Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.
It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms.
Worse?
It was short.
Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans.
The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at.
“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming.
Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme.
“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym.
Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.
‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’
“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel.
They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.
Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give.
Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.
(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.
Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures.
The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.)
Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.
Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.
Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds.
“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious. “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”
He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.”
To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was.
None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.
Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it.
Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.
Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome.
“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again.
A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.
“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!”
Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction
“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”
“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!
“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!”
As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.
Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s.
“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!”
It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.”
Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise.
Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for.
(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.)
The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con.
It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.
Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.
Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.
“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.”
He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.
Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.
(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)
“You know who doesn’t look scary?”
Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of;
“Steve!”
Eddie’s left eye twitched.
‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.
Cartoon squawking and all.
“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.”
So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.
“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”
Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.
There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this.
Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game.
One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all.
(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”
“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.)
“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly.
“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!
“Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?”
He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.
“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of a few silly images.”
A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room.
“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!”
This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air.
Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!
He was right!
Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.
“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking.
Because King Steve? Play D&D?
'Ha!'
“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!”
“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.
Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed.
Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.)
The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway.
As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.
“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.
"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.”
Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table
Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.”
The dick.
“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.
He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.
Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.
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Daniel J Nightingale is the absolute bane of John Constantine's existence, and yet here he sat, in the watchtower, talking to zattana, and eating John's fucking sandwich.
"I'm sorry, why is the fucking youtuber here, and why is he eating my food?" He asked, feeling pretty pissed.
Zattana sighed, "I know he has a less than credible internet presence, but he does have information about the Lazarus pits." She looked over her shoulder back at Nightingale, who was staring back at her with false innocence. "And I have no idea where he got that sandwich."
"Sorry man, I was pretty hungry."
"Oh mate, I'm sure you were!"
Zattana put her hand on his shoulder, giving what probably looked like a reassuring squeeze, but actually felt like a fucking vice on his trapezius. "We are trying to have a conversation about the pits, John."
"What in the everloving fuck is some trendy, backrooms influencer going to know about dimensional runoff??!"
"Hey," said Daniel, putting down the now half finished sandwich, "Do you actually think what people call 'the backrooms' are actually part of this dimension?"
"The fuck does that mean?"
"Okay," He said, putting his hands flat on the table and looking like he was getting ready to go on a rant. "So in the 90's to early 2000's a couple of scientists were able to discover a new energy source that existed in very faint portions all over the world, but mostly in graveyards and like, battlefields where people died. This energy would connect with the emotions of the recently dead and form extradimensional beings right here on earth-prime."
And the realization dawned on John, "No." He said, but Daniel nodded. "Not the Fentons, there's no way those nutcases were right?"
He nodded uncomfortably, "Well, they were psycho but they were right. Found a thinspot between dimensions over in Illinois and punched a hole right through, forming our fist stable portal to the Infinite Realms. AKA the dimension where both 'the backrooms' and your little Lazarus Pits originate."
Daniel picked the sandwich back up and let that new information sink in for a bit, picking up a stray piece of lettuce off the table.
Constantine felt like slamming his head into the nearest wall. The insane occult scientists had been right the whole time and now some fucking youtube hack was their best lead to taking down what was basically a magic crime ring.
Amazing.
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18+ MDNI
i think dean winchester can really say some mean things when you guys fuck fuck you know what i mean. it's teetering more into hate fucking.
he's just gripping the everloving hell out of your hair while he yanks your hair before wrapping another arm around your neck while absolutely just tearing you up.
"how about you just shut the fuck up. the only thing i wanna hear out of you is you crying my name or the sound of my fat dick fucking this pussy."
"that's a lot of lip from someone gagging around a fat dick right now. maybe i'll wash that attitude away with some cum."
or maybe when he's in a full mating press. and he can't fully get any closer to you as he growls in your face telling you how close he is.
"i'm going to fuck my cum so deep in your pussy. and youre keeping every drop of it in there. ill make sure of that."
"you like being bred by my big cock don't you. one of these day i'll knock you up."
and then sometimes he's so gentle and thorough. making sure every inch of you gets loved on. while saying the nastiest shit in your ear.
"look at these fucken tits. i own them. i can leave marks if i want. i'll leave bruises all over you baby if you'd let me."
"god your pussy was meant to take my dick sweetheart. you were made for being my doll."
although he still can't give up the need to put his hand on your neck sometimes. after awhile it graduates to holding the back of your head so he has absolutely control of your head.
dean who loves doing phonesex when he's too far away and loves to know he's still in control even though he's miles away.
"i can hear that wet pussy from here. jesus baby girl. let me hear you moan for me, please?"
soft dean who makes love by slowing down and absolute calculated and deep thrusts while his hand is threaded in your hair telling you how much he loves you and has your bodies together so close.
mean dean that teases you for hours during sex until you're an absolutely train wreck, which is the same dean that makes you use the bathroom before letting you sleep where he cleans you up, puts a shirt on you, and holds you from behind before running his hands through your hair.
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LOVE what I've read from you so far, and may I request Hyrule with a reader flirting with him, (no pre-established relationship) just to see him all flustered? Can be Yandere or not, NSFW would be appreciated!
Take care of yourself ꨄ︎
You absolutely can! I adore flirty! character x Shy! Character so much!
Also, can I just shout both you and @welcometothefairgrounds out for your tags on the reblogs, they crack me up. Between the #Holy everloving FUCK and the #EVErYBrODY GO READ THIS RIGHT NOW , y'all. Had me kicking my feet, twirling my hair, fucking giggling-
Anyway~! I went for a softer Yandere, because c'mon. Hyrule would be such a soft Yandere.
NS*W, so MDNI!
Smut CW: Handjob, Reader is a little bit of a dom, praising Hyrule, and just and itty bitty tiny little bit of c*m eating...Hyrule is also a bit of a bottom. I'm sorry CAN YOU BLAME ME? MEN WHIMPERING JUST-
"Have I ever told you how pretty you look in red?"
Those were the words you told him once, leaning down to stare him in the eyes. You hair fell in a soft curtain around your head as you did so, that ever charming smirk on your face. He could see the twitch of your lips and the red blossoming along the very edges of your cheeks, which didn't make his own flush any better.
You had told him he looked pretty in red. You had said it after saying one thing or another which lead to him burying his face in his hands as he tried hiding behind his tunic. You seemed to take great joy in seeing him flush and while he adored red on you, he didn't see the appeal of it on him.
But it made you happy. And that was all he needed.
Some form of half-groan, half whine left his lips as he tried avoiding your gaze. He could feel his heart shudder in his chest as you leaned further into his space. What he wouldn't give to just lean in and kiss you. To feel your velvet lips against his, melding to his every move. To feel the way your body would move against his as he held your perfect cheeks in his hands. To gently lap at your bottom lip, maybe pinch it between his teeth if only to make you gasp just a bit, until you took charge as you always did.
"I didn't even do anything and you're turning redder by the moment. Thinking of me, traveler?"
Of course he was. He was always thinking about you. Constantly. You were the only thing on his mind at any given point in the day. The way you walked, the way you ate, the way you slept, the way you breathed. It all kept him awake a night, a hand clasped tightly around the fabric above his heart as he fought to keep his breathing even. Every part of you made his heart yearn and ache for things he never allowed himself. He wasn't allowed to love in his own world, but maybe in yours.
Your world, which you constantly wove intricate stories about, seemed nowhere near as enchanting as you made it seem. Maybe just the way you explained, a hand waving mindlessly beside you, is what made it seem so. You were what made it a place worthy of even existing in your presence. Your world may be the thing to allow him to love you. To hold and cherish you. Worship your every step. Even if you didn't need him, he would find a purpose in your life to keep him in your orbit. Did you need a hero? He could be yours. A healer? Every ache and pain could be waved away with a flurry of his magic. A companion? Anything to be by your side. A step-stool? If you wished to step on him, it would be his absolute honor.
"Maybe you are! How sweet of you, Hyrule. I think about you too!"
You thought about him? You, perfect, angelic you thought about him? Little ol' him? He graced your thoughts in the same vein he thought of you? Probably not, you occupied his every waking moment, but just to know you thought of him for a flutter of a second was enough to have his cheeks turning a crimson he didn't think possible. They seemed hot to the touch, but you were utterly amused by them.
One of your perfect fingers poked his cheek, even as he tried hiding it from you. How could he portray the image of a fear-less, unyielding hero when you could dwindle him to a sputtering mess with a flutter of your lashes?
"I think about you a lot, you know?"
Your voice dropped an octave as he fought the urge to hide to look you in the eyes. Your eyes were clouded with something he was unfamiliar with, lidded and pointed on him.
He swallowed something thick that settled on his tongue.
You slowly crawled over to him, caging him against the tree he originally was leaning against. His voice felt like it was going to crack before he even spoke. "D-Do you?"
You nodded. "I do. Wanna know what I think about?"
Your breath was hot against his ear as he keened upwards, body jolting at the rush of it. The feeling of you being so close was making his body jolt and quiver as his fingers dug into the dirt beneath him.
He found the will to nod.
His will did not last long as one of your hands gently reached for his best, teeth gracing the outer shell of his ear before pinching it gently between them. You could've asked anything from him at that very moment and he would've given it willingly. Wanted a monster slain? Done. A nation to fall at your feet? No worries. Wanted his own blood to revive the very monster he and his brothers were determined to keep dead? Take it all. He bled just for you.
Your palm felt heavy as it gently brushed along his crotch, fiddling with his belt buckle before it was falling undone and you were able to slip your hand between his pants and skin. His tanned skin felt hot to the touch, even to him, but you seemed unalarmed, tongue darting out to swipe along his jawline. His body simultaneously tensed and went lax under the feeling of your spit quickly cooling and your hand grasping at your wanted prize.
He shot up when your fingers wrapped along his shaft, gently tugging just as your teeth latched to his neck. Goosebumps riddled his skin as he leaned into your shoulder, jaw clenched tight enough he didn't risk biting into your own flawed skin. To tarnish your pristine skin would be a sin surely beyond forgiveness and he would not risk this gorgonizing experience. Everything about this felt ferly and perfect and he never wanted it to end.
Your fingers tightened, thumb gathering a drop of pre-cum that dribbled out of the tip to act as a lubricant as you picked up a steady rhythm.
He couldn't even help the whimpers coming out of him as his thighs shudders and his hands dug into the ground, yanking at the strands of grass and weeds in an effort to ground himself. It didn't work, the muscles in his thighs tightening along with the feeling in his groin as you worked your hand faster.
"I think about how pretty you would look, red in the face, cumming for me like the good boy you are."
You word was law, and who was he to disobey? Any hold he had over himself was let go as he jutted as far as your hold would allow him, crying out with his head falling back. His hips bucked wildly, meeting everyone of your thrusts beat for beat before he was teetering on the edge of overstimulation. You retracted your hand, making him whine in ache for your touch, but you held his attention as you pulled your fingers to your mouth. They were coated in a milky white sheen, dripping along your digits, which you then shoved in your mouth. Your tongue, pink and flush, lapped around your fingers, refusing to leave a trace even as he felt about ready to combust at the action.
When you were satisfied, you hummed happily, licking your lips as he vowed his total being to you. Something you had no idea of.
"And I was right. You're so pretty in red, Hyrule."
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