. he kissed your forehead as you rested your arms on the side of the bath.

“pack a bag and come to my house next weekend,” he said nonchalantly, and suddenly, all your exhaustion had dissipated, “please.”

“y-you want me to...”

“i’m not asking you, y/n,” his stern bedroom voice had returned and it sent shivers down your spine, “i’m telling you.”

your heart settled in your chest and he smiled against your lips when you leaned over the bath and kissed him. “i’ll stay at yours if you stay here.”

“i wasn’t planning on going anywhere, darling,” he kissed your nose, “you’re going to get sick of me.”

you smiled.

“impossible.”

#mason mount #mason mount x oc #mason mount x yn #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount x you #mason mount smut #mason mount fluff #mason mount one shot #mason mount fanfic #mason mount drabble #mason mount fic #mason mount imagine #footballer x you #footballer x yn #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #football smut

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tenta-tickles · 9 months

Text

From concept to final!

Here's a better ref without the large watermark

More notes under the cut

Uses Zipcaster as a web replacement, while it shoots farther they can't really let go once they do it. It's their arm.

Where is their ink tank? Dunno but it's fine

Still carries around their custom JR as a weapon, mainly for inking things to sit in.

Their jacket is a hooded and cropped version of the Zekko Varsity Jacket with some bonus prints added.

Also carries some bombs! Burst and curling bombs, it probably doesn't hurt at all to non-inkfish folk. It's just for him to move quickly.

Still has all the regular inkling abilities! Swim form, shooting ink, magnetic field sense, all that

I think the spidey sense mixed with the already preexisting inkling senses thing just leads to a heightened spidey sense, fun shit.

Can't make webbing, artificial or otherwise.

#my art #audey #spider audey #ig their name would be spider squid?#also featuring tickletails's spider guy #also i argue if spider ham can exist a splatoon spiderman can too

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hoardlikegoldenirises · 7 months

Text

Like a man possessed, I felt like drawing what the gang's various graduation outfits looked/will look like... lol

Notes about each one (and the close-ups again) below the cut:

Midtown High!!! 2005! I made it light blue to match the design I came up with for Flash's varsity jacket, with little white and red bits of course. I made Midtown's colors blue, white and red a long time ago on purpose cause I thought it would be funny. I think the baby blue is cute.

(here's a pic of the letter jacket btw)

Flash doesn't have any honors, except ALLLLL of his sports shit, but they don't really have like... cords for that? so i gave him some medals. but he did like... three or four sports in high school and had a bunch of state wins so i figured he should have something.

I decided Liz should be the Valedictorian so she has the national honor society cords and a little valedictorian stole... the kind you get custom printed of course, not from the school.

Peter somehow managed to graduate high school magna cum laude despite his uncle dying and also getting his ass beat a bunch of times, but he and his aunt can barely afford to live when he's in high school so he definitely can't afford $15 for a stupid rope. (😂) (really his aunt probably would have found a way if she had been made aware...) (i'm sure there are other ways to get the cords but it feels fair to say, personality-wise... this is fitting...)

also... i think i accidentally drew him without his broken nose but i moved shit around so he gets his nose busted way before graduation lol

Still 2005, Standard High! Harry and Gwen! I used green and white as the colors based off like a comic panel from the Gwen Stacy solo comic. and saw some stuff about high schools that have white for girls and blue for boys (i actually think one of my high schools did that? but i graduated from the other school, where the colors were black and orange, so the gowns were... black lol) so I color-coded it based on gender as well, in contrast to Midtown's exclusively sky blue gowns.

Gwen is also Valedictorian, OBVIOUSLY, and I used a V-neck stole for that, plus all the honor cords, and a bunch of medals for shit like the science olympiad, honors, etc. AND a key club stole. cause. that all seemed fitting for her.

Harry gets a medal cause Gwen made him do SciOly with her. and the cord is DECA. REALLY I'm sure there are other societies and clubs from which he could have accessories since he's a little rich boy but I got tired of trying to google stuff and gave up 😂

All the high school gowns, even from Gwen's school, are shiny...

2009—originally I was gonna have Harry graduate too but then I decided he should drop out, so Gwen and Hobie ended up being the only ones in their friend group to graduate on time (or in some cases, at all) lol —

I thought even with his life being a little stressful, Hobie deserved to graduate with honors especially since he's like. a genius. so i guess, much like peter, despite adversity, he managed to get a very high GPA (I chose to, for various reasons, make ESU an expensive possibly private university (loosely based on NYU w/ some deviations) w/ high standards for performance so in this case, magna cum laude is like 3.8+ GPA lol) He's in the same track as Peter and got his Bachelor of Science in Mechanical(?) Engineering. a very smart young man but better at coding. (i actually wonder if he's less mechanical engineering and more a different engineering degree... hmm... definitely engineering either way but maybe more technologically focused than Peter's)

except for Liz, whose business degree I may or may not have forgotten about while drawing this, the others (except Peter) either don't graduate (Harry and Flash) or don't go to college in the first place (Betty, Glory, MJ)

Gwen gets to be the consistent overachiever in this group as I think becomes very apparent... so she's summa cum laude but not, I think, valedictorian. this despite her father dying between sophomore and junior year?? lol? (spoilers i guess 😂) and I decided that at ESU, for summa cum laude, instead of three pairs of cords, it's two pairs plus a satin/silk stole. and also they use their own institutional colors for honors cords (this is where I deviate strongly from NYU, which does not hand out cords or stoles or anything for honors) Oh also she got a BSN (nursing degree)

I put ESU in Stuyvesant Square Park btw.

like. Actually in it. (and several blocks surrounding it) the park is the college green lol

meanwhile Midtown High is just where Forest Hills High School is.

anyway

oh yeah, since I designed Flash's ESU jacket to be cream/off-white with burgundy leather arms and various maroon and crimson accents I decided to run with that and make ESU's school colors maroon and ivory, so the robes are maroon.

Eventually Flash is gonna give this jacket to Peter btw. since Peter actually went to ESU for more than two semesters and also is always on that damn motorcycle.

anywho

2010!! Peter finally graduates just in time for—Gwen to graduate AGAIN LOL — this makes it seem like Gwen finished an entire Master of Science in the time it takes Peter to finish his BS in Mechanical Engineering but technically Peter will graduate in January, he just can't walk until May, and Gwen graduates in May officially. So Gwen only finished HALF her master's degree in the time it takes him to graduate (because her toxicology MS is a two semester program lol)

so like i said this is just Peter's undergrad; he has to take a full extra semester to make up for being withdrawn in "Creep" but luckily an official withdrawal doesn't count against your GPA. which. for a second i was like "OH FUCK" cause I was worried i'd accidentally put him in a situation where he'd be forced to drop out etc. but no his GPA is fine lol. But. No more honors for Peter. Because at a fancy school like ESU 3.62 is just "good" LMAO

So Gwen will be getting a Master of Science in Toxicology at this point, which is afaict generally Medicine so she got a master's hood with dark green for medicine. but Science is like, sage green or something, so I included that in her tights lol

By this point Flash and Peter will be steady so Peter gets to sit in Flash's lap for this lol... Also there should be like 4 more people here but man... my hand hurts 😂 I ran out of steam, but like, Glory, Betty... Felicia... and I think Aunt Anna (Felicia's very flattered to be invited instead of having to sneak along the rafters of the stadium LMAO)

In my head Gwen and Peter carefully coordinate their guest tickets (5 each) so that they can invite their entire friend group and some family so amusingly, despite dating and living together, Peter does not invite Flash, Gwen does 😂 but they agree on this beforehand. Peter invites Aunt May and... i am realizing this retroactively... all the people I didn't draw LOL

This is also 3 months after Normie is born which I realized while drawing Harry and then was like, omg i need to google what a baby carrier looks like Immediately

also mj has short hair for a few years cause i thought it would be cute

moving on

you. might have noticed something.

(2013: Peter's Master of Science in Teaching)

He's wearing red and blue...

Unlike Midtown this was NOT on purpose LMAO I realized only when I was looking up degree colors for the velvet on the hood and discovered that education was light blue... so I decided to lean into it, and then the FF stole just added to it 😂 so he gets spider-man colors for his master's degree lol

That being said, I'm still debating this honestly. this one has already changed a lot as I tried to figure some things out and figure out what timeline isn't wildly unbelievable for him to have a job as a teacher by 2013 lol, cause it's kind of intertwined with some plot stuff that once again involves him graduating a semester late, for a program that normally would be two semesters + one semester of student teaching (his is three semesters + one because I added in an extension for special ed because I want him to get an extended certificate, so he's taking an extra semester of special ed classes) but it ends up taking him two and a half years instead of just one or two and... also as you can see his GPA is not very good because this time instead of a W, he gets an N for the classes he was doing when he uhhh is kidnapped so that brings his entire GPA down, which is Bad News For Scholarships and why I have him with the FF sash.

He already HAS the FF grant (it's one of those kinds that fills in gaps in financial aid) for all of his Master's (no they don't know they've given Spider-Man a scholarship LMAO) so that he can go to grad school like, at all, but I decided that the Fantastic Four also has an emergency fund for Students In Crisis so he gets that his final semester after losing all of his other scholarships (missed the deadlines to apply because he boldly assumed he was One Month From Graduating 😅 and obviously didn't feel the need to reapply for scholarships he wouldn't need anymore) because he... uh... is a student who has had a major crisis lol

also realizing suddenly I should have named this the Fantastic Four Collegiate Fund lmao i'll update my notes.

At this point the Future Foundation is just the Fantastic Four's charity uh... branch? front? idk they do charity and scholarships for marginalized students with it. later it will be more than that.

Here's this again cause I think it's cute.

Peter's final semester is actually half-time student teaching, but I've been considering having him not graduate at all since he already has 40+ days of student teaching, but I'm torn, cause like I said, I want him to have a special ed extension on his teacher certification, but that requires like 70 days of student teaching lol so even though he could still get an initial certification without the MA, I don't think he'd be qualified for what I want him to get a job doing... IDK WE'LL SEE. i'm thinking about possibilities.

IF he graduates, I wasn't even sure if he would walk at commencement anyway, but I also figured that his dear old aunt would really really really really want him to because he put all that hard work in and had such a hard year and doesn't he want to celebrate being alive etc?? even if Peter would rather eat glass. He's so tired. He needs a thousand year nap. But at least by this point he might be willing to be convinced to go be surrounded by 5000 people in a theater... perhaps... maybe.

If he does walk I think he is going to have 4 tickets for guests so it would be obviously May and Flash cause that's his mom and his long-term romantic partner, and... at first I was like, what two other people?! he can't pick and choose favorite friends?! but then i realized it could only be Robbie and JJJ in this specific context that I CANNOT keep going into, just trust me, it's the only correct choice. and also it makes me 🥺

They care him...

jesus. god. anyway.

Gwen's PhD:

I said she was the overachiever. Literally like A MONTH before The Curse of the Man-Spider, Gwen graduates from her doctoral program with a PhD in Toxicology lmao so I wanted to draw THAT up too, so here we get much of the same in the form of maroon robes and a hood with a red and ivory lining, but since it's a PhD she gets the fancy doctorate robes and since ESU likes to be unique apparently it has ivory velvet for the panels and arm chevron stripe things, instead of black, lol. I almost went the ivory robes + maroon velvet route but that looked a little too much like MIT 😂 so I swapped it. I like this.

Also leaning into the Spider-Man red and blue.

Actually I was gonna do a maroon tam but I decided matching it to the PhD blue for the hood edge looked better and I was like. Listen if I'm gonna lean into the red and blue, I might as well lean all the way in. lmao. And yes. 8 sided. like a spider.

This is EXTRA FUNNY because she KNOWS now too (since the year before) so she's probably looking in the mirror like, God Fucking Dammit Peter. But she won't let something as silly as spider-man colors get her down!! tbf i could have had her just get her PhD at a different school, but, you know, it's whatever lol

So, in the end, Gwen has a PhD in Toxicology, Peter has a Master's in Teaching probably (somehow), Hobie has at least a BS in engineering, Liz has at least a Business degree, and... everyone else dropped out or didn't go to college. lol.

also here are some more closeups of that MAT drawing cause I like it

look how tired he is. he's so tired. but there's a little smile. see, peter, it's not all bad.

🥺in love🥺 actually Flash has also been very stressed lol but I think by the time Peter would be walking at graduation, Flash will be much less stressed... especially now that peter isn't having quite so many Extremely Disruptive Nightmares so Flash can get some sleep 💀

She's proud of her boy. I realized partway through drawing this that an oxygen tank would probably make sense cause she was uhhhh *checks notes* stabbed in the chest lol

she's like... 77 or 78 years old now?? and was mostly spry-ish (not counting rheumatoid arthritis) but after this she's definitely much more weak.

anyway that's my long ass post that's honestly probably missing some context but oh my god

#nadiart #fanadiart #rough art #peter parker #coffee bean gang #came in through the window last night

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dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

the cheerleader you hate

6.9K words

warnings - emotional cheating (you), referenced physical cheating (your boyfriend), hot but mean nancy wheeler

summary - you, a hot cheerleader, are put into a group project with Eddie, a hot nerd, that requires a visit to the Hawkins’ art museum. Neither of you does a very good job of hiding your secret friendship, or your feelings for each other.

Welcome Home (Sanitarium) was released a couple weeks ago on the Master of Puppets album - it was Metallica’s second ballad after Fade to Black, or so Eddie had so passionately explained to you. It also happened to be your favorite Metallica song, not that you really listened to very much Metallica, but it was a good song. And it was currently blasting through the speakers of Eddie’s rustbox van.

You were stuck in the back next to local meathead and star athlete, Andy Johnson: your boyfriend of a grueling three months. Nancy Wheeler was perched in the passenger seat, doing her damndest to not plug her ears at the volume with which Eddie played his music (he only ever turned it down when you were sitting up front, not that anybody else would know that).

The Hawkins Museum of Classic and Contemporary Art was not where you originally saw yourself going a few weeks ago, especially not with the crowd you were going with. The museum itself seemed lackluster on the outside - a cool two-story, off-white, black-tinted window affair of a building.

Ms. Allen had been the one to pick groups for the project and she decided yours was the most interesting. Andy almost threw a tantrum at the sound of his name next to Eddie’s. You just didn’t want to be trapped in a museum for X hours with your boyfriend. Eddie wasn’t stoked to be paired with one of Jason’s lackeys and Nancy Wheeler (who’d probably castrate him if they failed). Nancy hated Andy and only tolerated Eddie because Mike said she should try, she didn’t necessarily dislike you - she just thought you were a ditz (not that you can blame her).

“Okay,” Nancy claps once you’re all in the lobby, “everyone have student IDs?”

“Nope,” you chirp and Andy nods. Nancy sighs, brows furrowing, “Chill, Nance,” you pluck at the collar of your varsity jacket, “I didn’t wear the cheer uniform to be cute.”

Andy wraps an arm over your shoulders and Eddie has to refrain from grinning at how you tense, “Exactly, Wheeler. So just calm down, okay? We got everything covered.”

Saturdays were free entry days for students and you knew that Eddie lost his ID, and what more ID could you possibly need when the Hawkins High mascot was printed along your back?

��Fine,” Nancy huffs, her lips pressing thinly, “I think we should split into groups and meet back here in…” her eyes fly to her watch, “an hour. We just have to find one piece to connect to modern society, shouldn’t be too hard,” she smiles at your group, “Right?”

“Totally,” you slink out of Andy’s chokehold and loop an arm around Eddie’s side, “I call Munson.”

This time, Eddie does grin - all at the way Andy tenses.

“Alright!” Nancy, God bless her patient soul, cheers thinly before Andy can throw a fit. She takes him by the back of his varsity jacket and your groups part.

“God, baby, you are merciless,” Eddie ‘tsk’s, “Just leave the guy at this point.”

“It’s so hard,” you whine, cheek pressing to his leather jacket, “I even mention being unhappy and he brings it up to Jason who won’t stop calling, asking what my problem is. It’s annoying.”

It’s annoying to Eddie, too. He hates seeing jocks throw their weight - physical and social - against the people around them. He hates knowing the only reason you agreed to go out with Andy was that he wouldn’t stop asking.

You and Eddie have been secret friends for a long while now - since the first day you bought from him. He insisted on keeping it to yourselves (“It’ll ruin your life. Besides, things are perfect right now - why share that with the Barbies and Kens that wish I’d drop dead?”). Although to be fair, you couldn’t find yourself craving confession to the general public that you actually liked Eddie either - people would have your head for merely saying his hair was cool.

An honest, unintentional spasm of the eye toward the nearest movement. That’s what started it all. Exactly where it went wrong and exactly where it went right.

Eddie still had the reddened indents and scuffs of metal against his skin from passing period. His head was vaguely throbbing and the sight of a little cheer uniform at the bench he sells at after school definitely is not helping.

You, meanwhile, fidget. Plucking at the loose threads near your zipper. Twirling the end of your skirt. Tugging at the bunched, itchy uniform top. You find it impossible to sit still knowing exactly who is on their way. Eddie Munson - the boy you saw Jason and his buddies shove into lockers for glancing at a couple cheerleaders as they passed by (an honest, unintentional spasm of the eye toward the nearest movement. Not that they’d ever believe him). You felt bad - you’d never seen him do anything more than sell drugs to other upperclassmen and be obnoxious.

You only notice him when the sound of his black, metal lunchbox clattering on the table rings between the trees.

“Hey,” you’re bizarrely quiet.

“Hi,” he bites, lips thin and patience tight.

God, Eddie hates cheerleaders (acting innocent when they’d gut him alive for sport; not that he’s a fan of the guy, but at least Jason is upfront about it). Eddie is against the status quo until it proves him right, and cheerleaders usually sneer and poke and prod. He’ll keep a kind cheek towards you for now, he just won’t be surprised when you burn him.

But when he goes to hand you half an ounce, you’re all pouty - eyes not quite raising to his.

“Hey,” he lowers his head to try and meet your eyes, brows raising, “you good? I’m not gonna sacrifice you, y’know?” suddenly, he grins, “You’re too popular, everyone would notice.”

He may not believe you have the best intentions, but he hates nothing more than seeing people scared of him - so sure, he’ll play the game. He’ll make you giggle, sell you weed, and grit his teeth when you call him a freak.

But to his surprise, your fist curls against the table and you tilt your head, “Does it hurt? When people…”

“Call me a freak?” he squints at you now, pretty lashes narrow at your hesitation, he wants to laugh at how you shy away from the nickname, “Used to,” he gnaws on his bottom lip when you don’t reply, “Why? Gettin’ weepy over the town laughing stock?”

“You don’t deserve that,” you’re frowning and he hates how much he wants to fix it, “It’s cruel.”

“Well, aren’t you an everyday sweetheart?” he settles his chin in his hand, kicking his sneaker over yours under the table, “How would you know what I deserve?”

“You seem nice,” you shrug and now you’re finally looking at him, “You were nice in middle school anyway.”

He mock gasps but the cynicism seems lost on you, “Wow, you remember me?”

“Yeah,” you’re smiling and he hates how much he wants to keep seeing it, “of course, I do.”

He remembers you, too. You looked different. So did he. He’s surprised you bothered keeping him in your memory like that.

“Chrissy and I were gonna do a cheer routine,” he hums cartoonishly and nods, “and you were with your band…”

“You remember the name?”

“It was something… edgy.”

“Uhh, okay,” he shoots up, putting up a hand. Two fingers, then five. Silently, he shifts and recedes into himself - he crumbles as if shriveling under the sunlight.

Shriveling?

“Shriveling…?” you stand up and lean over, hands flat on the table as you watch Eddie.

He smiles, shakes his head, and stands, “Second word.”

His body shoots ramrod straight and his eyes close, arms folding over one another like Dracula in his tomb.

“Coffin?”

He claps, eyes now wide and he points at you, “Yes!”

“Coffin…” you tumble the word on your tongue, test it against your memory. Suddenly, you gasp and snap and point back at Eddie, “Corroded Coffin!”

Eddie jumps onto the bench seat and throws his arms wide, “Yes! You remember.”

“How could I forget?” you huff and giggle, “Oh my God, with that name, how could I forget?”

“I know, right?” Eddie kneels down on the bench, legs falling back into the gap so he’s on his ass, “You’re a freak, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, guess I was too caught up in your buzzcut,” he gags, “No, but, I- I remember you. You saw that Chris ‘n’ I were super nervous so you tried making us feel better.”

“Yeah, it was really hard to play nice when your routine was to Madonna, but,” he reaches into his lunchbox, “you two did fine.”

“Fine? That’s big coming from you,” you watch him pull out a plastic baggie.

“Well…” he lets the thought die under his tongue and shakes the bag, “How about… fifteen? With that sort of discount, you’re robbing me blind, sweetheart.”

Your smile fades and you reach for the wad of cash stuffed into your bag, “I really am sorry… about how you’re treated. It’s unfair.”

Eddie shrugs. A plan cracks to his head and he knows exactly what to say to get you off your pity parade.

“You know what?” he slides over the bag and pockets your money, “How about you be my new friend, huh? What about it?”

You’ll refuse. He’ll shove it in your face. You’ll take the weed and pretend you never saw him tomorrow.

But you don’t catch the coldness.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I’ll be your friend.”

“No shit?”

“Here, put your hands up a little higher.”

“Can’t. Then my arm starts hurting.”

“Why would your arm hurt?”

“I fucking. You know what? Fuck you. I was trying to work out.”

You’re trying not to snicker - you really are - but the image of Eddie lifting weights simply tickles something inside you (and for the sake of not being flustered, you opt to tease).

“Good for you,” you reach out and prop his arm a little higher to match the little girl in the painting, “I’m happy.”

“Really? Is that why you’re trying not to laugh at me,” he waltzes off, arms crossed tightly while glaring at you, “You’re rude.”

“You’re already toned,” you punch his arm lightly and giggle when he makes a show of hissing at the impact, “Any buffer and you’ll make Jason, like, super jealous.”

“Jealous?” he turns to you, lips stretching wide, “Or infatuated?”

“Infatuated,” you whisper, coming upon a display of two ball gowns.

The plaque beside the display reads in big, bold, Courier New font - OLD MARDI GRAS COSTUME WEAR OF FRENCH SETTLERS.

“If I had the balls, I’d steal that for you,” Eddie doesn’t bother keeping quiet. Never has, and you’ve never minded.

A passing elderly woman glares at him sharply and you two simper. You take his hand and relish in the dull coolness of his rings on your palm.

“Hey, hey,” you pat his leathered shoulder and he has to hold you back from jabbing the protective glass with your finger, “a poem. How adorable.”

It’s a page long. Four stanzas; five lines.

Eddie leans to read the poem over your shoulder. He’s never liked poetry - except the pieces you write, and even then he doesn’t get to read your work often. His favorite poem, your longest poem, was a piece he didn’t even read. Jason read it aloud to the entire cafeteria while you were watching, horrified.

He, in turn, watched as you ripped the paper up and scattered the pieces across Jason’s lunch.

It was something he actually understood - somewhat. He didn’t know who it was about, but he got the theme. He understood it very well actually.

“Jason,” you swat at the basketball captain’s shoulder, “Jason, put it down!”

“No, no,” he traps you under his arm, pinning you to his side no matter how much you squirm, “I think everyone wants to hear your little poem!”

The cafeteria patrons snap to the blond, bending quickly to his voice. Even the Hellfire kids. Eddie is watching, hands clenching the table and face stern - you can see it in his tense muscles, the way he’s ready to fight. Ready to stand, fully knowing it’ll only get him hurt.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t care all that much. Sure, it was mortifying to have something you wrote read to an entire room like this, but you’d get over it. Even though it’s clearly a love poem, you normally wouldn’t be so up-in-arms. You normally wouldn’t have jumped out of your seat and over the table to rip your journal out of Jason’s grubby hands.

No, the reason there’s a fire clawing at your throat, is because this love poem is very clearly, very obviously, very evidently not about your boyfriend.

Jason clears his throat heartily and his arm tightens around you, he shakes and laughs and hollers as he reads your words.

Bambi eyes Freckled nose Rosy cheeks

Things I dream

A chanced glance at Andy reveals wide eyes boring into your pounding, heated face. He didn’t look like that and he didn’t need to pretend to have brains to understand what you were saying.

Crisped wheatfield tresses Dark brown and cotton soft Shine like gold under the sun Like a boy untouched by evil

Soft and sweet and simple Unchanged and unpredictable Like a boy unwilling to bend

I bet you taste like cigarettes And still, I want your lips on mine Cherry plump and coral red

I bet your lips are soft and pliant Rough seams and mud-caked soles I want your shoes to stain my window sill I want my skin to rub raw against your vest Calloused palms and stupidly loud footsteps

You are so perfect

A boy unlike any other The one who I imagine is next to me

In the movie drive-ins And the diners And the pep rallies

The one I imagine is him

Andy’s jaw clenches and Jason howls with laughter. Chrissy joins you now, trying to tug the journal from her boyfriend’s hands, but he just holds it higher. Higher and higher. Eventually abandoning your side to hop onto the cafeteria table, like he’s Eddie.

To me, you’ve hung the stars Strung up the moon You’ve filled the world with air Curated the atmosphere You’ve planted the ferns Tended the oak trees

You could light the world aflame and I’d only giggle along Rip apart the sky and I’ll celebrate your name Tear down bridges and I’ll bring you a bulldozer

I want to feel your hair cling between my fingers I want to feel your arms around me everywhere we go I want to feel your legs entangled with mine on sherbet mornings I want to feel your body on mine until the sun engulfs our world

And the worlds around

Please say you’ll love me And I’ll say I love you I’d shout it if you asked All I ask is that you keep looking at me like that

Like a girl worthy and sweet For a boy set adrift Two life rafts and two vests Two chains and two cuffs

Please, don’t stop looking at me

Your name is lost on all tongues except mine And as much as I want people to love you As I love you I know I'm not big enough to share you Not when I don't even have you Not yet

Please, not yet

Jason threw the sparkly pink thing onto the table and you scrambled to it. Ripping out the pages and tearing them apart as the whole of the cafeteria watched. Your skin was scorching hot and sweat was beading at the back of your neck.

Chrissy was scolding her boyfriend and Andy was glaring through the back of your head.

And Eddie watched it all.

“God, I feel a little bad,” Dustin cringes.

“She’ll be fine,” Gareth steals a fry from Jeff’s tray and pops it into his mouth, “she’s a cheerleader.”

“But still,” Grant comes to your defense now, “that’s humiliating.”

“I mean, if she’s cheating on her boyfriend,” Mike purses his lips, shrugging, “‘m not saying she deserves it, but maybe there’s karma in there.”

“She’s not cheating on her boyfriend,” Eddie regrets it as soon as he cuts in, he huffs at the deer-in-headlights stares he gets, “We’re not close or anything,” it’s an easy enough lie, “but I sell to the chick sometimes. She’s not the type.”

“How would you know?” Jeff crosses his arms, leaning against the table.

Eddie’s eyes flutter to you as Andy strong-arms you out of the cafeteria. He can’t hear exactly what the blond is saying, but he’s yelling. Assuredly, he’s yelling. And you look like you’re about to burst into tears. He wants to help you.

To run up and rip Andy’s overbearing hands off you and lead you somewhere the two of you can be alone. To be your knight like he knows he can’t be. You’re the princess and he’s the peasant accused of witchcraft.

“She’s just not,” he doesn’t really know, but he refuses to accept it as possible.

No angel could be so twisted.

Unless you’re Lucifer, who was the prettiest angel and God’s favorite before he fell - then that would be cool.

This poem under plexiglass is nothing compared to the one burned with the lunch trays. He wishes you kept it. He wishes he could plaster it on his trailer wall and pretend it’s about him. His bambi eyes, his ugly freckles, his rhubarb cheeks.

But you’re still nice to Jason and it’s so peculiar to him. You smile at whatever joke he says and you look over when he talks and you barely grimace when he leans just a little too close.

Eddie can’t help but ask. Why? Why? Why’re you so nice to someone who’s so evil?

You smile and shrug and toe at the marble flooring, “Kill him with kindness, ya know? Pain is temporary, but guilt? Guilt is very effective.”

“I’ve never been more afraid and awestruck in my life.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he raises a brow at you as if to ask why not?, you grin, “You’re my friend, Eds,” no matter how much more you want, he’s just your friend, “You’re also way nicer than most of the people in Hawkins.”

In every way possible, it astounds you how nice Eddie is. He leaves a seat for lonely kids, he makes himself the fool to put others at ease, he laughs when a joke isn’t funny just because he knows you really put effort into it, he sits back and takes the abuse so that the jocks don’t move onto his friends when he retaliates. Chrissy Cunningham is nice, Joyce Byers is nice, Karen Wheeler is nice, Robin Buckley is nice, Dustin Henderson is nice, and even Chief Hopper has his moments.

But not one of them holds a candle to Eddie Munson.

If they’re kind, Eddie is Saint Vincent de Paul. And he’s all you could want - he’s it. Eddie’s your angel, and he isn’t even yours.

But it’s easy enough to lose yourself in his presence, to forget that he’s single and you have a boyfriend you hate. You two find it easy to just walk around, ignoring the museum’s actual art and taking delight in one another.

Until he asks the question.

“Who was it about?” you side-eye the metalhead, “Your poem. Who was it about?”

Your arms coil around yourself and you skip over five paintings before pausing at a statue. A man in rags and a woman in a flowy dress. They’re so close, but they don’t touch.

You shrug, staring at the statue while Eddie stares at you, “You know that question? ‘If you were in a room full of other girls, would he approach you first?’ I think about that a lot.”

“Oh? And what’s your conclusion?”

He already hasn’t. But Eddie would do a lot to Andy for less, so you don’t say that.

“He wouldn’t,” quickly, you tack on, “Andy. Andy wouldn’t.”

Eddie’s head cocks to the side, “And the boy in the poem?” he grins, “Would he?”

Would you? you want to ask. Good God, do you want to ask.

“I think so,” you nod, slow and easy, “Even if he didn’t love me - if we were just dating, he’d run to me before even noticing the other girls.”

“Sounds like a stand-up guy.”

You really are. “He really is. Sometimes…” you giggle but it’s shaky, violently unnerved, “It’s silly, but sometimes I think he’s an angel.”

He hums, hands deep in his pockets, and sighs, “Angels aren’t real, sweetpea.”

“And you would know?” you come just a little closer, lean just a little too far. Your breath is hot on his jaw, “Thought you were into demonic sacrifices, not atheism.”

“‘m just being realistic,” he doesn’t shy away, if anything he’s bathing in the scent of your perfume and lotion, “This mystery boy isn’t an angel.”

“God, if you knew,” you lean back and he misses the heat of your body against his, “If you knew, Munson!”

If he knew how the people who loved him saw him, he’d never question angels. Not once. But then again, he has nothing more than humility in that lithe body - and never once would he claim to be anything other than crazy ole Eddie Munson.

The dungeon master. The super senior. The drug dealer. The cultist. The failure. The idiot. The freak. The Eddie Munson.

He's the same old him and he is no angel.

Over your shoulder, he spots something new. It sounds like the air is suddenly sucked from his lungs and he squints into the distance, “God, I’ve never been more glad to not be high.”

Turning, your eyes widen, a surrealist painting of a man with mushrooms oozing from his pores is hung on the opposite wall. A little girl in rich purple stares at it with her father. Her older brother looks away and walks off while she continues to look - completely enthralled with the piece.

“One time someone said that if I don’t feel an edible within the first five or ten minutes, I should take two or three more. And I… had a really bad night.”

“Hawkins may be literally cursed, but that’s genuinely evil.”

The little girl continues to stare even as you two walk away.

“family #2” is a small painting. Swathed in inky black, there’s two shadowy hunches lingering above two weeping children. Eddie’s lips press and he scratches his nose, “We should move on.”

He chuckles when your soft eyes swing to him in worry. Concerned and sweet.

“I mean, yeah,” Eddie brings up a thick lock of unfit and messy curls as if to hide his face, “Go figure. Local drug dealing, fuck up freak repeating senior year for the third time had a shitty family life,” he groans thickly, eyes widening, “I’m a real stereotype, aren’t I?”

Screaming and crying and feeling like his parents would prefer he was dead before he spoke to them. It’s not like his old man even bothered returning his letters after being sentenced, anyway. And his mom wasn’t exactly kind and giving before she died. There shouldn’t be anything to mourn - not when he can’t earnestly say he truly liked them - but seeing this painting brings something back. Something ugly and raw and he wants it hidden behind the leather and tattoos.

You lay a hand on his arm before hugging it to your chest, you drag him off, pouting as you speak, “Sorry, Eds. Let’s go look at another painting. A nice one, this time. ‘kay?”

Eddie’s never been an easy guy to comfort, but he thinks it’s adorable that you try.

“Yeah, princess,” he huddles closer to you, “Let’s look at a nice painting.”

“Soulmates” is a nice painting. Classically nice - in an easy-to-swallow, vanilla sort of way (The missionary of paintings, Eddie said). Two people stand, hand in hand, looking at art in a gallery and he’s quiet while you laugh. He imagines you laugh because you see the two of you, or rather, he hopes that’s why you laugh. But that’s also exactly why he’s quiet for once - he sees the two of you.

You’re sort of it for him. But you have a boyfriend (who you hate). And Eddie would tank your social standing if the two of you were seen together for anything other than a school project.

This wing of the gallery is lonely. A few gaping spaces on the walls where they wanted pieces to be, but couldn’t afford them. An old couple tenderly holds hands and whispers to one another. Something about it feels like a place begging for confession - like a kitchen late at night, or a long car ride - and maybe that’s why he says it,

“I wish we could be friends.”

You punch his shoulder but he doesn’t feel it under the leather jacket, “We are friends, silly.”

“No,” he purses his lips, “I wish I was enough to be your actual friend. I’m sorry that- “ he rolls his eyes, “It’s fuckin’ stupid.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” you take Eddie’s hand and squeeze, “if you’re really thinking I care about the fact that people who don’t even know my favorite color would hate me for being your friend, then you don’t really know me at all.”

He doesn’t buy it - not for a second. He knows you better than most, better than your own boyfriend, and he knows that you’d gladly leave the jocks if he really asked you to. But he also knows you’d be miserable living as an outcast as he and his friends do. You hate the people that surround popularity, but you love being known and you love being loved - even if it isn’t all real - and Eddie refuses to take that from you.

But he also refuses to admit that. That makes the feelings too real. Too there.

“But going public would ruin your social life at Hawkins.”

“Then good thing school’s almost over, huh?”

You’re too sweet for your own good.

So, he pretends you didn’t say that. He wanders off and you follow closely.

He stops in front of a painting of a man in a navy blue suit. He’s sleeping on a bed of daisies as a woman stands above him in a flowy, white dress - her arms spread wide and scattering daffodils and rose petals atop of him.

You say it reminds you of when he crashed in your pink room - fitted with floral blankets and cheer trophies and stuffed animals - after a fight with his uncle when he found out Eddie was dealing. Eddie just laughs and nods and thinks about how he would give anything to be back inside that room again.

The title of the painting is “man in love”.

You take Eddie to a new painting - he doesn’t check the title, doesn’t think it necessary when it’s as simple as a fish eye view of the deep sea. A new thought bubbles to life beneath his thick skull.

You look miserable at your lunch table when Chrissy isn’t there.

And to avoid sacrificing his ego for tenderness, he sniffles and teases, “You need more friends than Chrissy. And don't say me, I'm a secret friend, that doesn't count,” he tilts his head, a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his lips when you’re silent, “C’mon, princess, who’re your friends?” when you just shake your head at him and huff, he gasps, “Do I? No way. Do I have more friends than you? I’m in shock and awe.”

“Okay, okay, Munson- “ your varsity jacket sleeve falls limply down your wrist while you gesture through the museum, as if anybody else was listening, “we get it.”

Eddie Munson definitely has more actual friends than you, but he’s your friend - and that counts for a thousand people, so who’s really winning?

“I kinda wanna disappear. Not, like, dying or anything. Just wish I wasn’t… me.”

The self-portrait is off, and he suspects that the lumped and blemished skin of this insecure woman is what sets you off.

He assumes the life of a cheerleader is pretty great on its own, but the way you and Chrissy are so trapped in your personal hells makes him believe there’s more beneath the surface. Simply has to be when you two are frozen in frowny little sunken sulks.

“Well, I think you’re pretty great, so if you do run off and restart somewhere - let me know and we’ll go together.”

There’s soft romantic guitar spilling over the crackled museum speakers. You grin, stiff and unbelieving, “You think I’m great?” he nods, “Even though I’m a cheerleader?”

“Especially because you’re an adorable cheerleader.”

“I didn’t say adorable.”

“Hm? Really? Didn’t even notice.”

“Well, the way I smile isn’t adorable,” he gasps sharply, attracting even more glares than when he said he’d steal a gown for you, “What? I don’t like my smile very much.”

Eddie looks like you’ve stabbed him through with a spike. Positively gutted him.

“Oh, sweetness,” he grabs at his chest, leaning back as though you’d shot him with an arrow, “you’re insane.”

Now, it’s your turn to sharply gasp.

“You can’t just call me insane!” this time, people glare at you, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Eddie’s sighing like you disappointed him.

He’s pointing at your face, “This? Right here?” suddenly you’re aware that you’d been grinning through the exchange, “This is how I know I’m doing my job and keeping you happy, princess. Your smile is something that ancient Greeks would’ve killed each other for.”

“Like modern Helen of Sparta?”

You’re not as stupid as you pretend to be - Eddie can, and will, attest to that, but you’re not interested in getting lumped in with the nerds (“It’s total social suicide, Eds, not even shoving myself in Ceely Hein’s Lacoste purse would save me from that sorta fall.”). He’s obsessed with the fact that he’s the only one to see you like this - not that he’d ever turn down seeing you in any different light.

“Baby,” he’s way too comfortable with pet names, “I have no idea who that is.”

“She’s who the Trojan War was fought over.”

“Then yes.”

You smile again and Eddie’s eyes can barely flutter away before you notice he’s staring, “We haven’t picked a single piece for the project. Nance’ll totally kill us if we show up empty-handed.”

Eddie is comfortable with contact, more so than pet names. He takes you by the hand and drags you down the plaster-white hallway.

“I hope we fall in love in every life” - it’s the most beautiful meadow of dandelions and petunias and lavender and peonies you’ve ever seen.

“It kinda reminds me of you,” you whisper, “I hope we meet each other in every life.”

Eddie is bold to a fault, and it certainly doesn’t stop now - as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and brings you into his side to whisper back, “I just hope you’ll let me be with you in those lives.”

He holds you close as if you’re the only people in the room. As if he isn’t him and you aren’t you. As if you don’t have a boyfriend.

You want to stay like this forever.

And sweet Eddie. Pretty Eddie. Loving Eddie. Precious Eddie has the audacity to act as though he doesn’t know who your poem is about.

Then you hear it, the clicking of Nancy’s heeled boots on the marble floors.

And you two snap apart like split twin popsicles.

Nancy is pissed and misdirects it at you two “There you two are.”

“Huh?” she grabs you by the wrist, but this isn’t the usual Wheeler Stare you get when you piss Nancy off during school assignments, “Nance, are you okay?”

She huffs and rolls her eyes and says she’ll tell you later.

And the presence of Andy - panting and breathless as he runs after Nancy - strikes you back into your role.

“‘kay,” you grin and let Nancy take you to the parking lot.

Andy is uncharacteristically nervous and quiet. Nancy abandons her hold on you and turns her attention to your boyfriend.

You don’t care much as you climb into the front seat of Eddie’s van.

Nancy is silent - arms crossed and face set firm as Andy whispers to her - after briefly saying she found her own exhibit to use and work on tomorrow (thank God for Nancy Wheeler because you and Eddie certainly didn’t find anything).

Andy is plucking at your oversized varsity jacket sleeve but you’re too enraptured by Eddie rattling your ear off about whichever new songs he wants to try with his band (so far, you’re planning to hear Corroded Coffin’s renditions of War Pigs (Black Sabbath), Fade to Black (Metallica), Seek and Destroy (Metallica), Ace of Spades (Motorhead), and at your insistence - Africa (Toto) this Tuesday at the Hideout). And there’s no room for Andy to get a word in when you’re shooting him a scathing glare every time he tries telling Eddie to shut up.

In hindsight, you suppose that if the goal was to hide your friendship, then perhaps you should be glad that neither of you is depending on acting for an income.

Nancy is dropped off first. She comes around to your window, eyes softer than before as she reaches in to take your hand, “I’ll call you.”

Even though it wouldn’t be the first time, your gut still swells at what you know will be coming. But even so, you pretend to be clueless and nod with a sunshine bright, “Sure thing, Nance!”

Andy is next. He tries another kiss but you turn and his lips catch your cheek instead.

“Cruel, cruel,” Eddie shakes his head, but both of you know he doesn’t give a shit, “Just leave him, princess.”

“For who?”

“Nobody,” he shrugs, “Yourself.”

“I need Nance to call,” your feet kick up onto the dash and if it were anybody else, Eddie would’ve popped a cork, “then Jason doesn’t have a reason to hound me for it.”

“You’d think you people are operating top shelf military forces with all the scheming you do.”

“Well, yeah,” you pick at your nail beds as Eddie pulls up to the curb of your house, “I’d compare them more to sharks. If sharks could actually have fully formed thoughts.”

“And you aren’t a shark?”

“Just a little one. The one where the bites don’t even hurt.”

“Cute.”

“Whatever,” you push open the passenger side door and wave, “Drive safe, Eds.”

Before you can hop out, Eddie’s tugging on the sleeve of your oversized varsity jacket. He leaned over the center console to reach you, eyes wide and pleading. You press back into the seat of the van and his mouth opens.

Then closes.

Then opens.

He shakes his head and laughs at nothing but himself.

“You good, Munson?” you tilt your head and his hand slides lower until he’s entwining his fingers with yours.

“Yeah, just…” he raps his knuckles on the steering wheel, “I’ll take care of everything, but - if you ever buy weed again, I won’t be there,” when your brows furrow, he waves you off, “Nothing against you, princess. Just realized that you’re… everything I ever wanted, so if I ever see you at that bench again, then I don’t know if I’ll let you go. So, I’m gonna cut loose now, before you have to worry about the freak ruining your reputation.”

You don’t know how to respond - too overcome with… with…

Glee? Joy? Affection? It’s all possible.

You don’t know how to respond, so you simply tilt your head and ask, “Remember when you were asking who the poem was about?”

“Yeah?” he looks at you, pretty lashes narrowed and cherry lips in a pout, “Why?”

It’s silent. You simply beam at him, your bottom lip tugs between your teeth and you shrug.

“No,” he whispers, but now the pout is a toothy smile and his lashes are batting at you. Somewhere between disbelief and awe. His grip on the wheel tightens, “Are you- don’t do this to me.”

You giggle. Leaning over to kiss his cheek and watching him cup the rosy flesh (now glittery and sticky and smelling faintly of mangoes from your lipgloss, but he treasures the mess). Your eyes draw over his tattoos and you lean out of the van, “For real. Drive safe, Eds.”

Through the open window, you can hear him call out as you skip up your house’s walkway, “Oh, princess, you are cruel!”

God, Eddie hates cheerleaders (no he doesn’t).

Hellfire drags miserably long into the afternoon. Almost an hour past cheer practice gets out, Eddie and his lovable band of misfits file out of the doors into the parking lot.

You two clock eyes and his jaw drops - he gasps and groans and tosses up his hands, “Disgusting!”

“Ugh,” you mock his tone, guttural and raw from the throat, “freak!”

“The princess of Hawkins High…” he ‘tsk’s, already digging out his keys before turning to the watching Hellfire Club, “You guys go, I gotta deal with…” Eddie huffs, as though a disappointed father, and shakes his head, “with this!”

He loops an arm over your shoulders and waves off the outcasts.

The Hellfire boys definitely know there’s something going on between you two because even though you’re playing up the mean bit - you’re laughing and he’s laughing and his hand slips into yours to guide you to his van.

“You’re a shitty actor,” you giggle and pinch his side.

Eddie makes a show of squealing in pain, then quickly calms himself. He clicks the van unlocked and you two part, “How shitty?”

Once the two of you are seated in the van, you toss your head back, brows furrowed as you think, “Porn shitty.”

“You watch porn? Pervert.”

“As if I haven’t seen all your gross mags.”

“Not all of ‘em,” he pulls out of the lot like a 16-year-old who just got their license.

You two didn’t talk about what happened in his van. It was a new understanding - as long as Andy was hanging around, nothing would even be up for discussion. Eddie wasn’t above being the other guy if he had to be, but it isn’t a first choice.

“Oh,” boy, do you have a surprise, “I have news about Andy.”

He hums, bitter at the name, “And how’s the boyfriend, sweets?”

“We broke up,” he gapes, nearly having to press a gun to his head just to keep his eyes on the road. You nod proudly, “Nancy ended up calling after you dropped me off. He totally tried kissing her, just like I thought. So, yeah, pretty safe to say I dumped him. And Jason doesn’t even care.”

So that’s why you were missing at lunch (not that he’d announce to you that he’d been looking).

“So, what now?” he hates being quiet because that lets people see his vulnerability.

But so long as people is limited to you, he can’t help himself.

“What do you wanna do?” you already know.

“Whatever you want.” he already knows.

“I think we should probably just make my little poet’s dream come true,” you raise your brows and Eddie can feel his heart jump up his throat, “What d’ya say, Eds? Wanna date an arch nemesis? The dreaded cheer co-captain?”

“Can I finally start drooling over your skirts in public now?” because a cheap joke is easier than outright admission.

“Only if you promise to take this off for once,” you tap the leather jacket he refuses to go a day without, “I wanna drool over your tattoos in public now.”

“Then yes, sweetpea, looks like your inner poet finally gets her dream,” not that he’d ever tell you about the handful of Corroded Coffin originals (which will never see the light of day) that are about you.

Welcome Home (Sanitarium) drones over Eddie’s speakers and you kick your feet onto the dash.

It’s quiet. It’s nice. Eddie’s not afraid to sit in this silence. You’re eager for school tomorrow for the first time since first joining the cheer squad.

“Your stop, sweet princess.”

You take the hand Eddie outstretched and lean over the center console to place yet another kiss on his supple cheek. This time, the smeared gloss smells like cherries.

You wave before crossing that threshold into your house. Eddie watches with intent that he’d give anybody else shit for. “Fuckin’ goo goo eyes,” he’d say whenever Lucas would stare at Max. Yes, Eddie watches with fuckin’ goo goo eyes.

And he’s upset at the realization that you two didn’t plan an actual date until he feels folded paper in the hand you’d held. It’s thin and smooth, simple loose leaf. Eddie’s almost embarrassingly quick to read the note.

meet me at lovers’ lake tonight at 9 - love, the cheerleader you hate

And with such simple words, Eddie’s speeding back to his trailer. Swearing he’s already weak-in-the-knees, sweaty palms levels of obsessed with a cheerleader. With you.

Only thing he’s complaining about is that he had to go to an art museum to see results.

~~ rb & comments appreciated :)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie.🍓

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